Alone, that was all Sherlock felt now, alone and empty. He hasn't felt so alone since his brother Mycroft left for University when he was 8.
But now, Mycroft isn't to blame for why he feels like this... it was because of John Watson.
Two years ago, Sherlock left John to protect him, so he and John can live safe lives together. Or at least a bit safer from what they were up against. But no, that was never going to happen.
John had moved on. He found a woman, Mary; they fell in love, got married and now are expecting a child.
That was supposed to be Sherlock and John, not John and Mary.
But what did Sherlock expect John to do? John thought Sherlock was dead, he couldn't have held onto Sherlock for two years, if there was nothing to hold onto. Sherlock broke all contact to John Watson for his own good.
And now, Sherlock felt the pain of being rejected once again, sting his heart.
No more, no more heart ache.
When John left, Sherlock turned to the one thing that helped him forget. Since the idea of deleting John from his memory was impossible. The drugs helped.
But, they soon lost their effect. And Sherlock needed to forget.
He needed to forget John and his feelings for him. No more.
But this time, he took too much. His body couldn't handle the substance in his body. It was all too much.
He felt his heart beat slower and slower as his vision grew in and out. No more.
Thumping of footsteps echoed from the hallway steps. They grew closer to Sherlock, and he knew exactly to whom they belonged to.
A faint voice called out his name. John's voice. He felt his head behind lifted then cushioned onto a lap. The warmth of John's hands on his cheeks made up look up.
His vision focused on the sight above him. John, shouting out orders to a terrified Mrs. Hudson standing at the doorway. His face, once full of colour and a smile plastered on it, now pale and stained with tears. John still cared, and this made Sherlock smile weakly.
"Thank you, John," Sherlock whispered as John glanced down at his unusually pale face.
John held onto Sherlock, his arms wrapped around the limp body, hearing the once thumping heart, stop.
The heart that belonged to William Sherlock Scott Holmes, the one that loved John Hamish Watson for so many years, beats no more…
