This is just a sad, hopeless one shot, born of my Saturday evening boredom.
Kennedi, this is for you. I hope you like it.
Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock. And I don't own John. and I also don't own my sister.
"Sherlock?" I called, glancing into my living room as I walked into my flat.
I placed my car keys on the kitchen counter, along with the two bags of groceries that I had picked up on my way home from work.
"Nope. No need to be polite and say hello to your wife..." I muttered, walking down the hall and peering into Sherlock's office, and then turning to check the bedroom.
What I found, I don't think any wife is ever prepared to see.
"Oh my gosh," I began, rushing to the side of the bed, and kneeling on the ground next to my husband's frigid body.
I gasped when I saw the bullet wound, draining the life from the seemingly invincible Sherlock Holmes.
"Sherlock, please..." I said, as tears stung my cheeks. I checked for a pulse and hope returned at the faint movement in his wrist.
I ran to my mobile and dialed the ambulance. I stated my issue, and was told to stay near him.
But they were too late.
I had heard enough of "I'm sorry for your loss," and "you're going to be okay" in one day.
I laid a rose down on top of the long black casket, and whispered one last "I love you" to the man that I could only hope was watching me from Heaven.
"Mommy?" I heard a small voice ask, and I looked down to see my three year old daughter standing in the grass, observing me solemnly.
"Yes, darling?" I asked, playing with her ringlets of dark hair.
"Where's daddy?"
Tears once again pricked my eyes, as I realized that I had to tell my daughter what no mother wants to tell their child.
"Daddy's in heaven, watching us." I said, though my voice cracked, I was trying my best not to break in front of my daughter.
"Is he coming back?"
"I'm sorry..." I said, as the tears fell down my cheeks.
Our family friend, John Watson approached me, and pulled me into a hug, while my mother gave me a look of sympathy and gathered my daughter into her arms, walking way.
"You need to wake up." John said, patting my back lightly.
"What?" I scowled.
"MOMMY, MOMMY, MOMMY! IT'S MY BIRTHDAY! WAKE UP!" I rubbed my eyes to see my little girl jumping on my bed.
"I'm up, honey. I'm up." I said, stumbling out of bed.
Suddenly, a burning smell wafted through my nostrils.
"What's that smell?" I asked, grimacing.
"Daddy tried to make me waffles..." She said, looking down at her bunny slippers, and clutching her blanket tightly in her tiny hands.
"Daddy? That's nonsense, my dear."
I heard the shuffle of feet, and looked up to see my husband standing there, with flower all over his robe, and bits of a smashed eggshell clinging to his hand.
"Good morning," he greeted.
Sometimes you never realize how good you have something until it's gone. I'm just glad it didn't actually take me losing something to realize it.
A/N: There it is. Stupid, pointless drabble..
If you read this entire thing, then I commend you. Because I myself wouldn't even read something this absurdly nonsensical.
Goodbye, then.
~lostfincayra