Consulting Fangirl

Chapter 4: John

A/N Hey guys, here's the next chapter. This is the first 'John' chapter, so tell me how I did :) I wanted to put a song on the side, but it's being stupid, so if you want to hear it, it's called The Memory by Mayday Parade, my favourite band. It fits this chapter perfectly. <3

“Keep your eyes fixed on me. Please, will you do this for me?”  Sherlock’s voice rang through the phone, sounding more emotional than I had ever heard. My heart was pounding a thousand miles in my chest as I stared up at my friend on the roof.

“Do what?” I asked, my voice cracking in my throat. Sherlock had always been unpredictable, but this was an extreme. He sounded almost, scared.

“This phone call… It’s my note. That’s what people do, don’t they? Leave a note?” My mind raced as I tried to decipher what he was saying.

“Leave a note when?” I managed to spit out. My nerves were racing. Everything seemed to blur and all I could see was Sherlock. All the sound seemed to fade away except for my breathing and his voice.

“Goodbye, John.” In that moment, after he uttered those two, simple words, I finally realized what they meant.

But it was too late.

“Sherlock!” I shouted, running towards the building. My eyes opened just as I heard the sickening crunch of a body hitting the ground.

I shot up in bed, completely covered in sweat. My breathing was heavier than it was after any nightmare I’d ever had. This was worse than the war. This was worse than all the nights I’d woken up gasping from nightmare after nightmare alone in my flat.

“Sher- Sherlo-,” I muttered as tears started to fall from my eyes. They weren’t small tears either. They were big, heaving sobs that left me desperately gasping for air. My chest was sore, my lungs were sore, but nothing compared to the pain in my heart. The stab of loneliness that I hadn’t felt since after the war returned.

It hurt too much to say his name, so I gave up then and cried in silence. I couldn’t say it, but my mind betrayed me. Sherlock Sherlock Sherlock Sherlock Sherlock. He was all I thought about, but I couldn’t even say his name without breaking down.

After recovering, I wiped my eyes and forced myself out of bed. The second my feet touched the ground I felt a sharp pain in my leg. My arm shot out and grabbed the cane that now sat beside my bed every night and clutched it like it was a lifeline. It was the same cane I’d had since before the war. The same one I’d abandoned after our first case. Now, with him gone, the limp had returned.

I’d noticed it last week, right before going to the café to escape Mrs. Hudson and her arrangements. I understood that she was just trying to be nice, but I couldn’t stand to see her, not so soon after… After. That was what I’d chosen to call it. Not the suicide. Not the fall. Not his death. Simply, after. After my life became a living hell. After I was alone again. After everything changed.

Limping downstairs hurt, but I managed it without too much difficulty. When I was in the main part of our flat, it took ten minutes to convince myself to walk to the kitchen. He wasn’t where he should be. He should be lying on the couch scolding me for sleeping late. He should be pacing the room complaining about boredom or working on some experiment in the living room. It shouldn’t be this quiet. It was wrong.

I stepped into the kitchen and stared at the fridge in distaste. My stomach growled, but I ignored it. Food wasn’t appealing at all. I hadn’t eaten anything since a biscuit two days ago when Mrs. Hudson practically forced it down my throat. Reason told me I needed to eat, but I just couldn’t. What was the point?

So, I simply sat down in my chair and put my head in my hands, exhaling deeply. Mrs. Hudson would be coming for me at noon to go see the grave. It had been three days since the funeral, a dull event that I spent sitting in the back of a musty room ignoring everyone.