The Empty Room
This is painful for me to say, so I'll be brief. Harry I love you and I'll always be proud of you, don't ever doubt that. I could have never imagined a better sister, and I know that you will live a wonderful life. My only regret is that I was never there enough for you. I guess now I never will be. Just one more thing; don't let this take over your life. You bring so much light into this world that if you stopped shining the world would have no light left. Goodbye. -JW
What!? What's happening?-HW
Answer me damnit!-HW
John sat alone in his room with his phone strewn on his bed beside him. He closed his eyes and tried to still the shaky hand that brought a gun up to his head, but found he couldn't. Okay. It was going to be okay. John tried to mentally prepare himself for what he was going to do. Suddenly his whole frame shook, and he doubled over. taking deep breaths he straightened and put his finger on the trigger. He swallowed thickly and muttered "I'm sorry" through parched lips.
Sherlock walked into 221B for the first time in 12 months. He had waited for Mrs. Hudson to go to the market before walking in. It was best for him to deal with one person at a time, and something made him want to be with John before facing the world. He walked into the living room and had a sudden urge to sit down. He would be working on a case and then John would come home from shopping and ask him if he could for once help put the groceries away and then everything would be the way it was supposed to be and... No. Things weren't going to go back to the way they were until he fixed them. Sherlock chided himself for his sudden lapse in logic and headed for John's room.
When Sherlock died the world was supposed to end. John was sure of it. But the universe didn't seem to get the memo. People kept moving, the sun kept coming up, groceries kept needing to be bought, and bills kept needing to be paid. Sherlock's death was nothing. No one cared as long as the Earth kept spinning. Life moved on. The first week John kept to himself. He kept thinking that if he waited long enough Sherlock would come back. Sherlock always comes back. He would ask him to fetch his cellphone from his jacket, or hack John's computer, or leave body parts and dangerous substances in the fridge. He never came.
Finally John started to pull pieces of his life back together again. He managed to keep a steady job, and pay the bills. And that's when the nightmares started. John was in Afghanistan and there was gunfire and noises. Then he was on the top of a building, no he was on the ground and Sherlock was on the top and John tried to run to him but he couldn't move and Sherlock was falling and there was nothing he could do.
John always woke in a cold sweat. The same dream over and over.
John's eyes peeled open, in a desperate attempt to escape the swirling abyss of memories. Every time he blinked he could see Sherlock fall, the thoughts refusing to leave his head. A growing sense of panic overcame him, he felt as though he would vomit. He gripped the gun tighter and brought it to his head once more, prepared to end it all. The door opened.