As I'm dreaming,
will you meet me there?
As I'm dreaming,
will you see me there?
December 20, 2014
It's been a few years since...
I haven't got much to say today, except, well…
Blogging hurts too much.
December 21, 2014
I'm not even quite sure what to write in here. Ella tells me it'll help me. I really don't see how.
Mycroft came by again today, trying to get me to leave 221B, saying that I needed a "change in scenery." I almost shut the door in his face.
Nothing could make me leave here. No matter what, I don't believe I'll ever move away from here. I don't know why, though.
That's a lie. I know exactly why. It's a stupid why, but a why nonetheless.
Hope.
The stupid bloody thing, sneaking its way into the most impossible of situations.
Like hoping your dead best friend could come back to life. Atleast so you could tell him everything you forgot to say while he was alive.
It's keeping me tied down to this place. I think I've even still got a few fingers in a ziplock in the freezer. I haven't the heart to do anything with them.
It's these little things.
A friend atop the mantle. He listens to me.
Little comments on my blog. "John, fetch me my revolver." "I didn't steal the bus. I borrowed it." "There's some cans of beer in the fridge. Next to the feet."
Tiny bullet-sized holes in the walls, next the the yellow smiley face.
I hate this place, but I love this place.
December 22, 2014
Wow, I wrote a lot last time. Ella will be pleased.
Harry came by for a visit. Got herself a new girlfriend. Didn't bring her round though.
Had a nice chat. Talked about the job, our friends. You know, the ones that are left.
I've been back at my job at the medical clinic for the past couple months. It's good there; I say hullo to Sarah every morning.
It's a simple life. No running about, no dead bodies-well, not too many. Steady. No twists and turns and spoilt milk. The kind of life I've always wanted.
That's a lie. Sorry. I know I should be telling the truth in here.
Honestly, I miss all of it. The running around, the blood samples, the boot scuffs and tan lines and hair pins and speckled blondes and aluminum crutches.
I miss life with him. It's so clam and quiet now. Almost eerie. Why did he have to-
I need to stop asking that question. I need to stop asking that question. I need to stop asking that question.
Ella says I'm supposed to repeat things three times if I want them to stick in my head. He didn't have to repeat anything. He remembered everything on first si-
Why does everything always tie back to him? It's not fair.
I can't bring myself to go from this place, yet I hate this place for being what it is. I can imagine the piles of books, the bloody man with a harpoon, the Christmas party, the head in the fridge. This place is full of memories, memories of just him.
I want to go, but I need to stay.
I hate it. I miss him. I need him.
I don't know. I don't know what I'm feeling anymore. Only how much. The extent. The depth.
And what I feel is tremendous, overbearing, cumbersome, filling, disheartening, hopeful.
It fills my heart yet leaves me feeling empty.
I don't know what's real anymore. I don't know what's true to my heart because I don't know where my heart stands anymore. I feel powerful, weak, confident, pitiful.
And it's all because of one man.
It seems I have fallen into something I wasn't prepared for. Something I don't know the identity of.
I've fallen in something with Sherlock Holmes.
A/N: Hi everyone! ^.^ It's ANRKawaii and this is my first Sherlock fic! (eep! ^.^) I'm liking how it's turning out, and I think it's going in a good direction, especially because I'm really focusing on how I'm writing. X) I'm totally open to any advice, story ideas, and pretty much anything you wanna say ^.^ I'd definitely appreciate critique of any sort that aren't too mean. xD
Thankies for reading and tons of love!
R&R please!