Another line, another day. That is how he saw the world. Every day since he was gone, forever taken from the world, John added another line. At first it hurt, but it was nothing to the pain that stabbed him in the heart every time he thought of that day.
The one he would love forever.
Jumping off.
Taking his life.
Leaving John all alone in the cruel world.
And this reminded him. Every day he reminded himself of that pain caused by his soul mate's suicide. All this pain so he'd never forget the man he would love until the end of time itself. He used a pocket knife, a small and shiny silver one, originally given to him for protection.
Every day, he would take that knife, and press it against his lightly tanned skin. He would dig in with the tip, drawing a small blotch of blood. Once he was certain he pierced his skin, he would dig deeper. Then slide it across his skin, cutting it open. Blood pooled every time he did this.
The scars all over his arm were a note to himself that his love was never going to come back. The pain was dull to him now; he could barely feel the pain anymore. Today marked day five hundred forty-eight of his death. Five hundred forty-eight scars that ran all over his two forearms. Most of them horizontal-cut straight across – but some were vertical, and others placed at random. But no matter, he always knew how many there were. He couldn't forget if he wanted to.
He sighed, as rest his head upon the couch's throw pillow. His blood dripped slowly onto the old wooden floor, seeing as his arm hung off the sofa limply. He had nothing to live for anymore; his heart lost to a dead man who took it with him to heaven. He wanted to end it so desperately. That was when a deadly thought occurred to him.
Why not?
He went through the pain, for five hundred forty-eight days. He no longer even felt the pain, just numbness. Now it was time for the sweet release. He grabbed the knife again. He thought back, long and hard, as he pressed the cool metal of the knife to the middle of his throat. He thought of his love, with his ever so handsome features.
He thought of the man's beautiful face; with his crystal blue eyes that he could stare into for hours. The thick, curly, and dark mop of hair that he had loved to run his fingers thorough when he pulled his lover in for a passionate kiss. His smooth ivory skin that he had delicately traced patterns on as they lay in bed had barely a blemish visible. The delightfully high cheekbones that he would joke about getting a cut from just by touching them. The ever-knowing smirk that always played on his pale, thin lips.
He missed it all. Every aspect of him. Not just his gorgeous looks, but his brilliant mind as well. The mind that solved so many crimes and saved lives. His gigantic heart also was an amazing thing that John loved. He used to listen to the beating of it as he fell asleep on his soul mate's chest. One if the things he loved best was his compassion for the things he loved. Like John himself.
'I'm coming for you Sherlock Holmes, my one and only love. My soulmate, my angel up in heaven, I'm coming all for you.' He thought, then plunged the knife deep into his throat.