AN: Hello everyone! It's been a long time… How have you been?
I'm back. Are you ready for this? I'm going to be rewriting the "Two Years Without Him" story, but with much better quality and more heart wrenching feels. You better grab that box of tissues and sit on down with them beside you. If you have yet to read the first version, I will be keeping it up on this website for you to read. I also write other stories on the "Wattpad" app if you are interested (MrsHeftyTurtle).
I have spent a lot of time rewriting/revising the story, clearing up some typos and mistakes, adding more emotion, and maybe longer chapters. If you are not familiar with the story line of this story, this is all based on the events of Season 2 of Sherlock. Instead of Sherlock falling, however, it is John. I write in the 3rd person perspective of Sherlock dealing with the emotional overload of losing John (his love interest, this is a Johnlock fic)… Here we go.
Chapter 1: Without John
It's like you're screaming and no one can hear you. You almost feel ashamed that someone could be that important, that without them you feel nothing. No one will ever understand how much it hurts. You feel hopeless, like nothing can save you. When it's over and it's gone, you almost wish you could have all that bad stuff back so that you could have the good.
Sherlock was on his way to St. Bart's hospital when he received the call from John. John told him to stay exactly where he was, then to look up. Once Sherlock looked up, he saw him. He saw John. Standing at the edge of the building, getting ready to fall. Sherlock felt his knees buckle and his heart sink, he begged John not to do it. He begged him to back away from the edge, to go to Molly's office, to talk this out, but John didn't listen to him. The call ended and he fell.
Sherlock didn't know how to react, knees still buckled in place, hundreds of thoughts running through his mind at once. He watched as John's body fell, it was almost in slow motion. Finally managing to find the strength, Sherlock ran to John's body, heart racing. People were surrounding the body, nurses, pedestrians, doctor's. The nurses were checking for a pulse or listening for breathing. Pushing everyone, ignoring the men and women trying to hold him back, Sherlock reached his hand out to feel a pulse. Nothing.
Later that day, all Sherlock managed to do was make it back to the flat and back to his chair. Sitting there, almost lifeless. Staring at the seat where John would always be. He didn't move, he didn't do anything. Mrs. Hudson must have heard the news, bursting through the door, and running up to Sherlock giving him a big hug. He didn't return the favor. She was crying hysterically and apologizing, saying how sorry she was that he was gone. Sherlock didn't speak, he didn't move, he just ignored her. She realized this, letting go of him and walking back downstairs.
Now, today was John's funeral. Two days after he had taken his life. Sherlock spent the last 48 hours trying every theory and deduction to prove that John wasn't actually gone. It wasn't possible. John always promised that he was never, under any circumstances, harm Sherlock. That's exactly what he did though, it ruined him.
Sherlock was dressed in a black button-up and his usual blazer. He was standing in front of the bathroom mirror, staring at himself. He doesn't remember the last time he slept, which was visible from the bags under his eyes. His face more pale than usual, hair knotted and messy. Mrs. Hudson was calling for him from downstairs, asking him to come down and get in the cab, so he did. Grabbing his coat and scarf on the way out, he walked down the steps. Halfway down his knees buckled again and he froze, grabbing onto the railing for support. Everything came flooding back, the memories of him. Every single case they've ever completed together, every time they went out for food, everything. Sherlock inhaled deeply and managed to continue down the stairs, meeting Mrs. Hudson outside the flat. She gave him a warm smile and opened the cab door for him, he entered. She followed behind and told the cabbie where to go. Sherlock stared out the window as the cabbie drove, watching people walk by, full of life and excitement. Hoping to see John's face in the crowds.
Once arriving, Sherlock got out of the cab and looked around. He noticed a few familiar cars, such as Molly's and Lestrade's. Some of the cars looked strange to him, unfamiliar, a few looked beaten up and old. He walked into the funeral home with Mrs. Hudson, she was taking too long to pay the cabbie, and was greeted by a worker that showed him where the funeral was being held. Slowly walking in the direction of the room, he stopped right at the door. The door was open, so he was able to glace around the room and there it was. The casket. Closed.
Lestrade walked out of the room, noticing that Sherlock was leaning against the door frame. He said something to Sherlock, but Sherlock wasn't listening to anything. His eyes were closed, trying to block out everything and everyone. Lestrade continued talking to him, trying to get his attention. Eventually he opened his eyes, averted his attention to the floor and walked in. Sherlock tried looking everywhere but the casket. It was impossible. Set up in the front of the room, flowers everywhere, a picture of John in front of it. He took a deep breath and sat down far away from the front row, placing his hands together in his lap, and tried controlling the twitching from his fingers. It was his nerves, he was anxious. The room was silent and eerie, every sound echoed off the walls. Sherlock heard the faint sound of male business shoes tapping on the floor. Mycroft arrived.
"Hello, brother dear. I had an important meeting that was cancelled for this occasion." Mycroft said as he sat down beside Sherlock, irritated, and crossing one leg over the other. "Are you going to play the quiet game, I see?" Mycroft glanced at Sherlock, teasing him with a hint of frustration. "I don't understand why you are so upset, people die, Sherlock. It's only natural." Sherlock refused to answer him, closing his eyes, trying to block everything out again. Mycroft continued talking. "I hope you get over this fit soon, brother dear, I have something for you to solve, and I believe it would keep you highly entertain." Mycroft got up out of the chair and walked out.
After the funeral came the burial, where everyone had to find a ride to the cemetery and watch John's casket get buried. Sherlock was forced to attend due to Mrs. Hudson's wishes, she said it gave her the acceptance she needed, or something like that. While they stood there and watched the casket be lowered into the hole slowly by a crane, Sherlock glanced around at the unfamiliar faces. More people than he ever expected to show up. Strangers to him, but possibly close to John? He had no clue.
The priest spoke after the casket was placed in and workers started covering the dirt in. It must have happened very quickly, because the next time Sherlock glanced around, no one was there. He was standing alone in front of John's gravestone. He stepped closer, hesitantly, and pulled a note from his pocket. Attached to the note, was a string that tied the note and an engagement ring together. Sherlock carefully opened the note, keeping the string attached. He didn't read the note to himself, he knew what it said word for word. He had spent hours, days, and possibly weeks on perfecting the words within. Sherlock kissed the note, closed it, then carefully placed it near the gravestone where it would never disappear. He stood up, putting his hands in his pockets, then stared at the gravestone.
"I miss you, John. I miss you so much. You were great to me, the greatest that anyone has ever been. I swear on that. There were times where I was so lonely, then you.. You showed up. You made me think differently about people, you made me realize that I could feel these emotions for someone. That someone was you, you know. I never got the chance to tell you how much you truly meant to me, John, I never did. Maybe if I said something sooner.. Maybe we wouldn't be here like this. I love you, John."