I Don't Even Know Your Name

by l0gastellus

Sherlock is still a live, but John doesn't know. One day, the loss of Sherlock is too much for John and he takes drastic measures to eliminate the pain. When he fails, he finds himself without any memories of the past. Sherlock walks the line between what is right and what is easy: should he leave John to begin his new life on his own? Or reunite and start on a whole new adventure?

1. Chapter 1

The Personal Blog of

Dr. John H. Watson

02 February 2015

Entry: My note, because that's what people do.

They say men attempt suicide less often, but they're more successful than women.

If there's anything I can guarantee tonight, it's that I will be successful. I'm a Doctor; I know what'll put me into a deep sleep and what'll put me into a permanent one.

The pills were easy enough to get. Getting a prescription from Sarah had been surprisingly simple. She knew about my nightmares; had even offered her shoulder a number of nights in those first couple of months after… that day. I'm sorry I had to get you caught up in this, Sarah, but there is always collateral damage. Friends never fail to hurt you in the most unintentional way.

I'm not sure if I'd recognize myself these days without those dark circles under my eyes and my ashen face. I've formed an aqueduct, running between my eyes and small crevice of my mouth: recycling in its most organic form. It was the most productive thing I've done in years. Combined with the permanent frown I've etched into my features, I quite fancied myself to look a bit like a mime. I wondered if I should just put on the striped jumper and some tight black trousers for work one morning. Just for kicks. No one would get the joke, but Sherlock would laugh. Ha, the thought never fails to make me smile, if just a little bit.

Oh, the irony.

You know, I thought I might have some reserves; jitters, choked sobs, second guesses in the least. Yet, all I feel is this overwhelming giddiness washing over me. Am I smiling? No: even worse, I'm giggling. Jesus. How poetic I should be doing that now, on such an eve. I'll have to remind myself to tell Sherlock about that one. I could use a good laugh.

I have them in front of me. Thirty-six pills. One for every month we've had together. One for every month we had apart. Yeah, I know it's a bit cheesy and Sherlock would have rolled his eyes and scoffed at me, but I like the symbolism. It brings me comfort. Someone once told me that it takes just as long to get over someone as the time you spent together. I can tell you now, they were wrong. In fact, I think it only makes it worse. How do people do this?

The number of pills are also a bit of an overkill. Twenty would probably do me fine, but every pill I'll swallow will numb me just a little more, until there is nothing left to feel. Simple. Easy. And no one will need to see my brain splattered across the wall, bringing a little more color to that ungrateful smiley face. Poor Mrs. Hudson. Maybe I'll send Lestrade a text to stop by in an hour or so. Better him than her.

No, this would be a dignified death and the less pain I will cause others, the better. I wouldn't put people through what Sherlock-

Right. It's about time I got to it.

I just wanted to say thank you to everyone in my life and remind you that this wasn't your fault. None of this was anyone's fault. I chose to do this. To be honest, I'm not sure I would have been able to make this long without all of you: I couldn't have asked for better friends. But I've only been bringing everyone down the last three years and I won't be a burden anymore.

So thank you for the good times. Thank you for the great times. And thank you for this precious gift of letting go. I'll never forget.

Good-bye.