─ tiny dancer, s.h.

xv. Why us?

The days all blurred into one. There was no telling what week it was, because it always felt like the day after it happened. The pain was still fresh in his mind, the moment the light disappeared from her eyes. The moment he knew, she was gone.

But of course, not really. At least, not in his drug filled fantasy land. There, she was still happy, alive, and by his side. He hadn't known the harsh, brutal reality of real life without her. Not yet. But at some point, he was going to have to snap out of it. Both John and Hope knew that he wouldn't be able to handle it, but he had to stop at some point. Both of them refused to let him kill himself over the grief. To them, it wasn't an option.

Of course, Hope had been informed straight away. When she was told, she too couldn't handle the news, so Melody's parents took her in, and they all grieved together.

Whereas Sherlock just isolated himself. He wouldn't let anybody see him, not even Mrs Hudson. Not even John. Because he just couldn't face anyone. Of course he knew that she was gone, but was he going to face it? No. He even admitted it to himself.

I. Am. A. Coward. And in a way, he was. Because he didn't face his feelings. But who could blame him? People always assumed that the reason he didn't show emotion was because he didn't have any, when in reality, it was the opposite. He had too many to handle them. And when all of the grief, the sadness, the complete and utter despair piled on top of that, it sent him over the edge.

But he didn't care. Of course he didn't. Because she wasn't there. She wasn't next to him when he woke up in the mornings after he'd pumped himself full of drugs. She wasn't there to dance with him, even though there was no music. She wasn't there to randomly come behind him and hug him, even if he was in his mind palace, just to remind him that she was still there. She wasn't there to reassure him, whenever he doubted himself.

She wasn't there, not anymore.

And that broke him.

But he knew there was nothing he could do about it, so...that's where the drugs came in. Like a life jacket for the grief that he was drowning in. But that life jacket wouldn't save him. Not this time. In fact, it would only sink him further. But then there was the lifeboat. John and Hope. They decided that enough was enough, and that they weren't going to let him throw away the rest of his life.

"This is not what Melody would have wanted for you, mate. You know it's not." John said as he aimlessly walked around the cluttered living room, wanting to clean up, but not knowing where to start. Would he start with the coffee table littered with used needles and white power? Or the abandoned experiments in the kitchen that consisted of rotting eyeballs and a half decomposed head that smelt like the whole of London's waste? "You have to get yourself sorted, otherwise you won't have only lost Melody, but everyone, and everything."

"I can't, I just...I can't. I can't live in a world without her. This is why sentiment is wrong. I knew it all along, but I let it get in my way, I let her get in my way. And you do know the worst-" Sherlock looked up from John for a minute, trying to keep the tears at bay. "Do you know the worst thing about it?" He looked back to John, who had stopped walking, and was just watching Sherlock. "The worst thing is that I don't regret it. I don't regret her. I would never."

John looked sympathetically at his friend, even though he knew that Sherlock despised being pitied. So he gathered all of his confidence, stood up straight, paced over to Sherlock, and gave him a firm slap to the face. "I know this hurts, trust me I do, but you need to snap out of it, get up and carry on living your life. If not for yourself, then for others who can't. Her. People aren't just going to keep giving you the benefit of the doubt some ten years after your girlfriend died. Which is why you need to do something about your problem now. Because I will not let you throw your life away because of this. I won't."

Sherlock looked at John for a minute, before nodding his head. "What was I thinking? Doing all of this?" He said in a small, soft voice. One that John had seldom heard in the entirety of his friendship with the consulting detective. "She would hate it. She would hate me. In fact, she probably does. She would probably have slapped me, just like you did, and tell me to get off my lazy arse and do something productive with my life." This was probably the most vulnerable side of Sherlock that John had seen, and he wasn't sure if he liked it.

Sherlock took a deep breath and rubbed his face, standing up and making his way towards the bathroom, albeit stumbling a little from the drugs that were still in his system. Before he disappeared into the hallway, he stopped and turned his head a little ways behind him. "Thank you, John."

John just stood there, watching as Sherlock walked into the bathroom. He had only heard him say it a handful of times, and it still shocked him. But nevertheless, he didn't dwell on it, but instead took another look around the room, before opening a bin liner, and getting to work. Within an hour, Hope was round, helping John carefully dispose of the drugs and experiments, and speaking with Sherlock, trying to keep his mind off of the withdrawal symptoms that were soon probably going to be rearing their ugly head.

Five months later

"Sir, there's someone here to see you. He says that you would know him?" A female police officer spoke, poking her head round the door to his office. He thought for a moment, before speaking.

"Okay, thank you, just send him in." The woman nodded, retreating from the doorway, closing the door behind her. A minute later, there was a knock. "Come in." The door opened to reveal Mike Stamford, who hadn't changed one bit. Still wearing the same beige coat and holding onto the same black leather briefcase as the day he introduced him to John. "Mike?"

"Hello, Detective Inspector Holmes." Said Mike cheekily. "Gosh, I never thought i'd see the day where you actually ended up working for the police." Sherlock chuckled and shook his head slowly.

"I didn't think i'd see the day either, but after everything that happened, John and Hope thought that I needed something normal in my life, something stable, so Greg offered me his job, as he was getting promoted." Mike's eyes narrowed slightly in confusion.

"I've missed something, haven't I? What happened?" Sherlock took a deep breath. Come on, it shouldn't be this hard to explain. It happened nearly half a year ago, get a grip.

"Um, my girlfriend, Melody, was murdered while we were on a case of sorts." Mike's eyes widened.

"Oh god, I'm so sorry, I had no ide-"

"No, no, it's fine. It was six months ago, so I'm getting over it. Slowly, but I'm getting there." Sherlock's office was silent for a couple of minutes, both of them saying nothing.

"So, how's John?"

"He's good, he's got a girlfriend now, Hope, which is actually Melody's best friend, so it kind of worked out well." Both men gave a small laugh. "Rosie is growing very fast. Even though I have no genetic attachment to her, I feel that she takes after me quite a lot in the development department. She's very clever, and extremely witty. To be honest, I don't think I would have been able to make it through any of this without her cheering me up."

"You sound different. You sound....normal. And I don't mean that in a bad way, but you've changed. A lot." Sherlock smiled a Stamford.

"I know. It's the emotions. They eventually got the better of me." He chuckled.

"Well, I'll let you get back to work. Say hello to John for me." Both of them stood up and walked over to the door. Sherlock opened the door and let Mike out, closing it softly behind him and walked back over to his desk, sitting in the leather chair behind it.

He couldn't help but think about what Mike had said. 'You've changed.' It was true, he had changed. And as he looked around his office at Scotland Yard, he realised that all of it, was because of Melody, who he wished he could just hold close, once more.