the ones who are kindest, smile the brightest, and are the wisest

by TaylorHolmes-Vargas

The lonliest people are the kindest. The saddest people smile the brightest. The most damaged people are the wisest. Sherlock jumped, and now he's dead. John is trying to cope. Johnlock. rM for launguage and maybe a lime in later chapters ;). ( Spoilers! Sherlock isn't dead, so this will have a happy ending, just thought to put that out there! ) .

1. Prologue

Prolougue

John's POV

You look right through me and never see the pain,

but if I told you, you would never look at me the same

they see the smiles, but never see the tears

even if my sleeve rode up and showed these criss crossed marks, you'd just ask if i had a cat.

I look at the poem and frown, they never end up in a prpoer rhyme. I suppose they don't really have to. No one else will see them. So why should I try so hard if all i'm doing is trying to vent? It sounded so stupid when I read it outloud, but it's true.

It's been two years since he's been gone. Two, and i'm still not over his death. Ms. Hudson is over it, Mycroft, his own brother is over it. And yet, here I am, still greiving over some bloody sociopath. But, I know something. That, as I sit here in my bedroom, laptop sitting properly on my lap, i know. I love him.

Am I gay? I don't know, I don't have an attraction to men themselves, but when it comes to sherlock, I just... I just... Oh look, i'm crying again, and now i'm sobbing. Laptop forgotten I greive into my pillow. Memories clear as day flash before my eyes, from crime scenes to just eating dinner at Angelo's or drnking a cup of tea while Sherlock sits watchng crap TV. It hurts, alot. It hurts so much I can't breath.

I won't do it, it's not a proper outing, i'll write another poem. No, that won't work, who am I kidding? Nothing will work. I'm going, I get up and walk to the bathroom where I know a razor is waiting for me. Will this help, it seems to help, if not ony a little bit. It doesn't make the pain bearable, but I try. Trying isn't working though.

I run the blade across my wrists, blood slowly flowing out. The pain of today, and every day before drip down the drain, but it's not working. I wonder if Ms. Hudson will notice if something's up if I go out. I'll go to the pub, and drink myself sick. But if that still doesn't keep the pain at bay, i will jump.

A/N Hello! So I just want to point out my inspiration for this. It's a poem I read on Ifunny, and a fan vid on youtube for Sherlock called heart of stone ;-; it was sad and made me cry.

The poem almost made me cry, but here it is ( I take no credit for this poem, it doesn't belong to me at all ) :

His scarf was blue,

The pavement was red,

They thought he was a fake

Now Sherlock is dead.

His wrists were red,

His days were blue,

Sherlock didn't come back

So John jumped, too.

The flowers were yellow,

the grass was green,

now nobody dwells

At 221B.