Only Yours

2

John's P.O.V

I'm stumbling through the streets of London, trying to get home. Yes, I know I've lived on Baker Street for years but honestly I've never been this hammered. People are giving me dirty looks but I don't give a shit because today is the second anniversary of Sherlock's death and I am allowed to go out and get pissed.

Sherlock has been dead for exactly two years. Two years ago, I watched my best friend and secret love (I might as well admit it now, he'll never know) commit suicide by jumping off the roof of St. Bart's hospital. Two years ago, I took his pulse and looked into his dead eyes and watched the blood drip down his face from that thick, black, curly hair. Down his perfect, pale,face. Two years ago, I watched as Sherlock was put in the back of an ambulance and taken away, never to be seen again.

I round the corner and almost trip over a bench. In my addled mind I remember that there are no benches on Baker Street and, come to think of it, there are no trees or... Duck ponds? I stagger over to the pond and sure enough there are ducks, swimming around in circles.

Everything is blurry and I don't know where I am. Somewhere I can hear footsteps and wonder if someone is following. It doesn't matter, I have nothing left in life to worry about. Truthfully, if someone murdered me right this second I wouldn't care.

Swimming. Once, me and Sherlock went swimming. I remember because I hadn't been able to take my eyes off his slender but muscular frame. He had swum surprisingly well.

The duck pond was looking more and more appealing. What was the harm of going for a quick swim?

Before I know it I am completely naked. When I step in the water it is beyond freezing and even in my booze-soaked mind I wonder if it is really a good idea to go swimming in mid-winter. But it's too late. I prepare myself to dive.

'John! What the hell do you think you are doing?' I recognise the voice immediately, even though I haven't heard it for a very long time.

'Sh-Sherlock?'

-Jordanx