It felt like someone had punched him straight in the stomach and he couldn't breathe. Sherlock was gone again. Sherlock had given him hope and then stripped it away like a bandage. John didn't know how to begin healing, the wound was too fresh. He felt her embrace and very nearly crumbled again. It was unfair. Sherlock wasn't supposed to die again, John was supposed to be able to save him this time. They were supposed to be partners for life. He had this big plan you see. All of it involved living out his life contently as Sherlock's partner in crime, being there to blog his achievements and learn everything he could about the mysterious detective. Now all that was gone again. He was left empty and alone, without purpose.
What was he to do now? Where did he go? Life before Sherlock was empty, was that what he was destined for? A life of emptiness again? He couldn't do it anymore. Sherlock was his reason for waking up in the morning and being interested in life. The man was always so damn engaging, John couldn't help but be intrigued.
He was unsure how long he'd been crying, but he couldn't stop it anymore. Still, he tried to live in a world of denial though somewhere deep down in his heart he knew. He knew Sherlock would never wake up. John would never see those piercing blue eyes anywhere except his nightmares.
"I can't." He was lost. His mind was clouded by pain and remorse. He was heart broken. "Please..don't ask that of me." He breathed shakily. Twice now, twice he'd lost him. How could anyone expect anything more from him? He'd given all he could. There was nothing left but the shell of a man formerly known as John Watson.