Distance seemed trivial then, but truly he had just failed to realise how much they had gravitated towards each other. The burning feeling in his lungs, his stomach in his throat, all of this wasn't meant to be happening. And this distance….
Hands came and held fast, like invisible shackles that I couldn't claw my way out of. So close to… but distance remained.
I often wondered what would have been different if I had reached him. If I could have felt his skin, clammy and slick with blood beneath my hand. Would have I still felt a pulse? Could have I felt it slowly stutter to a stop? Would have that been worse than my current failure? Feeling my friend die rather than remaining in utter disbelief that my best friend won't come back?
Won't walk through that door again.
Won't ever make deductions again.
Won't ever play that violin of his again.
Won't ever text me to come from work early to pass a pen... ever again.
The living are meant to be the lucky ones. But I'd trade places with him any day if I knew that he'd live. The dying are the selfish ones leaving us to morn them. Dying and creating more problems and pain for the rest of us. But dying would be worthwhile if the world got to hold on to the brilliance of him for even another day. He changed people's lives; he was a better doctor at saving people than a medical graduate. The brilliance, the sheer outstanding brilliance of him even as ignorant and selfish as he was; the world needs that. I need that.
I never suspected suicide. What a load of jack shit. Whatever he told me in those final … he didn't lie. It was all real. The bloody idiot was all real.
/
I never could imagine Sherlock withering away. He was just never the sort of character that would prolong the inevitable passing through illness. I always assumed that he would have more time and then leave on his own terms with a bang.
Falling… I didn't think…
There was obviously something wrong with me. I couldn't even understand him well enough to know whether he was suicidal.
….That blasted distance.
They turned him over slightly… The moments have replaced my Afghanistan nightmares. Never again will I trouble myself over the nameless, faceless people I couldn't save. Because now I have a haunting face that stars in my nightmares.
I wonder why I never noticed how little distance there was between us until the distance was inevitable. And it's breaking my heart, my soul, to think that somehow he died… and I'll never understand why my best mate chose to throw himself off a roof.
He never did consider other people. That was just the way he was. But I would have liked to think that I knew him better. I would have liked to think that he would have given some consideration to how it would affect those left behind. I would have liked to think that this situation could have never happened to someone as brilliant as he, and as normal as me.
But death has no judgement of who she is stealing away from the world. No matter how bright their light, or just how many people relied on them… thought the world of them.
Sherlock was a brilliant man. And hidden underneath that upturned coat, he brought his brilliance to being a good man.
/
RIP – friend, selfish-ruler of 221B, Sherlock Holmes; you taught me how good it was to live again.
