So, this is my fist time posting any I have ever written online. I'm honestly not very comfortable with it, but-I made an exception, because I actually really love writing this. And so, I decided to post this. I don't really expect many to read it, but if you do, I hope you enjoy. And also, just to get it out of the way-
Disclaimer: I do not own anything. Obviously. I'm not Arthur Conan Doyle, or a writer for BBC's Sherlock. (I wish.)
Also, I do apologize if there are any mistakes. I did try to thoroughly examine it to make sure there were none present.
Please, enjoy.
It wasn't real.
It couldn't be.
Surely,
The world couldn't be so cruel,
Could it…?
"Let me see him…! You have to let me through! Move…!"
"Sherlock, stand back."
"Move...! Get out of my way!"
"Sherlock, we're taking him to the E.R."
"No… No…! You're not taking him anywhere…! Let me see him—!"
"Sher…! You can't see him! Not now! I'm sorry but… I can't put you through that."
The flat was empty. It was always empty. Too empty. Ever since John…
Left.
I was curled up on the couch. It'd been a week. Too long. I couldn't take it. So I'd turned to drugs. They helped sooth the pain—but sometimes, it wasn't enough. I'd taken three hits.
1:30 PM…
1:55 PM…
2:24 PM…
I was ready for the next. In fact, I would've. I was interrupted.
"For God's sake, Sherlock…!" Mrs. Hudson cried, standing in the doorway.
Garbed in all black.
Face tear-stained.
"You couldn't have even gone to his funeral…?!"
Obvious distress in her voice.
She's angry.
Grief-stricken.
I lie still, eyes fixed on the ceiling as I answered blankly, "Funeral?"
The look on her face made some part of me swell up with grief. Well. As much grief as I had left to muster. She uttered something along the lines of, "unbelievable," before returning to her quarters.
I could hear her crying.
It wasn't long before the insomnia started.
3:24…
2:10…
1:44…
Side effect of the drugs, I suppose.
It's 1:50. I don't even bother to go back to sleep—there's no use. I get up, make a cup of coffee.
"Rather early to be up, wouldn't you say?"
I cast the voice a disgruntled groan, taking a seat in my chair, tucking my knees into my chest. I watch the liquid in my cup swirl as I blow softly on its surface.
"Honestly, Sherlock. You're killing yourself."
I sniffle a light laugh.
"You always were so worrisome, John."
I feel relaxed.
It's cold.
Dark.
I try to open my eyes, but I can't.
Oddly, it doesn't bother me.
I stretch.
Then, I yawn—But something happens.
Something unexpected.
My mouth fills with water.
I panic, my eyes flicking open.
It's salty—It stings.
I'm drowning.
Involuntarily, I scream.
I make no sound-Obviously-I'm drowning.
I start choking as water is forced down my gullet.
My lungs burn fiercely, starved for air.
My vision fades from blurring to pitch black.
The light radiating into the water from the surface is blinding.
It hurts.
I almost feel as if I can feel the water filling my lungs.
I close my eyes, waiting for the end…
I awake, gasping for air, filled with a silly satisfaction that it was only a dream. I'm drenched in sweat. Perfect time for a cold shower—But, I pause. I don't feel right. My lungs starting to tingle as I throw my legs over the side of the bed. I cough. Then gag. What the hell…?
I retch, half expecting to throw-up. It wouldn't be surprising, with the amount of drugs I inject into my system-but I don't throw-up. Instead, I spew water onto the carpet. Before I have time to be bewildered, I'm forced to lean forward as I eject more water from my lungs. I feel like I'm frozen—my entire body chilled to the bone.
I can't breathe.
I feel like my lungs were set aflame.
I'm helpless as what seems to be gallons of water pushes itself up my throat.
I stop. Sitting up quickly, catching my breath. There's no water. I'm fine. A dream? No. I was awake. A hallucination.
I lean my head against my pillows, lying back down. I hear the panting of a canine, and reach my hands out for the comfort of its fur. It's warm. It's real.
"Oh, Redbeard." I give a drawn-out sigh, scratching behind the dog's ears. "I think I'm really losing it."