Little memories

"Sherlock… You're my best friend."

Sherlock clenched his eyes shut, trying to get the warm sound of John's voice out of his head. "Let him go, Sherlock. Let it go." He clutched his head and gritted his teeth, trying to visualize the drugs running laps in his veins.

Let it go, let it roll right off your shoulder

Letting go and deleting John was a lot harder than Sherlock expected it to be. He figured a couple hours alone in his prestige mind palace would do the trick. But no matter how hard he tried, he still heard the voice of John in his head. His John.

"Leave a note when?"

Sherlock needed to dedicate an entire day to delete the hospital roof top. Even still, the fall faintly flutters in a folder tucked away in his mind. Sherlock knew once he had gotten past that one, he could move onto the next encounter with John and begin again. Yes, deleting John Watson was going to be a lot more difficult than Sherlock had ever hoped it would be.

Don't you know? The hardest part is over.

The easy part was getting to his drugs; the hard part was the motivation to plunge the needle deep into his arm. He thought of the hurt in John's eyes at that restaurant and then the push past skin became a little easier.

"Why are there eyeballs in the microwave?!"

Sherlock cracked a smile and let out a cackle at the memory of Anderson's face. He was almost tempted to keep that memory. But no, John was there. It had to go. Sherlock realized that for so long he worked to let John into his life, and now he's working double time to push him out. He let the drugs over take him, John's voice getting rougher and rougher behind his shut eyes as the world inside him became readable.

Let it in. Let your clarity define you. In the end, we will only just remember how it feels.

Some of the things trotting around Sherlock's head began to fade, the loud ones grew quiet, the soft things stiffened and the painful ones dulled. His memories of John were the only things that didn't change. Sherlock tried to forget, but the more he forgot, the more he remembered. Memories could be deleted, but feelings, not so much.

"Afghanistan or Iraq?"

As John tried to delete the memories of war, pain and suffering, Sherlock tried as well. Just being around his flat mate brought Sherlock visions of war that must've gone through John's mind and soul. Sherlock sometimes heard John in his room, fast asleep and his mind awake. He could practically feel the night terrors developing John's sleepless nights.

Our lives are made in these small hours. These little wonders, these twists and turns of fate.

In the time before Sherlock had met John, he thought he would always live his life alone, solving one crime after another. He was perfectly okay with that, it was all he wanted in life. And then he had met John. John had grabbed Sherlock's fate by its collar and twisted and turned it. All of a sudden, Sherlock's life spun around.

"Goodbye John."

And then, Sherlock threw it all away. Everything he had formed with John shattered on concrete. He broke John, and there was nothing he could ever do to fix it. This was what Sherlock wanted gone the most. John screaming at him from stories below, his voice cracking over a simple call, the tears Sherlock had shed, he wanted it shredded. As he injected himself once again, Sherlock realized that remembering these things became much less painful and easier to delete.

Time falls away but these small hours, these small hours, still remain.

Time fell with Sherlock. Every precious hour with John had gone to waste. When he came back, he hoped to replenish those long lost hours, but there was no reason to put in effort. John had moved on and forgotten him. Sherlock scrunched up his nose, trying pointlessly to refrain from shedding any tears. He had shed too many over John already, there needn't any more. Although he tried, the tears stained his face. The pain of rejection will always remain.

"Do you know what you've done to him?"

When Mary spoke those words, Sherlock didn't fully register them. He heard her, but he was more focused on John. Once Sherlock had time to replay the event in his head, he paused and focused on her words. What did he put John through? John had moved on without him, surely it couldn't have been that bad. Sherlock silently had hoped John missed him, that his life would fall apart... He needed a reassurance he actually meant something to someone. But now that he realized just how much he destroyed John, he regrets it with whatever's left of him.

Let it slide, let your troubles fall behind you.

Sherlock's mind was fading and he thanked the drugs immediately. His mind and pain were sliding away from him and it felt glorious. His troubles walked away, taking the form of John in his mind. He almost screamed out, for John not to leave him again, but he couldn't find his voice.

"John has saved my life in more ways than one."

Sherlock recalls times like the present, being curled in a bed, or on the ground, clutching his body and praising drugs. He had stopped for John. John gave him the incentive to stop, before he overdosed, or done something equally ridiculous. But now John had Mary. Who's to stop him from giving himself completely to the release of pain?

Let it shine, till you feel it all around you

Sherlock almost smiled as the memory of John hugging him at the wedding came into view. He had done something good for once, and it made John happy. John broke through the smoke of his life, shining his way into Sherlock's heart. A dry and dusty territory. The warmth John provided was the only thing he'd ever want around him for the rest of his life. But now his own personal sun has found another system to warm, leaving Sherlock in the dark once again.

"Psychosomatic limp."

Sherlock remembered helping John out of his so called limp. Little did he know, that was the first time Sherlock saved John's life. The first in a long series of little wonders Sherlock revealed in John. Sherlock helped John get rid of the horrid memories that ruined his mind, just as John returned the favor.

And I don't mind if it's me you need to turn to, we'll get by. It's the heart that really matters in the end

Sherlock turned to John when the addiction got too strong, when the patches weren't doing the trick. John, of course, never gave in. As much as he hated seeing Sherlock in so much pain, he wouldn't let Sherlock ruin his life. Not when he could prevent it. Everyone knew Sherlock didn't have a heart. Even Sherlock himself knew it. Until John came along. Once he began to welcome John into his life, his heart made a comeback. Sherlock became aware of the sentiment crawling its way into his nonexistent heart.

"John, please forgive me..." "Of course I forgive you."

In that moment in the carriage, all of Sherlock's regret came running back into him. What should've been a trick turned into what Sherlock needed to hear most, John's acceptance of Sherlock back in his life. Sherlock didn't realize how much he needed to hear those words until his eyes stung with tears threatening to overflow.

All of my regrets will wash away somehow

Sherlock thought this would be easy. He thought it'd be just like washing his hands of blood, getting rid of the evidence of sentiment, his biggest weakness. He realized with an amount of dread he'd never felt before that this would be a lot more difficult than running water over wounds. It was more like stitches that Sherlock tried to close without any instruments. Infectious and painful.

"Sentiment is weakness."

Mycroft was right. As much as Sherlock hated to admit it, Mycroft was right. Maybe it was the drugs talking, but Sherlock found his brother smarter than him for once. Sherlock should've seen that from the beginning. Sentiment is a waste of time and lacking necessary benefits. Unfortunately, Sherlock will never be able to delete the time wasted in his mind palace. He may forget why he was there, but being alone trying to delete even himself? He'd never be able to free himself of that. Deep in his mind, Sherlock knew he deserved this. He deserves all the pain he's getting. He deserves this. After all the pain he caused John, this was the only way he could receive penance.

But I cannot forget the way I feel right now

This was probably the way Sherlock was going to live the rest of his life. Completely alone without anyone but his relapses. He deserves to be alone. He doesn't deserve people like John, Molly, Gavin... Greg? Greg. All Sherlock does is hurt the people he lets in. He's done with that. He's done feeling. It's over, his life with feelings is over. Without John, there wasn't a point in feeling anyway.

"Sherlock's a girl's name."

That was the end of Sherlock Holmes. The end of his life with John, which was the only life he's ever had. The only fate he wanted... And now there's this.

In these small hours, these little wonders, these twists and turns of fate...

Sherlock's life can't even be called fate anymore, that's too kind of a term.

"Did you miss me?"

And then fate laughed in Sherlock's face.

Time falls away but these small hours, these small hours, still remain.