Consulting Fangirl

Chapter 26: Mai

A/N Hello people, how are we all feeling? Still alive? Please don't kill me. I'm really sorry for this, but it's just the way it had to be. Just know that it was never my intention to harm your feels or cause you any emotional pain, so I'm sorry if I did. 

The funeral was hell. Nothing in that room reminded me of John and it was supposed to be about him. The cracked ceiling paired with moldy yellow wallpaper made the scenery awful to look at, and the soft music ringing from the stereos was of horrible taste and nothing like John. Whoever designed this ceremony knew nothing about him.

The past week has been desolate. The police went to the factory after the incident and found John’s body. Everyone else was gone. Moriarty’s men must have taken his body. I didn’t care much. I didn’t care much for anything.

I moved out of Baker Street three days after. I couldn’t stand to be there. Everything reminded me of John, of what I had lost. It hurt too much. Instead, I moved in with Katie since my old apartment was already sold. Dan visited me often, but even he couldn’t help me. I was beyond depressed. I was broken beyond repair. Guilt crushed me like a vice. I could hardly find the strength to eat. The funeral was the first time I left the house since John’s death.

A hand was placed lightly on my shoulder and I spun around. Sherlock Holmes stood there, a blank look on his face.

“Look, I’m not good with formalities, so I’ll just get right down to it. I know you loved John and I know he loved you. I understand how you’re feeling.”

Anger spiked through my veins at his words. Once, speaking to him was a dream. Now, I wanted him out of my sight. Every time I saw him, I was reminded of John and how much everything hurt.

“How can you possibly understand what I’m feeling? You heartless bastard!” I shouted at him, my voice practically a screech. I realized how insane I must have looked, screaming at a man in the middle of a funeral home, but I didn’t care. John was dead and nothing else mattered.

“How dare you say you understand?” I continued angrily. “You left him. You were the one who abandoned him for two years. Sacrificing yourself was okay, but you didn’t have to leave him alone like that.” My voice cracked in pain as I screamed at the man who once was my life. It’s difficult now to see what I ever saw in him. He was cruel and cold and he never cared about John. John, my beautiful wonderful John trusted this man, believed in this man, like we all did. Where did this belief get anyone? John was dead, I was alone and Sherlock returned from death to a broken world that was better off without him.

“Mai, listen to me,” Sherlock started slowly, but I cut him off with my hand.

“I’m done listening to you Sherlock. I was your biggest fan, you know. I loved you, John loved you, and I loved him. Now he’s dead simply because he was searching too hard to find you when all you had to do was come back. Did you know John tried to kill himself?” Something flickered in Sherlock’s eyes, though I couldn’t tell if it was sadness or curiosity. For John’s sake, I begged it to be sadness.

“What?” Sherlock asked coldly. I bit my lip and ran my hands through my hair, avoiding the looks from the strangers at the funeral.

“It was before we were close. I was coming by to give him some coffee, see if he needed any help, when I heard the gunshot. I ran upstairs to find John with a gun to his head and a shot in the wall.” Sherlock’s face grew pale as I spoke, and I wondered what he was thinking.

“H-He was crying and kneeling on the ground. I begged him to put the gun down, but all he kept repeating was-,” my voice cut off as a sob worked its way up my throat at this memory. It had been one of the most terrifying moments of my life, second to the moment I saw John fall to the ground with a bullet in his chest.

“What? What was he repeating?” Sherlock asked, the ghost of terror etching into his voice. It was the closest I had ever seen to emotion on his face other than annoyance.

I took a deep breath and looked up at him, the man who was once my idol, with tear-filled eyes.

“He just kept saying he’s dead. Over, and over again, he whispered that, and no matter how many times I begged him to say something else, he wouldn’t. Eventually, he put the gun on the ground and let me take him to the kitchen. I made him a cuppa and tucked him into bed. That’s when he told me everything. He hated himself. He blamed your death on himself and thought that if he shot himself-,” I stopped again, unable to go on. Sherlock seemed to understand, and tried to take my hand. I flinched away from him and sent him a glare, my tears dampening the threatening appeal to it.

“Stay away from me. My husband is dead because of you. I hope you’re happy with yourself, Sherlock Holmes. Oh, I’m sorry, happiness is an emotion. You’re not very good with those, are you?” With that, I spun on my heel and walked out of the funeral home with as much dignity as I could muster.

The second I stepped out the door I broke into a sprint, ignoring the awkward stares from the people outside. I tore across the parking lot and jumped into my car, wiping the tears from my eyes. In the back of my mind, I knew it wasn’t safe to be driving in this condition, but all sense of rationality disappeared when I yelled at Sherlock.

I managed to make it home alive, luckily. I didn’t hesitate to run up to the flat where Katie and I lived. The tears returned when I made it to the kitchen, large sobs that tore through my entire body.

I felt broken. John, the kindest man I knew, was dead. If I had been faster... To be honest, if I hadn’t helped him to find Sherlock, none of this would have happened. I should have ignored him that day in the café. If I hadn’t been such a goddamned fan I could have let him be and he’d be alive right now.

No, my mind whispered harshly. It was Sherlock’s fault. He should have come back sooner. If you hadn’t been there, John would have killed himself months before when he actually died. It was all Sherlock’s fault. The darkness took over my grief-ridden mind and I found myself in front of my laptop with twitter open.

I wasn’t fully aware of what I was doing until it was done. By then, I realized how awful it was, but I couldn’t change anything now. Rage and guilt and greed had taken over. Just before my bloodshot eyes shut for the last time that day, I caught the words on my screen.

Consultingfangirl42: John Watson is dead. Sherlock Holmes is alive. John died looking for Sherlock while Sherlock did nothing. I am officially done with Sherlock Holmes. He killed my husband just as much as the man holding the gun. #IHateSherlockHolmes