Stillness and Silence
The light filters into the room, each shaft of light carrying tiny flecks of dust. I stand in the middle of that room, my keen eyes scanning over the objects that once belonged to the man with the beautiful mind.
Echoes of Sherlock linger in every corner, glimpses of him flashing from every side. Closing my eyes once more and taking a deep breath I can hear his voice, the voice that's as soft as the violin he so skillfully played.
The bold font on every paper in London proclaimed Sherlock a fraud and dead. In my heart I knew none of this was true. If my friend where truly gone my soul would feel as cold as the room in which I stood.
Running my fingers over the leather of his chair as I gaze out the window with the words from the cemetery still fresh in my mind. "Sherlock, please … don't be dead."
Even now I can still feel that heart aching numbness of looking at the black marble with his name etched upon it and all I can do is hope, nay pray that if God above is listening he not take my best friend from me. The man I was before Sherlock is not a man I wish to become again, that man was just a shell of a human.
Going to my room I begin to pack my things, hoping Sherlock would yell for me from the next room. All the things I once found irritating or obnoxious now I missed more than ever. I would give all my worldly possession to just see his smirk or hear is voice but neither would be gifted to me this night.
With my belongings in hand I take one last look at the place I called home, the place that gave me hope with a friend that gave me purpose.
"Goodbye old friend … until we met again." Closing the door behind me I can hear Mrs. Hudson weeping at the foot of the stairs.
"John, don't go. You have to carry on where Sherlock left off." She wipes her tears as she takes my hand.
Giving her a hardy embrace I knew when I walk out of 221 B Barker Street I wouldn't be back here again. "There is not carrying on without Sherlock Mrs. Hudson. Sherlock is … well irreplaceable."
She pats me on the shoulder as I walk towards the door. Taking a deep breath I walk out to the cab waiting for me and I know it was just a trick of the mind or wishful thinking but I could of swore I saw him, turned up collar and cheekbones.
Two years and maybe restless nights later I find myself back in the place where I found and lost my hope. In my heart I had replaced my sorrow with joy but blackness still lingered there and I was afraid it always would be.
Now that an angel had rescued me I was ready to face the demons of my past and give my friend, to give Sherlock a proper goodbye.
Seeing Mrs. Hudson again opened up feelings I had finally come to terms with. I wasn't sure if she was happy to see me or ready to give me a proper smack but I'd take either.
Looking up the stairs to my old flat I could hear Sherlock's voice, his violin playing and the hole in my heart that Mary had mended cracks open again. I could almost hear him now. "Don't be foolish John. We live … we die. That's the natural order of things."
"Damn you Sherlock." I whisper as I turn my attention back to Mrs. Hudson.
Mrs. Hudson and I have a short chat and some tea before making our way back up to the flat. There in the room was the stillness, the silence that greeted me before. Two years had pasted and nothing had really changed here. The light cascading from the curtains captured the flecks of dust that lingered before. Nothing had changed, nothing excepted me.
The last time I was here I was a man in mourning, a man grieving the loss of a great man and my best friend. While I still feel that loss I no longer cling to it, I no longer feel the emptiness that Sherlock left when he leaped from that roof.
After my reunion with my form landlady and second mother I found a peace about me that I needed. Telling her about my sweet Mary and the fact that I mean to make her my wife lifted the veil of death that had covered me for too long.
With a great big grin I let my fingers take the door knocker, talking to the door as if it was Sherlock standing there. "You'd love her, I know it and as frightening as the concept of best man would have seemed to you I know you would have done one hell of a job at it. I'm still waiting for my miracle Sherlock."
Little did I know that miracle was waiting for me … in the stillness and silence.