You told me once... that you weren't a hero. Um.. there were times I didn't even think you were human, but, let me tell you this: you were the best man... the most human… human being I've ever known, and no one will ever convince me that you told me a lie, so... there.
I was so alone, and I owe you so much.
Look, please, there's just one more thing, one more thing, one more miracle, Sherlock, for me. Don't. Be. Dead. Would you do that, just for me, just… stop it? Stop this.
The flat is cold and dark. I haven't bothered to turn on the lights even though night has fallen. I haven't gotten up from the armchair all day. The pajamas I've been wearing for the past two weeks have gotten too big over the past three years. My stomach growls loudly, but I don't pull myself out of my curled position to find something to eat. I know Mrs. Hudson keeps the kitchen stocked, but I haven't the energy or drive to perform the simple task of feeding myself.
The skull has appeared to change pigment, but is merely covered in a thick layer of dust. Sometimes I try to talk to it, to feel some connection to him. But my voice comes out raspy and strained, and the skull never talks back anyway. Only in dreams do I see him: the tall physique, the dark curls, his melodic baritone voice that perfectly complements his pompous attitude.
Compliments.
No, John. Complemented.
You must not refer to him in the present tense.
You must not refer to him in the present tense.
You must-
My vision begins to blur as hot tears interrupt my thoughts. I shiver.
"I'm a fake."
My breathing becomes labored and the shivers turn to shakes.
"Keep your eyes fixed on me. Please, will you do this for me?"
"Do what?"
"This phone call, it's... it's my note. That's what people do, don't they? Leave a note."
"Leave a note when?"
"Goodbye, John."
"No. Don't—"
"SHERLOCK!" I scream. I sit up quickly and bump my head on the coffee table, but I barely feel it. I claw at my chest, trying to rip out the stabbing pain of losing him again. I'm gasping for air and sobbing uncontrollably. The door bangs open and someone turn on the lights. The next thing I know, I'm crying into Mrs. Hudson's shoulder, clinging to her because I need some proof of reality.
"Sherlock," I choke out between sobs. "Sherlock."
"Shh," Mrs. Hudson whispers. "Shh. I know. I know."
I'm not sure if it's my imagination, but I think I feel a tear drip onto my head.