So um yeah, I was listening to Passenger's "Let her go" and had to write this. It's short, melancholy and doesn't have any fluff to it. I think it's more about their friendship than anything else however if you choose to interpret it differently so be it. Anyway I hope you enjoy and please review
Xoxo, ShellyMay
Sherlock was navigating the depths of his mind palace, lost in the room he would never admit to having. The room was plain and neat, everything was organized tidily. The smell of tea, whiskey and soap permeated the air wafting through the room. The room had a simple title, it was Sherlock's favourite room and its name suited it perfectly.
John
Memories of him made up the content of this room; a closet for all his jumpers, photos everywhere, of all his little details, from the cut of his hair to the lines that marked every traumatic experience, every smile and laugh. Shelfs were filled with his favourite books, movies and DVDs. There was a small kitchenette area with his favourite foods.
Sherlock concentrated on his memories of John's face, filing through all of his different facial expressions. He was just about to replay the moment he gave up his life and his work when slow soft notes wound into the memory, he felt himself fall as lyrics echoed softly through his head.
He heard John's soft protests felt the weak grip on his wrist as he stared up at his friend, his only friend.
He came reluctantly away from the memory with tears on his cheeks, standing he immediately went to his violin, not the original. That was still at Baker St. He listened to the sad song as Molly pottered around the kitchen making him a mug of coffee that they both knew he wouldn't drink.
When the song stopped he played it through once, twice, getting a feel for the emotion in the notes. Molly stopped moving around the kitchen, she turned off her own music and moved to stand at the door way.
"Sherlock" She said meekly, "You let him go didn't you?"
His voice was think when he finally spoke. "Yes, Molly, I did."
Time lapsed and it was time to go home, he needed to return to John. He let himself in, walked slowly up the stairs a pushed on the door to their apartment, still always open. He walked across the room and picked up his violin. It had been taken care of, cleaned and tuned. He picked it up and started to play the melody that had not left his head. He heard John coming up the stairs, heard the cane drop as his only friend ran up the stars.
The thumping footsteps making their pounding hearts that much clearer. Sherlock finished off the song softly. The silence beat down on the two men crushing them in place. Both struggling for breath as the fought to control their emotion.
"I let you go John, there was no other way."
"Sherlock."
"I'm sorry John."