A/N: This hasn't been edited and I'm going to add on and edit it more later, but im just completely pooped out so here's a pile of sloppily put together feels. Pst I like constructive criticism.
Disclaimer thingy that you're supposed to do or something like that: ALL RIGHTS GO THE RESPECTFUL OWNERS I DIDN'T CREATE SHERLOCK PLEASE DONT HURT ME
Falling is just like flying.
There was blood. Lots of crimson red blood spilling on the pavement and drifting out like an ocean. His black coat folded out like a flower across it, and his scarf and eyes were matching with the same vibrant blue that made the blood look softer on his emotionless face. His curls were glued to his forehead by the blood, and there was hands surrounding him, grasping for his life. He laid there, lifeless. His body a puppet, moving around whichever way the hands brought him.
I remembered my gut dropping, and my throat being raw from shouting his name, and my eyes being blurry and unfocused as I ran to him. I felt as if I was running through molasses and time was purposefully lagging on me to pull me away from him. Our two worlds couldn't collide and I wouldn't be able to reach him again, to feel his cold hands against mine for the last time. At one point I felt the ground below me quiver, and I slammed to the ground, hearing the creaking of a bike pass me by as I tried to regain my balance. Steadying myself with the ground was a struggle, it didn't correspond with me, nothing did at the moment. The universe was against me and was determined to make me suffer.
Sherlock's body was still there, when I got up, but now there was a crowd of people pooling around him. Medics, nurses, citizens, for all I could remember it could've been all of England. The only words that were able to escape my mouth at first was "oh God" it was a repetition and never ending. My thoughts raced through my head trying to separate reality from fiction. After what was an eternity I reached my best friend, and held him. I scooped him up into my arms trying to hold on to what was left of him. I didn't care about the blood that surrounded me. I didn't care if it would stain my clothes. Or the fuss Mrs. Hudson would make when she saw it. I didn't care about anything I just wanted him. I wanted him safe in my arms, nuzzled against me and breathing. I wanted to feel his heart beating. I wanted him to open his eyes and look into my own and hold me the same way I was holding him.
I whispered into his ear knowing he wouldn't hear me.
"Sherlock." I choked
"Don't leave me, Sherlock" my arms tightened around him and my tears mixed with his blood and body. The moment was becoming a withering flower, folding up dying, and sulking in it's on fragility.
"Sherlock. Listen to me." my voice was so quiet I couldn't even hear myself.
"Don't leave me. Don't leave me here alone." I know I'm sobbing uncontrollably, and I know that they're going to pull me away from him soon.
"Sherlock, I love you. Please don't leave me you bastard" I feel their hands on me. They pull me away, dragging me away from Sherlock, just like the universe had planned. Something inside of me died. And I stopped crying because I didn't see the point in crying if he was no longer here.
I let them drag me away, and I watched as his body disappears in the crowd of people, as they try to fix his dead body. They covered me in a orange blanket that I once seen Sherlock in. I didn't object like he did, I just wrapped myself in it, breathing in all of the things that reminded me of Sherlock. That's when I fainted, because everything was too much, and my heart needed a break, because it was breaking inside.
"Except with a more permanent destination," I whisper under my breath.
After three years of torture and persistent suffering, I decided I would do it. I already left a note just as Sherlock had. I left one for Molly, Lestrade, and Mrs. Hudson explaining the reason for my action. I try not to think about what any of their reactions to the notes will be. I just hope they'll accept it, and let it be.
I stand on top of the same building that Sherlock was on and feel the breeze whisper through my short hair. It's relaxing and calm. I close my eyes and picture what it feels like to fly. To fly just as Sherlock had. To be free like a bird. Free from all the pain, and heart aches. A smile plays on my lips just thinking of it. I take a step to the ledge taking it all in. Taking in the a breathe of the city air, and all of it's pollutions. I breathe it out letting my pain follow with it. I inch closer towards the edge, and I can feel my senses tingling, waiting for the fall to come. It calms me. I feel like I'm in utter bliss. I'm unstoppable, and I could fall and not care.
I spread my arms and I pretend its bird wings and it'll lift me up and carry me to heaven with Sherlock. I lean over just as Sherlock had done, and let myself fall over the edge. The breeze is beautiful against my ears. And I feel calm and peaceful and everything's okay. I'm a bird. Free and careless and soaring in the sky.
When I hit the ground I'm greeted with darkness, and nothing. I know I am dead.
Falling is just like flying
John's funeral was held on March 12, 2014. He was buried next to Sherlock's grave. And when the funeral was over and the amount of people had simmered down. A tall black figure appeared from the grave yard, and visited his best friends grave.
"John." he whispered. "I'm sorry I didn't come back sooner." his voice cracked and he felt a lump in his throat, making it hard for him to produce words. "I'm sorry." his voice quivered and he was trying his hardest to hold back all of the tears puddling up in his eyes. He ran his fingers through his unruly, hair and began to sob. He wiped a tear astonished that he was really crying without trying to get what he wanted. Without manipulating someone. This only made him cry harder. And the sobs became uncontrollable. Sherlock Holmes couldn't put himself together. His hand were shaking and his world was collapsing on him, just as John's was. But now John's world was gone, because of him. It was his fault.
Sherlock collapsed to the ground unable to keep himself up. He cried at this grave and he let out a throat ripping sound that was unknown to Sherlock. He didn't know if it were a scream or a cry, but it perceived the lost of a loved one. He didn't know how long he stayed there at his friends grave, but he knew he wanted to stay there forever and never leave his side.
Sherlock remembered a famous quote from a poem and suddenly realizing the meaning of it. He whispered it under his breathe, relieving in stress held within him.
"Nothing gold can stay"
A/N: Ok that last part was kind of thrown together...so yeah ok