I spend my nights longing for you to come home. I prayed for you to come back to me Sherlock. Every. Single. Day. But you didn't come home. You didn't come back. So I must come to you. I can picture you on the roof, falling, leaving me, dying. I can picture the sound and sight of you hitting the ground, the thud, the blood trickle from your forehead. I can still feel the blood draining from my face, my heart racing, my screams, and later my gut wrenching sobs. I don't think I'll ever move past seeing this when I close my eyes. My therapist ask me today to tell her if I were to die what I would say in my final seconds of life. The first answers that popped into my head was finally, I lied to her. People tell me I am a brave man but without you I'm just a shell of such. Is it so wrong to be this way? To want to be with you so badly? When you were alive I never got to say I love you, never got to kiss you, never got to save you. You saved me Sherlock, made my limp go away (it's returned), made me whole again, like before the war but even better. I owe you everything yet you are not alive for me to give you such. I struggle to keep from thinking of jumping too but I've given in. My revolver has found a home in my contemplating hands. You gave my life color and meaning and once you left it all begin to seep away. I love you so much.
Love, John Watson
I place the note before his headstone, setting a rock on top to keep it from blowing away. Then, I begin my final trip to St. Bart's. I'm going to jump and maybe finally I'll get back to you.
YOU ARE READING
Johnlock Oneshots
FanfictionWarming myself up to write a Johnlock story! The cover is an original Strand Magazine illustration by Sidney Paget of Sherlock and John. I accept oneshot theme requests as long as their Johnlock.
