A/N: I'm sorry. I should just not be allowed to listen to music any more. It gives me waaaaaay too many ideas. But HEY, you guys get angst! Yaaaaaaaaay angst, :D
DISCLAIMER: I do not own My Immortal, nor Sherlock, please do not sue me!
I'm so tired of being here,
Suppressed by all my childish fears.
And if you have to leave,
I wish that you would just leave.
'Cause your presence still lingers here.
And it won't leave me alone.
"SHERLOCK!" And then he is falling, falling, falling...
Panting, heart pounding, John sits up in bed. His cheeks are wet and his eyes are burning. "Dammit," he sobs.
The nightmares had been coming every night without fail ever since the Fall. And John was bloody tired of it.
He missed Sherlock, that wasn't it. But this was like Afghanistan all over again. This time, there was no one who could fix him. It was infuriating.
If he was being honest, he was pissed at Sherlock. He was pissed at Moriarty, too, since contrary to popular opinion, he wasn't a total idiot. John had figured out that Moriarty was the cause of Sherlock's suicide a few months after it happened. Mycroft had never confirmed it, of course, but John was still confident in his analysis.
But Sherlock...had left him. That makes him sound selfish, he realizes that, but it's true. Now John is shattered all over again.
The revolver is sitting in the drawer of his bedside. And some nights he imagines himself taking it out and pressing the barrel to his temple. He imagines pulling the trigger. And most of all, John Watson imagines being free.
Truthfully, the nightmares aren't even the half of it. Even when awake, John's mind plays with him. He hears violin playing in the middle of the night. Sometimes he swears he can see Sherlock sulking on the sofa.
A little voice in the back of his head nags him that this is abnormal and extremely dangerous. That voice sounds an awful lot like Ella and John opts to ignore it. His grip on reality is slippery, yes, but who's isn't?
He gets phone calls, sometimes, from Greg. Somehow the DI thinks that John is capable of solving cases like he could. John always refuses, politely, but it grates on him.
The world seems to have moved on from Sherlock Holmes. He can't.
And if that wasn't unfair, well...John wasn't sure what was fair anymore.
A/N: I'm sorry this is so short! Hopefully the future chapters will be a little longer, but then again, this was kind of a prologue. Please review and...
DFTBA darlings, :)