Authors Note: Yay! This is my very first fanfic although not the first one I've thought of. Really hope you guys enjoy! Don't know yet how long I'll make the story but I guess we'll see!
Chapter 1
The Memory
The air was stale and dry. The wind was calm. The noise of the street was almost non-existent.
A man on his phone, looking up to the sky almost breathless.
"It's true".
The man on his phone stands confused- still looking towards the sky- still looking at the figure on the roof.
"I created Moriarty".
No. That's not true. That can't be true. He himself had proved it to be wrong. The short man standing with his phone to his ear denies the other man's words. He knows it to be wrong. Why would he say this?
The dark haired, thin man wouldn't stop. His words stung the shorter man on the street. He wouldn't listen to his pleas- he just kept going.
He wants to say something- but the words don't come out.
Why can't the blonde haired man say it? Why can't he say what he feels?
He wants to come up to him- to his friend on the roof. The dark haired man stops him- outstretching his hand as if to grab hold of him.
Everything is spinning. The blonde doesn't know how to stop him.
The thin man on the roof hangs up. The man on the floor just keeps looking.
The thin man falls.
He just keeps staring; keeps holding his phone- holding his breath.
He still is falling…
Falling…
Falling….
Everything goes black.
His eyes burst open as he lifts himself in terror, breathing heavily and rapidly. He had had that dream many times before, but each time it happened, it felt more and more real. But then again- it was real wasn't it? It had happened almost a year ago. And the memory was still burnt into his mind.
Sherlock Holmes had committed suicide.
He rubbed his face with his hands as the sweat dripped from his forehead. There was no way he could go back to sleep- not after that. He could never sleep after that dream, and that was almost the 37th time he had had that dream in the past 6 months.
He got up from his bead and walked over to his desk in his small apartment. He opened up his laptop and waited for it to load up and be greeted with the same message.
"Welcome John Watson"
John went through his emails and began to remember how often Sherlock would go onto his computer without permission and read his emails. Usually the ones he sent to his girlfriends.
"That man…" John mumbled under his breath with his hand on his cheek and a small grin on his face. The grin quickly dissipated as he remembered the dream he had had just 10 minutes ago.
He checks his inbox- nothing new. He was hoping that sooner or later Lestrade would send him something about a new case. Even with Sherlock gone he still insisted on helping Lestrade. After Sherlock's name had been cleared- with a generous contribution from Mycroft- Lestrade felt as if he had been responsible for Sherlock's death. John didn't feel that that was the case, even though it could very well have been true. He, however, didn't believe that Sherlock would commit suicide because of pressure. John's head began to ache. He always got a headache when he tried to think of a reason for Sherlock jumping.
Suddenly he heard his phone vibrate on the table. Mrs. Hudson was calling him.
"I guess she couldn't sleep either" he said with a small grin.
Mrs. Hudson called quite often during the day but this was the first time she had called at night. John figured she was going through the same stress he was, maybe even at the same moment. Sherlock had meant a lot to her and his death was almost like losing a son.
"John dear, when will you come home? It's lonely here without you dear and I'm having the worst time of keeping up with the new tenants. It's a bit frustrating. I really do miss you. Won't you please come back again?"
"I'm sorry Mrs. Hudson", he began. "I can't come back to that place and you know that. It's just too difficult. Please understand."
She did a small sigh as her voice began to go back to it's usual calm and understanding tone.
"I understand dear. I won't ask anymore. But would you at least do me the kindness of a visit? I happen to have a letter addressed to you with me here. It seems whoever sent it didn't know that you had moved out of 221 B."
John thought for a moment and then gave in. He guessed it was the least he could do. Visiting Mrs. Hudson would at least give her some sort of comfort.
"I'll be there by tomorrow morning. Is that alright?"
Her voice took a happy tone as she agreed. Her spirits were lifted much higher now.
John did a small chuckle as he hung up the phone. It was good to know that there was someone still worrying about him. He had just put down the phone when he got a message from Lestrade.
"231 Crnwll., ASAP, Hom."
A homicide. Just what he needed. He preferred going out into the cold London night air and investigating a case than going back to sleep. He was tired, but knew that sleep was the last thing he wanted. Not if that dream was to reappear again.
As he left his small, sad apartment he noticed a picture of Sherlock on a shelf. He had taken it during their trip to Baskerville. He was sitting with a tea by his side, examining a sugar package out of curiosity.
"He thought it was the sugar. He was so embarrassed when I called him out on his mistake."
He chuckled lightly at the fond memory, but soon the smile dissipated as he walked out into the cold.
"Don't think about it. Not right now."
Authors Note: And that's chaper 1! Please R&R! I can't wait to get the story reaaaally rolling! :D