03:05:01:02:0500:36:29.7...and counting.
It had been three years, five months, one week, two days, five hours, thirty six minutes, and twenty nine point seven seconds since that horrific moment. That specific moment when that pale body collided with solid pavement with a sickening crack.
That crack haunted my nightmares, along with the memories of the war, and the various cases that took a bad turn, like the bomb being strapped to me at the pool. He was gone, and I didn't do anything to stop it.
I don't know what to do. I asked for him to stop being dead, that didn't work, so I left London. I re-enlisted in the RAMC, trained for a couple months, and deployed to Afghanistan. Now my unit was in the Helmand Province, being shot at like we were targets. Oh wait, we are.
We were pinned down in a firefight, we would all be dead soon and I would see him again. Three years, five months, one week, two days, five hours, thirty nine minutes, and eleven point two seconds. I thought back to a letter I wrote, and sent to Mrs. Hudson so she would put it in the flat for Mycroft to find after I died.
"Dear Sherlock.
You have been gone now for almost three and a half years. I asked you to stop being dead and it didn't work. People told me to move on, but I couldn't.
I lost more than my friend and flat mate that day, that god-awful day. I lost the man I had managed to fall in love with. Watching you jump, was the hardest thing I ever had to do, and I invaded Afghanistan.
I realize now that no matter what I do, nothing will bring you back, so I will come to you. It's only a matter of time Sherlock. At least, coming back to the Middle East might allow me to die as you did. A hero. You were my hero Sherlock, and I know you will never read this, so you would ask why I would write this. Well, this is my note, and you're right. That is what people do.
Oh, and here's a goodbye saying my sister told me. "Run you clever boy, and remember me."
Love,
John H. Watson"
Three years, five months, one week, two days, five hours, fifty eight minutes, and twelve point four seconds. A shadow falls over me and I think these are my last seconds. I close my eyes and I hear the click, signifying the cocking of a gun.
Sherlock asked me once to think of what my last words would be and I told him "Dear God, please don't let me die." He told me to be creative. So I whispered my last words as they fell on merciless ears. BANG! Darkness shrouded my world, and sent me to the place where I hoped he would be. Three years, five months, one week, two days, six hours, zero minutes, and zero point two seconds.
03:05:01:02:0600:00:00.20-
The soft whisper echoed in the ears of a man over a thousand miles away. A tall man, with dark hair. He lay in the darkness, not able to sleep, his thought occupied by another man, with dirty blond hair, and the most beautiful eyes he had ever seen.
He thought of the way the man dressed, how he slept, how he ate, how he liked his coffee (I don't take sugar.), the way he walked, everything about him. And then his voice echoed in the tall man's head. Those words. He never thought he would hear them. And when he did, a tear slipped and fell, traveling its lonely path down sharp cheekbones, down past a slender mouth, and dripped off an angular chin, staining a small, dark spot on the thick, dark blue wool around the tall man's neck. He knew then that the time he had left would be time wasted.
The words?
The words were "I believe in Sherlock Holmes."