"SHERLOCK, you've got more mail today." The elderly woman said as she walked into the apartment, handing a small pile of papers to the tall, lanky male standing by the window.
He simply nodded, motioning his hand towards the table beside him without turning his head. The woman let out a sad sigh as she watched how disconnected Sherlock was. Though, she didn't say another word as she sat the letters down onto the flat, wooden surface, and without a second glance, she walked away, ignoring the pain in her chest as she left the man alone.
John Watson stood as Mrs Hudson fled the room, not bothering to speak to Sherlock at the moment.
It's been one year. One year since their friend, Sherlock's best friend, killed herself.
She jumped off a building, taking what was supposed to be Sherlock's place.
Everyone was still heartbroken, Sherlock and Greg were the worst though. The two had had a history with the woman, whereas the rest of them had met her through the Holmes brothers.
John liked to believe Mycroft was grieving, as well. While Eden was closer to Sherlock, she was still fairly close to the older Holmes brother, too.
The smaller man picked up the stack, and began to sort through envelopes, most of them were just ordinary people mailing because of a case.
One letter caught his eye, though. The paper was black, with white ink splattered on top of it. John furrowed his brows as he examined the letter, the only thing on the envelope was Sherlock's name, as well as the address.
John carefully opened the paper, pulling out a thin piece of what looked like old parchment, and unfolding it, nearly dropping the letter when he noticed the handwriting.
Eden's.
"Sherlock.." John mumbled, trying to wrap his head around this. It couldn't be hers — she was dead, for crying out loud!
The small man shook his head slightly, brushing it off instead, knowing there wasn't any possible way for Eden to have written this letter.
Though, as he read on, he knew there was no argument to be held, this was her.
"It's Eden.." He all but whispered, and he glanced up as Sherlock turned to face him.
"What?" The brunet asked, stalking closer to examine the paper held in his smaller hands. He read it quickly, eyebrows knitted, mouth hanging open slightly, hands noticeably trembling. John watched as Sherlock seemed to stop, his eyes focusing on one place on the paper instead of going left to right.
"It can't be her, can it?" John questioned, unable to help the confused laugh that escaped passed his lips as he felt completely dumbfounded.
"It's her."
YOU ARE READING
the rise and fall {S.H}
Hayran Kurgu" dear sherlock, if you're reading this, that means i'm gone. " OR in which sherlock receives letters on the one year anniversary of his best friends death, though something seems to be off.
