Dear best friend
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Ongoing5m
Last published Thu, Aug 8, 2024
this is an alternative of how Sherlock's funeral would be after the fall and what would John say, had he had the strength to do so. Enjoy~
Disclaimer: I do not own the characters from Sherlock Holmes, they belong to Arthur Conan Dole
All Rights Reserved
#3
mshudson
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Simply exhausted of all colour. Wasted. I didn't lie down. I didn't blink. I just sat there, staring into nothingness, waiting for something to materialise into my vision. Something. Anything. I had kept Sherlock away. Kept him away from his death, for so long. So long. Little did I know, all he needed was a little jump from a rooftop. It wouldn't take me long either, would it? I wasn't going to die. I needed relief. I needed disconnection. Disorientation. Oblivion. Ignorance. Because ignorance is bliss. It was in my hand, now. Like vengeance disguised in forgiveness. Breathe. Steady. Hold. Control. . . . Now. Pain shot through my arms and my palms, like my nails were being pulled out. It spread like fire, like ice cold fire, still burning like coals. My limbs were numb. I fell onto the bed, my mouth pressed into the sheet at an odd angle. I was too fatigued to change it. Too drowned to change it. Drowned too deep. To change anything. I'd never done this. Was I going to die? It'd be better if I died. What would that feel like? Flying? Better that this I suppose. Don't you think, Sherlock? [TW: IF YOU ARE STRUGGLING WITH PTSD SCHIZOPHRENIA DEPRESSION ANXIETY PANIC DISORDERS DRUGS OR ARE TRIGGERED BY ANYTHING ELSE PLEASE PROCEED WITH DISCRETION. GRAPHIC DESCRIPTIONS OF NEAR- SUICIDAL THOUGHTS AND VIOLENCE AND ZERO CLOSURE LIKE LITERALLY NO CLOSURE]
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