Everyday. Over and over. It never stops, does it?
It's all over the place, the papers, the telly.
He's seen the same clip again and again. A grainy clip shot from some bloody tourist's camera phone.
He's falling again. Falling ungracefully to earth. No longer a great genius, but just a man. Broken inside.
Bleary-eyed, I stumble over to the kitchen with the intent of making a cup of tea. Leg's been acting up again. Must have been that fall I took. Bloody bicyclist.
The kettle's on the stove and I make my way back to the living room. The telly's still on but that is easily fixed with a click of the remote. I need silence right now.
The window's open and light is shining through. Cars and taxis honk, businesses open their doors, life goes on. Without him. Without Sherlock. It's like they've all forgotten. I know I haven't. I'll never forget.
The phone rings.
I don't bother answering. There's only two possibilities at this point: Lestrade, whom I don't feel like talking to at the moment, and Mycroft, whom I never want to talk to again.
My eyes wander around the room. I've left the flat exactly the way it was. It's like I'm waiting for something, like I'm expecting him to come back. A snort of derision escapes. Even Sherlock Holmes can't come back from the dead.
I'm better off moving on. Yet, try as I might, I can't. I can't just find a new life, settle down with a wife and kids, and pretend that nothing happened.
The skull's sitting on the mantelpiece. I talk to it sometimes. As if it was Sherlock. I know I'm going mad but honestly, I don't really care.
It's like nothing matters anymore.
Does anything matter after you see your best friend die? After you watch him smash into a sidewalk, blood seeping from his head?
All of them, Lestrade, Molly, Mycroft, Mrs. Hudson, even Sally. They all came to his funeral. It was rather rushed, Mycroft had some stupid Parliament meeting. Not a fitting end for such a great man.
Everyone wonders why he did it. Why he jumped. We'll probably never know.
He wasn't a fake though. I know that.
I'll never stop believing in you, Sherlock.