hi! I have a few angsty john fics, but none of Sherlock; so here you go. Anything italicized is inside Sherlock's head.


The time was 2:41AM to be exact. The snow was piled thick all around outside the little cabin. Sherlock Holmes laid spread out on the couch, exhausted. The last thing he was expecting was his phone to ring.

He reached into his coat and answered the call, "I haven't been inside more than 10 minutes and you already want to tell me what to do. Really Mycroft, isn't it enough that I just murdered a man." He scoffed into the phone. He only got a sniffle in reply. Sherlock quickly sat up, practically feeling Mycroft's unease.

After a few moments Mycroft spoke with a soft voice, "Sherlock…something has happened to john." Sherlock stood, not knowing where to go.

"And your definition of 'something' would be?" dear god, not john, not now. Mycroft seemed to be unable to speak. Sherlock heard another sniffle "no….NO MYCROFT. You are not going to tell me he is dead. He can't be, we had it all planned out!" Sherlock's voice broke as he fell to his knees.

"I'm sorry" sincere, Mycroft whispered, Sherlock heard a movement as Mycroft made to hang up.

"Wait! How Mycroft? How did john die?" please not self inflicted, john why? Mycroft hesitated.

"We don't know Sherlock; there will be a car, your plan is to leave immediately."

That time there was a click before Sherlock could speak anymore. What would he say? What could he. John is gone, deleted from life. He got to his feet; so slowly.

Sherlock looked around the empty cabin. It seems as if it is growing the longer he looked at it. Nonsense, its grief. Suddenly there was a crack as plastic and rubber bounded off the ground, his phone then. Interesting, he didn't remember throwing it.

Slowly a white mist began to creep into his brain, taking over room by room of his mind palace. Cant think. His mind was blank, there was nothing there but a face. Sherlock frowned, he knew that face. The disapproving look of his eyes and mouth. What has Sherlock done to upset this man? Jumpers, this man liked jumpers.

He stumbled through the room, knocking into every surface possible. He wasn't sure where he was going but he knew he had to go somewhere. GONEGONEGONE. He is gone, no more.

A knock comes from the door, Sherlock cant move. He tells his feet to go but nothing happens. Can they not hear him? He grasps out to the side, hitting a hard surface; it cold. Sensation hits, he is pressed up against something. No, lying on the floor, fallen. Brain missing thi-GONEGONEGONE.

Shadows dance at the edge of his sight, a man, not the man. The face. He feels movement, is he moving? Gone gone. John is gone, dead. Am I dead too john? Can I be? Flatmate; colleague; friend; best friend. GONE! ALL GONE!

Darkness.