Hello everyone! This is rather spur of the moment. I just finished reading "The Final Problem" about five minutes ago. Well, ten minutes by the time you guys actually read this. So, yeah, Reichen-feels (because we didn't have enough of those). AFTENOTE: Ok, not ten minutes. It was a bit late when I started writing last night, so I'm finishing today! Sorry about that. Anyways, happy Saturday! I guess. Not really. I still have some Reichen-feels left over. By the way, this isn't slash. Though I suppose it sounds like it a bit. It's not supposed to be, though.
Gone.
But he can't be.
He's Sherlock. My Sherlock. He's my Sherlock Holmes, my best friend! He's can't be gone. But he is. I saw him. His body is inside the hospital, with Molly. This is probably the freshest body she's ever gotten.
He smirked, but not in a smug way. More of a cruel smirk. What he was thinking wasn't funny, for sure. It was that dark humor. That terrible, sarcastic, dark humor that one finds himself thinking of when life is horrible, but you're not sure how to react. Poor Molly. She loved him too. But John's thoughts didn't dwell on Molly for long. She loved him yes, but John knew that no one loves (he cringed) - loved Sherlock as much as he did. No one.
There it was. Sherlock Holmes. That was all it said. Just two words on the black marble. Sherlock Holmes. Well if they were only two words, why did they hurt so much? John just felt pain. So much pain.
He really had loved Sherlock. Everyone thought that they knew how John loved Sherlock, even Mrs. Hudson, who had left him to be with Sherlock. But they were wrong. Only Sherlock and he knew how John loved Sherlock. John felt a stab of pain. Did he? Did (he cringed again) - Had Sherlock known how John felt about him? He couldn't have. If Sherlock knew how much John cared about him, he wouldn't have left. Sherlock was like John's brother. No… Suddenly, John remembered something he had read as a kid in church. One who has unreliable friends soon comes to ruin, but there is a friend who sticks closer than a brother. John thought of Lestrade turning on Sherlock. No. Lestrade really was Sherlock's friend, and hadn't meant for Sherlock to get in trouble. But in the end, it was just Sherlock and John. Sherlock Homes and Dr. Watson, Hatman and Robin, the Consulting Detective and his blogger. Closer than a brother… But Sherlock had left anyways.
Why? Why would he leave me? He said I was his friend! Not just his friend, his only friend! His BEST friend! And he was mine. My best mate. John felt his eyes become wet. But John didn't cry. He was a soldier. He didn't cry. Then he felt angry. WHY WOULD HE DO THIS?! DIDN'T HE CARE?! He didn't care about me! What has he ever done for me? He just needed me to pay the rent, and make sure he didn't drop dead because he refused to eat. Then John thought of his PTSD, and his limp, and his therapist. The PTSD that caused nightmares that had become less regular after he met Sherlock. The limp that went away because of Sherlock. The therapist that he hadn't seen in months because of Sherlock. The adrenaline and liveliness and happiness that came from running around the city with Sherlock. That wasn't faked. Sherlock cared.
Sherlock wasn't a fake. John knew it. He had deduced everything on those cases. He never looked things up, and he certainly never killed people to create cases. Sherlock hadn't needed to create cases and a villain to look clever. Sherlock was clever. He was brilliant and extraordinary… and an idiot. He was such an idiot that he thought the world could get on without him. He thought that John could get on without him. Well, the world couldn't get on without Sherlock Holmes. So it wouldn't. John would make sure. He'd keep Sherlock alive. Sherlock had so many fans. Some of them must know that he was real. All the people who had come to him, the people he had helped. They knew he was real. So maybe he could keep Sherlock alive. There were people who knew the real Sherlock Holmes, and would help him.
Sherlock wasn't gone. He was very much alive. And though he had hated sentiment, he had a heart, and he felt sentiment. And that was what was going to keep Sherlock going. Because sentiment is not a disadvantage. Caring is the most normal, and most wonderful thing in the world. No one can ever really be gone. John would keep him alive until he saw Sherlock again, however long he would have to wait. John believed in a lot of things. But the thing he believed in most was Sherlock Holmes. Sherlock Holmes was never gone. Not really.
Alright so what do you think? Tell me honestly. You don't even need to say much. Good? Bad? Choppy? I would really love to hear what you think! Thank you so much for reading! P.S. To everyone waiting on Red… terribly sorry! I'll finish that soon! To everyone who hasn't read my other story, Red, would you mind looking at that? I would love to have some feedback on that too! Thanks everyone!