John Watson internationally smuggles tea (![[info]](https://www.insanejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} imhisblogger) wrote in ![[info]](https://www.insanejournal.com/img/community.gif){kind=small} wariscoming,@ 2012-07-18 01:06:00 |
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What:Failing to cope.
When:Tonight, the first night without Sherlock.
Where:
Warnings:TBA, angsty angst angst. ANGST. Reichenfeels.
The death of Sherlock Holmes had hit John hard. This was not the first death he'd seen, he was in Afghanistan for goodness sake he had seen many people be killed and die before but this was his best friend. Sherlock was so dear to him, it didn't matter what the detective did. John would always love him. Did love him. It didn't matter if he was cranky or cruel, John loved him like a brother and he knew somewhere deep inside Sherlock cared for him too.
He didn't know how long it had been, or how he'd even gotten back to their flat. All he knew was they were home, Sherlock was with him as it was meant to be. He held the detectives hand for god knew how long. Hours probably. Florence was there, but John had barely said a word to her. Barely looked at her. Couldn't. He only looked up if she moved something of Sherlock's and his blond brows furrowed worriedly. He knew where everything the man kept was, it was funny really. He knew more of where Sherlock's things were then his own. When Florence tried to lift something near Sherlock's arm chair he raised his voice at her in a heart wrenching panic out of habit. He would apologize for shouting later.
John hadn't changed since shooting Moriarty. Hadn't washed, hadn't eaten, and hadn't slept. He couldn't do anything but feel ill as he looked over at the corpse of his friend. It had to be a trick. Sherlock couldn't just leave him alone. But he had. He was lying there lifelessly beside him, not breathing, eyes shut and growing colder by the minute. "Why." He murmured as he watched him lie there. If he squinted he could almost pretend Sherlock was just sleeping the way he'd been cleaned up. Sherlock had not only died, but he'd taken a piece of John's heart with him. He hadn't even been able to cry yet.
I saw you yesterday
your eyes were the color
of some kind of gray
I hear what you're saying
please, don't let me go
Every second that ticked by was a reminder of the deafening quiet Sherlock had left behind. Finally at some point, John just stopped trying to hold on. His shoulders shook with the force of his sobs. "I could have helped. I-I could have..Why didn't you just let me. Why did you leave me alone? Damn you Sherlock. Damn-" The tears were too overwhelming anymore, John couldn't even finish what he set out to say.
People always said time made things better. Time would cause Sherlock to fade into a fond never-forgotten memory. The idea that he would ever numb the ache Sherlock has left behind was incomprehensible.