Consulting Fangirl

Chapter 7: John

A/N All I can say about this chapter is... I'm sorry... I'm so sorry... 

As I stormed home from Mai’s house, I tried to control the rage swirling around inside of me. How dare they insult her? They tortured her, tormented her, and basically ruined any of her self-esteem that she had left.

The look on her face, the slow transition from a woman who had everything under control and was comforting me to the sobbing, broken figure in my arms, was unbearable to see. Mai had always been so strong, so full of life. How could I have missed this depression eating her alive?

I was snapped from my thoughts when I bumped into a tall figure. The impact knocked the cane from my hands, sending me sprawling to the ground. All the anger dissipated in an instant, replaced by the familiar guilt and worry for the opposite person, despite the fact that he was fine and I was on the ground.

“I’m so sorry. I wasn’t paying attention. Lost in my thoughts.” I sent him a quick smile, as big as I could muster.

“Not a problem. The fault is mine. Here,” he said, extending his hand. I accepted it gratefully, letting him pull me up.

A shock tore through my body at his touch. It was… familiar. I shuddered as I stood to my feet, the cane forgotten on the ground.

Before I could catch a good view of the man, he nodded towards me and turned away. All I caught was the sight of a dark trench coat before he was gone, lost in the crowd. I stood still, staring desperately in the direction he came, wondering if I had truly gone mad. He couldn’t have been there. It wasn’t him. He was dead. He was dead and he wasn’t coming back. That was just some random man, not Sher-

“Excuse me, sir, you dropped this.” A man said, holding my cane up to me. I stared at it blankly, my mind racing too fast. I couldn’t remember why I had the cane. I couldn’t even remember where I was.

“Sir?” He asked nervously, gesturing to the cane in his hands. I snapped from my daze and accepted it, the familiar pain returning to my leg. I almost hadn’t noticed that it had gone.

With a ringing in my ear, I stepped to the side of the street and held out my hand, signaling for a taxi. I couldn’t walk, I couldn’t think. I was ready to pass our when the black cab pulled up beside me. I hopped in gratefully, avoiding the eyes of the driver.

“Baker Street, please."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

I had not been to the flat in a long time, not since just after the fall. I knew that I was being unfair to Mrs. Hudson, but I couldn’t sit around in the flat and pretend everything was okay. It was easier to pretend at my sister’s flat. Even though she was drunk most of the time, it was comforting to get away. Now, though, I had to go back. I had to, because what I just saw was inane, and I needed to prove to my delusional mind that he was, in fact, dead.

I thanked the cabbie hastily before darting out of the cab and hopping up to the door. I didn’t give myself time to be sad as I opened the door and tore inside. Mrs. Hudson wasn’t in. I could tell because normally she’d be hounding me with questions. I didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed.

I limped as quickly as possible up the stairs, the cane giving me a hell of a problem. I didn’t stop, though, fueled by a mad desperation. I wanted to see him alive. I needed to see him dead. If I saw him, I’d know how truly mad I was.

I reached the top of the stairs, stopping cold. The door stood before me, closed and cold. I realized then that I couldn’t go inside. He could either be there and I’d be insane, or he could be dead and I would be alone. Neither option sounded like one I could live with.

With a deep breath, I swung the door open and stepped inside.

He wasn’t there. The flat was empty. When I should have felt relief that I wasn’t insane, all I felt was pain; a sharp, blinding pain that nearly tore my chest in two. I screamed into the empty building in desperation, hoping- praying even- that he would shout at me to be quiet like he used to, or to hear the haunting beauty of his violin.

The scream cut off and the world returned to silence, a silence that I found unbearable. Everything was still. I hated it. My hands started to shake, slowly followed by the rest of my body.

Questions started spinning through my broken mind, questions that I had no right thinking. What was the point in living without him? Why was I even here? What if I followed him? Ended it all. Just be done with this, this, existence.

For the first time in a long time, this didn’t seem like a bad idea.

With difficulty, I limped my way upstairs into my old bedroom, heading straight for the bedside table. Opening the drawer with shaking hands, I pulled the gun out. It felt cold and heavy in my hands.

I made my way back downstairs and stood in the living room, taking in the place I once called home. I hated this. I hated this life, I hated this place, and I hated him for leaving me. He was selfish. He ended his life and left me with nothing but nightmares, a flat and an emptiness that could never be filled. I hated him for making me endure this pain without him.

“No,” I mumbled, rejecting my thoughts. I didn’t hate him. He was a total ass, but I didn’t hate him. He must have had a reason.

My shaking hands gripped the gun tighter as I started to lift it, tears of uncertainty staining my cheeks. What if I was wrong in giving up? What if Sherlock really was alive? What about Mai?

The last thought threw me off, but I shoved her far into the back of my mind. I didn’t want to hesitate now. Not when I was so close to freedom, to seeing him again.

“Sherlock Holmes is… dead… my best friend… dead.” I mumbled, holding the gun up to my temple. My eyes scanned the room in one last desperate attempt to see him, to find something to hold onto in these last seconds. My eyes found nothing.

Instead I looked at his chair. It was nothing special, just a chair. It wasn’t the furniture that meant something to me. It was the memory of him in it. I held onto that as I took my final breaths.

“Goodbye Sherlock.” I whispered before pulling the trigger.