Warning: Character death
John wakes up in a sweat. Nightmares of the day have been consuming him for months. The scene would play through his head, and just before the jump, John would wake up, whispering his name over and over. Sherlock, Sherlock. He'd stay there for a while, then eventually get up and start his quotidian routine: wake up, get ready, go to work, come home, watch telly, and fall asleep on the sofa. But today was different. Today was much much worse. Today was the two year anniversary of his Sherlock's death.
The first few months, he was in denial. He didn't think Sherlock would actually do something like that, no, no of course not, it was just a dream, he said, he's just on another trip and he'll be back. But days and days and days piled up, and reality hit him in the face. Hard. He moved out of Baker Street and found a little flat for himself. He stopped his blog, and lost most means of social contact.
The only person who he kept in contact with was Mycroft, though they rarely met. He'd check in on him every so often to see how he's dealing, and he'd say he's doing okay. But this is Sherlock Holmes' brother, it's not hard for him to deduce his lies.
So he asked his brother for help.
A ringing noise swept through the room, making the tall, svelte bloke jump. Sighing he picked up the phone.
"What is it, Mycroft? Have you spoken to John yet? How is he? And why are you calling, you know I prefer to text..."
"Oh Sherlock, you sound just like a kid again. And I would've texted, but I wanted to make sure everything was going well."
"Yes, yes, I'm fine. John?"
"That's what I wanted to talk about. I'm worried about him, and I wanted to know whether I should interfere."
"Worried?"
"Yes. He seems very depressed, which I expected, but I don't know how far it will go. Honestly, he even moved out of Baker Street!"
...
"Sherlock?"
"I'm thinking."
...
"How long do you need to-"
"THINKING, Mycroft."
"Alright, alright."
...
...
...
"Just... keep a close eye on him. Make sure he doesn't do anything stupid. And if he tries to, tell him everything."
"Yes, that seems-"
"No, Mycroft. Everything."
"Understood."
How are you feeling today, John? MH
Like unicorns and rainbows. JW
I'm sorry. Would you like to talk about it? MH
It's fine. JW
Sighing, he clicks off his phone and lays down on the couch. It's not much of a couch, really. It's not like the one back in 221b. Although he never spent much time sitting. Every damn minute Sherlock would drag him to a new case. He didn't mind much, though. He got to spend time with him. Something he can't do anymore.
A tear falls as all the memories come flooding back in.
It was pouring hard outside. Sherlock sighed. John always loved rain. It was such a stupid thing to remember now. But it was... cute. Every time they were out John would refuse the umbrella. "Are you sure, John? Your hair will get wet." "Well thank you, Captain Obvious." "I'm not a captain, John." Followed by a punch in the arm and a laugh that made Sherlock's heart ache.
Oh, the heart. What a lovely disaster.
A clash of thunder struck. Thunder. Sherlock was always afraid of thunderstorms. Such a strange thing for a man like him to be afraid of. "You do realize it can't hurt you, right?" A laugh. "Oh, shut up." A smile. "Never."
Oh. how he would kill to see him smile again.
...
Oh.
The storm screamed louder and louder. Or maybe it was just him.
He kept thinking of John. How long did he have to hide?
He couldn't take it anymore.
He was done.
John.
...
I'm so sorry.
Goodbye. SH, JW
Silence.
Two hearts, one heart, breaking apart.
One held grief, and two held love.