A/N: Hello everyone! I'm sure your wondering if I dropped off the planet for good, but no I'm simply in a rut.

I'm having writer's overload, basically I have a thousand of other different stories that I want to write, but I keep forgetting the stories I've already started, so I'd like to apologize on the delay of my other stories. I just have other stories on my mind.

This one was inspired by

No Light, No Light by Florence + The Machine

This song was so moving, sad, and reminded me of what John would think after Sherlock was gone. This could be read as Johnlock if you chose, but can be read as a very strong friendship, much like that of a brother. This is my first songfic/Sherlock fic, so please, I enjoy reviews if you see something that doesn't fit, or if you simply loved it as a whole!

So I hope you enjoy!

Disclaimer: I do not own BBC Sherlock or Florence + The Machine, this is just for the pure enjoyment of the reader.

No Light, No Light from his Bright Blue Eyes

John's POV-

A hole. That's what it felt like. An empty hole of space that couldn't be filled by anything. I tried pleasure. I thought maybe if the space in his bed was filled, so from men to women I tried to fill the space, but again it sill felt empty.

Silence. Silence was also something I couldn't handle. I plunged myself in noise, any kind. All the way from clubs to concerts, I did this and more, but still couldn't keep out the ever overbearing silence. I hated to think back, but without him. Silence had finally become me.

Disappear. I felt like I was fading away. Disappearing in the crowd of the many faces that I passed by every single day. As if I sinking into a sea of different colors, and I would be black. For this is how I felt. I felt as if someone were to gun me down right now, no one would see. I felt like I was disappearing in plain sight, and I would shortly become the greatest magic trick the world has ever seen, because they will never have seen it, because there would be nothing to see.

Anger. Anger for the people who did this to him! Moriarty is real. Was real! He took him away. Another reason why I don't go out much anymore, because I can't trust people, trust the daylight. When did daylight ever become so violent? Did it want o play this cruel sick joke or was just a faze. Either way, I feel anger all the time, at the police for not believing him, at Moriarty for killing him, and at myself for being too late.

Fear. Fear was normal, but this, this was something else all together. I was more afraid of the outside world now than I have ever been. He had taught me not to be afraid, because he was never afraid, but this wasn't completely true. He was afraid. I had saw him afraid when I was taken twice, and almost killed, and he was afraid when he started to doubt his on concise, and lastly I never said it, but I could see that he was afraid to say goodbye. Even now I was just as terrified, because it was this fear that kept me from even saying his name. Somehow I had to, I just had to, because he wouldn't want me to feel this way, but I did.

I felt a hole, I felt the silence, I felt like I was going to disappear, I felt anger, and worst of all, I felt the fear.

As I walked towards the grave that was my best friend's grave, I felt nothing but an empty shell of what used to be John Watson, because he was what made me, me, and how awful it was to feel this way. Why? Why did it have to be him? Why did it have to be that man? All these question plus more were answered by one simple phrase, "I loved him."

It took so long to realize, but it was already too late. Standing in front of his grave I had the phrase in my head, but it didn't come out. So, I simply said

"Sherlock, you were my head and heart, and I wish that I could tell you. Truly tell you how I feel, but even now it's so much easier to say it in a crowd than I could to your face, and it hurts so much. Please. Just tell me what I need to say."

Flashbacks to that one day. That one day. There. Standing in front of St. Barts. Speechless, utterly terrified on what to do. I begged him to come down, pleaded for him to stay, but it wasn't to be so. The words that he said will haunt me for the rest of my life. "Goodbye John."

I shouted his name, trying to call him back, but his pulse was gone, and his eyes. His pale bright blue eyes were shaded by the darkness that covered the light. That pure light in the world of day. The light that most had ignored, until now. I couldn't take it. The light was gone, my light. Again I realized too late how much he meant to me.

I kept calling his name, not a shout now, but mere whispers almost as if to convince myself that he wasn't gone.

Standing here now. I once again think back to what he said inside of St. Barts, and the last words I ever spoke to his face.

"Alone is what I have, Alone protects me."

"No, friends protect each other."

My words seemed to prove correct. Friends do protect each other, even if they have to sacrifice themselves to do it. He did this. He sacrificed his self to save me, and now I hope he will forgive me for being too late to save him.

"Please, don't be dead."

A silent whisper, a silent prayer. Please come back to me my dear friend, my wonderful savior, my precious light.

Light. Light is what I felt when I was around him. He was the brilliant brightness that surrounded my very being. I wish I could tell him what I feel, but too afraid that I would lose my light I kept quiet. It was getting harder and harder to hold it in, but was satisfied that I didn't have to share my light with anyone, but now it is gone, that precious light, that wonderful light, that brilliant light.

Light is what I felt, but what I feel no longer.