Reichenbach still hurts.
Playlist:
I Don't Want To Be A Soldier - John Lennon
Soldier On - The Temper Trap
Soldier On - Oasis
Goodbye Apathy - One Republic
John the Determinist - Jeremy Messersmith
Well, I don't wanna be a failure, mama, I don't wanna cry
Well, I don't wanna be a soldier, mama, I don't wanna die
There are days when his absence is unbearable.
This is one of those days.
One of those days when I feel all alone, because I truly am - everyone's left and gone on with their daily lives.
I can hear Mrs. Hudson barking at the neighbors, and Lestrade's probably busy at the Yard, handling another murder case. Mycroft has been out of town for a while, tending to some national emergency in China.
It's just me and our flat. I mean, my flat.
Not that I mind… I've always been alone. Ever since Afghanistan, ever since he fell.
3 years… 3 years…
I've moved on.
But really who am I kidding?
How could anyone forget the Sherlock Holmes?
My Sherlock Holmes?
I try to remind myself that I'm a military man, that I'm stronger than everyone else out there, that I'll get through the pain of having the one thing that kept me sane torn from my hands.
It does work. Sometimes.
But then I look around and I see memories of him everywhere, on my purple shirt, my sweaters, my socks…
I never did remove your things, Sherlock, never did, never will. This is still our flat, even if you're gone, even if you're...
Even if you're dead.
Soldier on, I tell myself. Soldier on, John. You've been through worse periods of isolation, of pain, of that feeling of not knowing whether you're going to die or get shot or bombed.
Except I haven't. All those times it wouldn't have mattered if I died, because I had nothing to live for.
Not that I have anything to live for now.
I've never been one for melodrama and heavy emotions, but days like these I hate my existence. I feel like I'm drowning in my own apathy.
Soldier on, soldier on, keep your heart
Close to the ground
But a military man isn't supposed to feel emotion.
A military man is a singular unit, trained to fight to the finish, to soldier on when times get tough.
Times are excruciatingly tough now.
I sent him texts, you know. After his... well. I know it's foolish, I know there was no point, but I couldn't help it. I didn't say much, just the usual domestic messages: Get the milk, Massive sale at Tesco - GET THE JAM, Mrs. Hudson's having a fit, come home soon -
Then the mobile company texted me and said the phone was disabled. I stopped soon afterwards.
I just thought that maybe he did manage to slip away, that the bloody, pale, cherubic face I saw lying on the pavement wasn't him after all.
I am a fool.
I never did tell him what I always knew in my heart - that he was my heart-, and now he's taken it away.
I like to think that he was flying that afternoon, not falling but flying - that he was an angel with broken wings…
I like to think that angels came to take him away, struggling not to slap him for trying to deduce who they were before they died.
I like to think that, maybe someday, I'll join him and finally tell him all that I know now.
Sometimes I wish someday would come sooner,
Come the day
Come the night
I'll be gone
Soldier on