Warning! This story is very sad and angry, so read at your own risk.
This story is told from John's POV in the form of a diary entry. I hope you enjoy it!
The Aftermath – Chapter 1
17/11/15 – 1:00am.
Days since the Fall: 8.
I thought I saw him yesterday.
I was walking to the grocery store, the first time I had been out of my new flat since… since…
I was out of food, although I wasn't eating much of anything these days.
A trip to the grocery store. You can't go wrong with a trip to the grocery store. Nothing would remind me of… of Him… there. He never went grocery shopping anyways... It was just a trip to the grocery store, right?
Wrong.
The trip there was fine, and the actual shopping was fine. I went to a random isle, grabbed a few things, and hurried to the checkout. The lady who checked me out was young and beautiful, but I paid no attention to her.
"Did you find everythi…" she had started to say, but stopped when she saw my face.
"Yes, thank you," I said, my voice feeble and hoarse from lack of use.
She quickly checked me out, keeping her face down. My hand was shaking as I handed her my money, an empty feeling in my heart.
Keep it together, John… I remember thinking to myself. Don't break down in public… Wait until you're back in your flat…
I grabbed my groceries and walked quickly out of the grocery store, wanting to get back to my flat as soon as possible.
I was hurrying down the sidewalk when I thought I saw Him.
I saw the dark curly hair, and the large coat. He looked about His height as well. I couldn't prevent the hope from filling my heart when I saw him, leaving me momentarily breathless.
I stared at the person, not believing my eyes.
Then the person turned around, and my heart broke.
The man was too tan to be Him, the eyes too dark, and his build was too heavy...
Tears had filled my eyes as I turned around and walked away, furious at myself for getting my hopes up. I walked numbly back to the flat, wondering fleetingly why I was hurrying before. I walked up the stairs to the door of my flat, grabbing the keys from my jeans pocket. My hands were shaking so bad that I could barely get the key in the lock and turn it.
Once inside the new and empty flat, I threw the groceries down on the counter, not caring when a few of the items came out of the bag and landed on the counter. I walked blindly to the living room, only making it as far as the wall that divided the two rooms.
I leaned against the walls, physically and emotionally tired. Tears filled my eyes and splashed down my cheeks before dripping onto my shirt. Sobs shook me as I collapsed, sliding down the wall. I openly cried into my hands, wishing that I could go back in time and erase everything. Erase meeting Sherlock, erase all the cases that we solved, and more than everything else, erase his death.
And I know there is no use crying over this, like I am right now.
Because at the end of the day, I know one thing for sure.
Sherlock Holmes is dead… And there is nothing I can do to bring him back.
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