Why live a life of nothing?
She'd failed him. She'd failed them. She'd failed all of them. She'd even failed herself. Now everyone was weeping, in despair, hoping for a miracle but nothing would come. All this, she blamed herself for all this. No one would ever think she had played a part in it, she was the only one who knew, along with him and his brother. But of course there was no point in that, for he was dead.
Molly Hooper. The one who failed the person she admired the most. She thought she could do it, he trusted her. She was so set on proving to him what she could do, for once actually be able to help him. Yet her confidence and admiration drove her senses on to the wrong path. If she couldn't have done it, she should have asked someone else to, but alas, there was no one else.
One would think his closest friends would be the most in despair, John, Mrs Hudson, or Lestrade even. No. They were wrong. Molly blamed herself the most. Every time Molly saw the forlorn and tired face of Lestrade, she blamed herself. The last time she saw John, who said he was moving away, his face was wrinkled with tiredness and sadness. She blamed herself for that. The last time she had seen Mrs Hudson, she was being taken to an old folks home. She had contracted a disease and had no one to care for her. She blamed herself for that, as well.
Even the cafè downstairs, Speedy's, was having less business than it used to have, it seemed.
Molly was never so alone before. Even though Sherlock wasn't the best person for company, he was still that presence. No matter how bad he treated her, she knew that was the only way he could be. That was Sherlock Holmes. Now she was the only one in the science lab most of the time. Lestrade and his division were having worse luck with cases. More unsolved ones, one would be surprised how much they depended on Sherlock.
John Watson had forced himself to move out. Not only had Mrs Hudson had to leave the flat, he just couldn't bear to stay there anymore. He had grown so used to Sherlock's nonsense. There was no more random gun shot sounds to come home to, no skull on the mantlepiece, no more science equipment on the table. No more severed heads to find in the fridge, it was no longer normal. Yes, John Watson had lived with in an environment where finding body parts strewn around the house was normal.
John had to find a new home, he refused to live with his sister. Her drinking habit had just become worse and worse, and she was known to be violent, and John didn't need that sort of thing. He had to go back to seeing the psychologist again. His blog? Well, he didn't have the heart to shut it down. It was all of his and Sherlock's memories. He certainly would never dream of shutting it down. Maybe sometime in the future when he was happy and settled down with a family, perhaps he'd forget about Sherlock? No, he would never do that... Right? He didn't even think he'd have a family.
John spent most of his days cooped up in his dark and dreary room. There was no more lovely landlord who would sit with him and spend Christmas and the New Year together. His current landlord barely talked and just cared about getting his payment. John's job? He'd gone through quite a few. He either quit or got fired. He really didn't have the motivation to stick to something. He just mourned for his old life back. He was so alone, and he owed Sherlock so much. However, he knew it was impossible. Nothing would get him back. Nothing at all.
As for Myrcroft? It seemed like it had not affected him at all, but that was only on the outside. As heartless as he may seem, it was his brother after all. The feeling of failing his younger sibling never left him. He too, was sure that nothing like that would have happened, so sure that Sherlock would 'win'. Yet he was wrong, and obviously thought too highly of his brother..
What's worse is that everything the reporter had said, everyone had believed it. That Sherlock was a fake. Everyone except John, Molly and Mrs Hudson of course. Even Lestrade was unsure of what to believe, he just didn't want to think about it. That last case, of the children with the sweets, was never solved, apart from the fact that Sally kept insisting Sherlock was the culprit. She would never let it go.
The people who believed Sherlock was a fake were probably happy Sherlock was gone. In fact, because Moriarty lay dead from where Sherlock jumped off the building had only added to the suspicion.
"S-Sherlock... I'm sorry, I failed you. I'm sorry... You were the only one." Molly whispered, voice cracking, bent over Sherlock's grave. It had been years since she had last been here. She had gotten married and planned to have a family. It never happened though, she was only recently divorced. She knew she would never really be happy with someone else. All these other men, they were just to distract her from her impossible goal, Sherlock. And now, after years of trying to forget him, she was at his grave again. There were no flowers apart from hers. John, Mrs Hudson and everyone else had probably forgotten about him. Maybe only Mycroft would visit once in awhile, then again,one can never tell with Mycroft.
"Breaking News: Young girl takes her life, second suicide in the past two weeks," John groaned as he walked past the television shop, its many small telly screens showing the news all at once. It was raining and he had just come back from the convenience store. He wished he hadn't taken this route, now though. It just triggered more memories of him and Sherlock. He hadn't thought of him in such a long time. He was old now, and barely survived with the little money he earned from his many different part time jobs. He thought that there was nothing worth living for, but he knew the pain others would feel if he himself took his life, even though he thought nobody cared. He wouldn't do what Sherlock had done, even though Sherlock did it to save John, John would never know. And he would never never understand why. He really had no friends, now. Even Mrs Hudson had passed away from old age. The only person he talked to was Mycroft, who would sometimes help him with his monetary needs or invite him over for a meal. Those headlines just brought back happy memories of his time with Sherlock, and he wished for it to really just happen all over again but he knew however much he wished, he knew it could never happen. He was lucky it was raining, so his tears just looked like the rain was streaming down his face.
Who knew a simple loss could bring so much damage?
If only things had been different...
So guys, if you have a friend who is depressed or shows signs of suicide or that person is YOU, take this as an example. C'mon, there ARE people who care, even if you think there aren't. Suicide is not an option. 3
A/N: Hey guys,I have a lot to say to you lot ^^; You may be wondering why I haven't updated my "You Can't Kill Fear" story. Well, I am in the middle of a chapter now, and I really want to continue, but school is crazy. We have sooooo much homework so I can barely get anything done. This oneshot is just me taking a break from work and projects. I needed to get this idea out of my head so uhm... Yeah e-e I hope you enjoyed this... And I hope it wasn't confusing? Heheh...
*Also, if you want to know when I'll be continuing "You Can't Kill Fear", probably mid-October which is when holidays start.*
Shhhhhhhahdar out!