A/N: Hi readers this fic is based on this wonderful gifset post/25746747604/ishipjohnlock247-its-sad-to-see-a-man-whos . I don't know if that gifset was based on another fic. If it was then I haven't read it this is just my own interpretation. It's just a quick one-shot that I wrote for fun. I apologize for my poor grammar. Please R&R if you feel so inclined, I would actually like some constructive criticism to improve my writing. Even one review would make my day! XX
Disclaimer: I do not own the characters or the Idea for the for the fic. Sherlock belongs to Steven Moffat, Mark Gatiss, and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.
I spent every waking moment since that day wishing that somehow by some miracle he was still alive. That it was all a dream, that I would wake up, go down stairs, and see him lying there, fingers resting at his chin, contemplating some new case. I tried to rationalize with myself, but I couldn't help but hoping that it had all been a plan, that he had somehow faked his death, that he was still out there somewhere chasing Moriarty's network. I would argue with myself
"You know that's impossible, no one could be that clever!"
"Sherlock Holmes could, he was the greatest man I've ever known and I'll always believe in him."
My life was empty until I met Sherlock Holmes, he brought color and meaning into my world and when he left, so did a part of me. I still went through the motions. The sun still rose in the morning and I would force myself to face another day alone, but, I just didn't see the point of life without him.
I don't remember when I stopped going in to work. All I know is I was struggling. I could hardly afford to feed myself, but I couldn't bring myself to get out of bed and face the world.
But then one day, when I had just about had enough of pretending my life had purpose, Somehow he came back. And I didn't even have time to be angry because he was back, he is back and that's all that matters! I start work again, but he never takes up any new cases. I would have expected him to be dying of boredom, but he never complains.
Whenever I talk to Sarah about him, she just gets quiet and she looks kind of sad, I guess I talk about him a little too much, there's never been much room for her in my life. But it's not just that, she's started acting nervous around me, like I'm a ticking bomb that could go off any second.
Sherlock's different somehow, he still keeps body parts in the fridge, and plays violin till early morning. But he eats and naps when I ask him to. And that's nice. Things around here are nice. I remember one day, I asked Mrs. Hudson to stay and have some tea and biscuits with us. And as I handed her a cup, she just looked at me with the saddest eyes.