The silence was deafening and the time froze as I reached forward willing myself to grab his hand, to stop this nightmare. The reality stung as I realized I could only watch his body falling, he seemed to be falling in slow motion and I thought for a second that it was just my imagination. Maybe this was some terrible nightmare and I just needed to wake up. I was wrong though and I found myself running towards the body that now lay ever so dead on the ground. The blood covered his face and dampened his normally perfect hair. I heard someone crying and soon realized that it was me, the tears burned my face and blurred the horrible scene in front of me. I reached to him calling his name, he couldn't be dead, he just couldn't. I was pushed back though and was only allowed to stand there taking screaming out the name of the one man I loved. There I had admitted it, this man was everything to me. I could never tell him until that moment, I hadn't even fully realized it myself, but I knew now. I loved Sherlock Holmes. It was too late though and I would never be able to tell him. I sat on the pavement where his blood had spilled and cried. I lost track of time and before I knew it the moon had come out and there was no one around. I couldn't will myself to move, I just wanted to stay right there where the man I loved had died.

I awoke to the light tap of a hand on my shoulder and when I looked up I saw Lestrade standing above me.

"You alright?" He asked, although he obviously already knew the answer.

"Yeah, fine" Was all I was able to manage. He reached out for my hand and helped me up off the pavement. I stopped for a second, staring at the ground feeling the tears fill my eyes once again.

"He once told me I was his friend, his only friend", I nearly whispered. Lestrade didn't say anything, he just gave me a knowing nod and started to walk away. I followed him and somehow we were suddenly back in 221B. I didn't remember the cab ride or how we got to the flat but I somehow ended up in the shower. I couldn't will myself to function, every small thing was a challenge. I was able to dress and when I came back out of the bathroom I found a cup of tea and note laying in the counter.

John,

Sorry for the loss, I know Sherlock meant the world to you. I talked to Mycroft and the funeral is planned for tomorrow. We both think it would be a good idea if you went and maybe talked about Sherlock a bit. I understand if you don't want to, but just thought I'd ask. Once again I'm so sorry for the loss.

Lestrade

I stared at the note and had to reread it at least 5 times to comprehend what it said. It didn't feel real, it felt like I was in a fog. I sighed and set the note down before going and sitting in my arm chair. I sipped my tea and starred at the couch. I could almost see him lying there, his hands steeped beneath his chin as he drifted off to his mind palace, mumbling something about a murderer. I forced my eyes to move away from the couch and I found them looking at the wall. The gunshots were still there and the longer I stared at them, the more I was sure that I could almost hear him yelling.

"Bored John, I'm Bored!"

I smiled to myself, before a loud crash broke me from my daydream and reality came rushing in. I looked down and realized I had dropped my tea and the glass was shattered across the floor. I stared at the glass and decided that it may as well have been my heart. I stood and was about to clean up the mess when I thought better and walked to my bedroom

When I awoke I wasn't in my bedroom anymore, I was in Sherlock's. I had no idea how I had gotten there but as I readjusted myself I realized the pillow was damp with my tears and my eyes felt raw from crying. I pulled the covers up tighter around me and felt Sherlock's scent fill my senses. I closed my eyes and drifted to sleep whispering to a long lost Sherlock.