A/N: So this is extremely bad but I wanted to get something posted to see the response to it. Just a short, post-Reichenbach, Johnlock one-shot. I would really appreciate your opinions on it. Can't say I'll continue it but perhaps if I overcome my insane writers block I'll give it another look. Thanks and enjoy !
A thick layer of fog coats the ground of the graveyard. There is no breeze yet I'm chilled. As I stand up and brush the autumn leaves off my coat, I notice the birds singing. Why are they always so happy? Why should anyone be happy? It's the fourth time I've slept at his grave since, well you know. I see no reason to speak of this incident. Forgetting seems like the best way to deal with it yet I'm too afraid to lose him, which is stupid seeing as he's already gone.
I catch a cab back to the flat and quickly lock the doors. I'm not in the mood for conversation. I've done a bang up job of shutting out the world at this point. After making a cup of tea, I check the answering machine. Five new messages, all are from Sarah of course. She's worried about my health and well-being. They all sound the same as the last ones. She always wants to stop by and have a chat, or offer me a job at the hospital. Good thing I'm "conveniently" out every time she comes by. It's been a month since it happened and if I don't get a job I'll have to sell the flat. I blink back the tears. No, I can't sell this place. There are too many memories. I think to myself, a month. A bloody month and I still can't get over him. How on earth will I continue on with my life? People say I'm acting foolish, he's only a friend. Just a friend.
I run to his bedroom and slam the door shut behind me, leaning against the back of the door. As I slowly slide to the floor I think, if I admit it will it help me get over him. I give it a try. I slowly whisper to myself, "I loved him". Of course he wasn't just a friend. If there's anything I want most in the world it's that he would come back to me. For him to come home so things can resume the way they were. How can life be so cruel? I never even got a proper goodbye. Suddenly my cheeks get hot. Wet tears are streaming down my face with no way to stop them. So I yell. "I loved him", I yell. "I loved him", I yell over and over again until my throat is sore and I am unable to speak any longer.
I crawl into his bed and wrap the sheets around me, like every other night. I don't remember an evening that I slept in my own bed. I inhale deeply until my nose is filled with the smell of him. It's fading and before long I won't even have that to cherish. There is no way of describing his smell. The only word that comes to mind is home. He smells like home to me.
I squeeze my eyes shut and cry some more, my face remaining wet and sticky. Slowly I drift off to sleep. Although it may be hard to believe, the cold, hard ground in the cemetery isn't very comfortable. I rarely get a good night's sleep there anyways because I'd prefer just to talk to his gravestone. It's a terrible substitute for him but it's all I've got. I tell him what's been going on in London and all my troubles and fears. As I lose consciousness I begin to dream. I dream of the only thing I can think of, the thing that's been on my mind for what seems like forever. Sherlock.
