A Photo Of John

Chapter 25

Harry looked back at him and looked at the floor.

" Yeah. That's me."

Harriet Watson had a very close resemblance to John. She had a sandy blonde pixy cut, and his dark blue eyes. She wore loose fitting jeans and a clean blue shirt.

She looked back up at him.

" You're Sherlock right? John told me about you."

Her words slurred as she tipped a little to the side.

Sherlock's face hardened.

" You're drunk."

" Maybe. Maybe I'm just...fucked. I'm always fucked."

She sat down onto John's bed and started to cry.

" John...tried to make me quit...but I'm just a fuck. A stupid fuck."

Sherlock did not pity her.

" You never visited him. Not for months. He was your brother."

Sherlock walked closer until he was level with her mascara stained face.

" He loved you."

She sobbed harder at this, shaking like a leaf and soaking her cheeks.

" Unless you have the details of his funeral for me, which I highly doubt in your condition, you have to leave."

She looked up, shocked.

" But John would've-"

" John's dead."

Her eyes widened.

" You could have stayed here when you had the chance. Now go, before you stain his bedsheets with your mascara."

She stood up quickly and grabbed her purse.

" He was right! You're a bloody sociopath."

He grabbed her arm roughly and pulled her closer. He dropped his voice to a whisper.

" Incorrect. I just have a low tolerance for idiocy. It's time you thought about someone other then yourself."

Sherlock let go and snatched up a piece of paper, and jotted something down. He handed the slip to Harry.

" Here's my number, text me when you aren't under the influence. I would like the details for his funeral. I will do the eulogy, I seemed to have spent more time with him in his last days then anyone else. The door is that way."

She grabbed the paper and stormed out of the flat, slamming the door behind her.

He collapsed onto the couch.

" Egocentric fool."

He mumbled under his breath.

Sherlock remembered the first time he hugged John, it was so lovely, so warm.

He looked around the empty flat, and suddenly felt nauseous.

He ran into the bathroom and felt his stomach lurch forward as various shades of green poured out of his mouth and into the toilet.

His throat was scratching and was hurting horribly.

It seemed like the vomiting would never stop, and he started to cry.

When he finally finished, he gripped the toilet tightly for support.

John.

So kind and beautiful.