Sentiment {BBC Sherlock Fanfic}

Chapter 2:Can a heart stop aching once it stopped beating?

The sky was falling snow, in a way of showing a touch of sadness you could say so. There was a cemetery under of all these falling snow and, there stood a man with a black coat and blue scarf. He was staring down at one grave that wrote 'Victoria Holmes', holding a bunch of white roses.

"...Victoria," He paused for a while as he pinched the bridge of his nose to wipe away the tear that streamed down. A sad smile slowly appeared on his face with his painful, heavy heart and those beautiful eyes red with tears.He slowly crouched down and gently wiped away the snow that on the grave.He then placed those white roses on her grave.

"Forgive me."

He spoke softly as he kept his head down, his hands were held together as he was sobbing quietly.

'Sherlock. You know she doesn't blame you.'

"But I want, John. I want her to yell at me or slap me in the face."Sherlock replied as he wiped out his tears with the sleeve."I just want her to be...alive, John."Sherlock continued staring blankly at her grave."Every time when I closed my eyes, I see her died right in my arms."

"I finally understood how heartbroken felt like. Hopeless, despondent, desperate. It was the worst emotional pain I have been through in my life."Sherlock let out a sarcastically laugh when he said the three descriptive words as he stood up and John was nowhere to be found.He then stared back at her grave as if he saw her smiling.

"I love you," He said with his cracking voice, with his shattered heart.

"And forever I will."

~

"So how are you doing?"Charles Barter, a friend? He didn't know. Although he knew all the things about Sherlock, even knew that Sherlock was immortal but he always felt million of walls existed between them. He was the grandchild of John Watson. Rosamund Mary Watson, daughter of John born in 1922 and married to a man called Tim Alexander Barter, then gave birth to Charles Barter in 1962 and died in 2006.

Sherlock heard his question as he sat with his crossed legs and he was staring deeply as he was touching his ring. He was sitting in his armchair with Vicky sleeping next to him on the floor. "...Same." He replied simply as he barely took a glance at him."How would you describe then?"Charles took a deep sigh before asking him again. He has been his therapist since he was 25 because of his grandfather. John Watson left a letter to Rosamund before he died and in the last sentence of the letter. It said,' Take care and be friend with William Sherlock Scott Holmes.' Charles was fifty years old this year and looked rather older than Sherlock whose face was still the same, only his hairstyle was different.

"Nightmare."

Both of his beautiful blue eyes were shaded into darkness and sadness as Sherlock replied bluntly and took a sip of his tea. No, food. 

Well, for a vampire?He didn't know whether he was a vampire or not because according to his acknowledgement, he didn't know what's a vampire actually looked like. He only knew that his fingernails were long, his fangs will become longer, his eyes would change into deep red if he was angry or hungry, he couldn't see his own reflection and he could run very fast like he was the wind but he didn't afraid of the sun or wood or silver or holy water and he won't get burnt. Tearing his head off? He tried but he couldn't.

That's why he called it a curse.

It kept him alive and didn't give him a single chance to attempt suicide.

"You stole it? The blood?" Charles exclaimed as he jumped up from his chair and pointed at the 'tea' that Sherlock was drinking. Sherlock heard as he glanced at Charles once and finished his 'tea'.

"Buy."

He replied simply as he took a black napkin and wiped out the blood that was left on his lips. "I've paid after I took."

Charles facepalmed right in the moment after he heard what Sherlock's reply, he was pacing around the room with his tightly smile showed upon his face.He was quite speechless and acted a little bit fuss you would say as his hand on his waist with another hand raised a finger and kept pointing to Sherlock while Charles, himself was trying to speak something that he didn't know how to say or explain. Sherlock didn't bother to take a glance at him and he made his way to the window, standing next to the music stand which he put his violin sheets on.

~

Sherlock's P.O.V.

I stared outside on the street while listening to my friend groaned in despondent because he couldn't scold at my behaviour with his own words. Somehow, he reminded me of my best friend, Watson. He reminded me of the best man in the world.

But he's gone.

Death.

The only thing I want after all these years.

Alone. Cold. Pain.

The emotion that appeared in my life as being a creature. And nothing else more.

And I don't want to have sentiment again.

Human error. It is and always found on the losing side.

I have, once.

I have once opened my heart.

I have once started to let them in.  

I have once started to care about them.

But what did I learn?

Painful. 

Desperate.

Heartbroken.

And hurt all the one who I hold most dear.

My landlady, parents, Mycroft, Molly, Mary, Rosamund, John and Victoria, the one and the only one who made me experienced what called Love. The one and the only one who brought so much joy to me just by staying next side to me or when I see her smile.

So I kept Charles in distant.

Then both of us will stay away from pain and hurt.

I start to play the violin with my eyes closed, playing the song which I wrote for her.

She is the only one who got me to think this illogical question which will lower the IQ of all the human beings.

Can a heart stop aching once it stopped beating? Can it?

I don't know. I really don't know.

I wish I have never met them.

Then...

I won't be in such a pain.