Starving; A Sherlock Fanfic

To The Grave

Sherlock's POV

    My nightmares had gotten increasingly worse in the last few weeks. All of them were about my ex. He was the one person who was ever able to truly terrify me. The nightmares were, obviously, irrational seeing as he'd been dead for years. Yet he still followed me. It was like he was behind every closed door, in every dark alley, and haunting every quiet room. Every silent, empty moment, I waited for him to find me.
     John and I had made the decision that I needed to find closure, in some way or another. After my attempt, I never saw him again, I didn't go to the funeral nor did I visit his grave. In my mind, he was still exactly how I last saw him, angry, cold, dangerous, and alive. John mentioned taking me to his grave, once I was ready, of course. One day, in early January, I decided I was.
     We called a cab, and sat silently in the backseat for the anxiety inducing forty-five minute drive to Violet Grove Cemetery. There, a grave with a name I thought I'd never have to see again would be standing. A tribute placed by his loved ones, a tribute to the monster that almost killed me.
   The car pulled up to the iron fence surrounding the cemetery. Inside were hundreds of headstones, many had flowers or trees planted by them. John got out of the cab and payed the driver, and gestured for me to follow, and I did.
    It was unsettling silent as the freezing wind blew against my face. We walked along the path, frost covered grass crunching underneath our feet. My hands shook inside my pockets, fumbling absentmindedly with the cord of my headphones. I shouldn't have come here. Finally, we found the headstone.
   A grey marker with weaving vines carved up the sides, and bearing a name that haunted me. David Landson was etched in bold letters across the front. Snowdrop flowers grew on either side of the grave. I studied the grave for a moment, recalling the memories of him.
    The way his fingers ran through my hair at night, or the way they bruised my wrists. His voice, calm and gentle, or loud and demanding. Listening to his heartbeat with my head on his chest and my own heart pounding as I barricade the door behind me. His cologne on our first date, and on the shirt I held against my bleeding ribs.
    I fell to my knees, reaching out towards the headstone, fingers barely brushing the monument to the monster I once loved. The lonely teenager inside of me still longed desperately for him. For his touch, his lips, his shouting, his violence, anything. And yet I knew what he had done to me, I knew it was wrong. I hated him for that. John rested his hand on my shoulder, pulling me back to reality.
    "... I don't think I can forgive him, John..." I nearly whispered.
    "You don't have to. You never have to." He lowered to the ground next to me, I slumped into him.
    "What he always haunts me... If he never gets out of my head..."
    "I don't know," He sighed, "But I do know that I will be here, and I'll do the best I can to ease that weight. I promise."
    I nodded silently, eyes fixed on the engraved name. The snow began to fall around us, but neither of us moved for some time. My nose and fingers were numb when I finally decided I was ready to leave.
    I raised myself, and John followed suit. His fingers brushed against mine, and almost instinctually intertwined. Neither of us made mention of that either. I took one final look at the tombstone before turning away, hand in hand with John Watson, not him. I was not the same helpless boy I used to be, I never again would be. I paused one final time and gazed at the snow covered cemetery.
    "Goodbye, David..." I said aloud, as if I was just now leaving him behind me. Then again, maybe I was. Maybe I was free at last.
    I made my way back down the winding pathway to the street, not releasing John's hand until we were back safe and sound in 221B Baker Street. Safe and sound.

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Very sorry if this sucked!