I don't own anything, as sad a truth as that is especially in regards to this amazing show created by mad men.
The stinging, raw, clawing sensation impaling his metaphorical heart spread like a disease that coated his limbs with lead, heavier than life itself which was fine with the man who had no desire left in his entire being to move even a millimeter. Worse than the moisture that rapidly accumulated to blur his vision was the scene those eyes were witnessing—reality at its cruelest perfection as the flames and slabs of twisted metal contrasted with the brilliance of the sapphire sky, remnants of luggage strewn about the tarmac being neglected by the emergency services responding to the call.
His utterly brilliant mind fails to fall back into his sanctuary even though the sensory overload is more than every experience from his life combined, the devastation swallowing his world whole with no remorse for its gluttony; he is forced to endure the screams of agony, piercing cries of despondency from those surrounding him, their attention locked to the scene playing in front of so many through the clear windows. Beside him he hears the heavy sobs and words of denial from the man he calls his best friend and his best friend's wife, their voices wrapped up and delivered to the chaos he refuses to acknowledge even though every single element around him pleads to the logic in him to accept that it's gone—all of it, gone.
The bright sun cascades onto those bodies giving into despair, highlighting prone forms collapsed in grief on the floor or on the bodies of those trying to be strong who were utterly failing and yet he stood straight, shell-shocked, heart pummeling in his ears, able to comprehend but oh so unwilling to embrace the reality. None of the 120 people waiting with smiles and eagerness at the gate to welcome home loved ones had entertained the slim fantasy of the aircraft bursting apart in the loud, crashing aftereffect of something gone awry. He certainly didn't.
Thoughts were running with wild abandon through his mind, tripping over the glaringly obvious actuality that was ripping his very soul with its simplicity. The sterile ticking of the second hand of his watch enveloped his realization that his Heart was not beating anymore—not his physical heart to his colossal sorrow, but his Heart: the only person in the world to hold him and accept him entirely, give him her absolute, undying, unyielding love, the only one to make him want to see the good in people just to make her smile, the woman he pledged from his very essence in complete sincerity and vulnerability to protect and love forever…
The reality sucked the air from his lungs, casting him brutally into the world of those weeping to face his truth as the flames of the mangled mess were being extinguished: his Heart was no longer beating. His wife would never come home. He would never again hear her lilting laugh. Never again twirl her smiling face back to him as they danced. Never again cradle her body close to his as they fell asleep.
Never again feel his heart leap and offer up to her a warm smile in response to her daily affirmation of 'I love you'.
Sherlock's petrified body crumples to his knees as a choking sob escapes his throat, tears spilling over while his eyes never leave the glorious destruction of everything he held tightly.
"…Molly."
A/N: Let me know your opinions if you wanna. My writing skills (those not pertaining to history essays) are rusty, so let me know of any glaring errors you see please!
Thanks for reading :)