A reflection

He fell

"Nooo John " Sherlock screamed as his friend fell from his beloved roof top. Sherlock ran to the place where Johns body lay. Blood. Everywhere. Sherlock fought against the tide of people pulling him away from the area but Sherlock knew his friend had gone without taking his pulse.

"Ok , ok"

Sherlock backed away from the crowd before him and sat down on the kerb.

He pulled his knees up to his face and slipped away into his mind palace. He begun to re-live the happy times with his friend. How John used to laugh at his silly violin tactics , how his password used to be so easy to cracked. even when he changed it to i wish sherlock would stop hacking into my computer and Sherlock is an idiot.

Without Sherlock noticing , a single tear fell from his eyes , like the calm before the storm. He felt a pressure on his shoulder and looked up to see Lestrade standing over him. Sherlock could see the sadness in his eyes. John had always had a laugh with Lestrade, they often joked about Sherlocks weird ways and became almost like brothers.

"Come on mate, Johns gone , Molly laid him out"

Sherlock rose from his place, the sky was beginning to grow dark. He must have been sat there for hours. Lestrade packed them into a taxi and back to 221B.

For the next couple of hours Sherlock sat in front of an empty arm chair staring , but refusing his mind palace. John was in there , but he wasn't out here.. and Sherlock didn't want to face a world where John was only in his head..

Mrs Hudson came to check on Sherlock a few hours later , she set a cup of tea beside Sherlock in his favourite mug. As she did his head slipped to the side, he had fallen asleep. Mrs Hudson smiled as she drew a blanket round her adopted son and left him in the same chair. A cold tea still beside him.

The moonlight bounced around the room, casting shadows on Johns forever empty chair. The light fell upon his cane that he used when he first met John, the spoiled milk that John had frog marched Sherlock to get one day. A knitted jumper that John had previously owned laid abandoned on the floor collecting the dust that glittered in the air.

Night became dawn and the sunlight lifted Sherlocks eye lids. The fragile detective awoke pushing the orange blanket to one side as his eyes fell upon the jumper. And that was it. All the emotion , the pain , the loss Sherlock had held came tumbling out as Sherlock wept for the first time in years.

The fabric still smelt of his best friend. it reminded him of the times they spent together, the cases they solved. Now , all Sherlock could see was blood, and Johns cold dead face. The neck vain without a pulse.

Sherlock screamed as the smell of blood became all to real and chucked the jumper across the room. Mrs Hudson came bounding up the stairs to find Sherlock sobbing on the floor.

She knelt down beside him and hugged him as he cried.

The tea lay forgotten..