"John, why aren't you taking your pills? You know that they'll stop your nightmares. "
"I... I just can't bring myself to do it... If I stop having the nightmares, then I won't see his face anymore. I can live through the night if it means seeing his face just one more time. To hear his voice, and maybe feel his lips on mine, even if it is just a dream. All I want to do is tell him how I felt, how I still feel, and it doesn't feel right saying it to a grave marker. For some reason, I can't bring myself to believe that he is dead."
"John, that is very normal, you are in denial, it happens to the best of us."
"I'm not in denial, I know he's alive, and I know that he's coming back for me one day. He made me swear that I would keep faith for 3 years. If anything should happen to him, I was to give him 3 years to make his way back to me. "
"John, it has been almost 3 years to the day. This friday, I believe."
" Do you think I don't know that? Do you think I'm not counting the days, hoping beyond hope that he'll come home?! Do you really know nothing at all?" I grab my coat and rush out of the room, and go to the only place that offers me any comfort. It's close enough to walk, even with the limp that has come back since Sherlock fell.
I push back the heavy metal gate and walk through, and start making my way to the big willow tree. I sit with my back against the cool marble. "You know, sometimes I think I hear you playing the violin, and I rush upstairs as fast as my legs can take me, but you stop playing, its like a reminder to myself that your still dead, and I'm still on the side of the living. There are times when I wake up in the middle of the night, crying and screaming your name, and I swear I can hear footsteps on the hallway floor. But there is never anyone there. Your deadline is fast approaching Sherlock, and I hope for my sake that you meet it. I miss you.
