A-N: Written in memory of two dear ones that left at a time they should not have. She was to change her name in two weeks, and then a lorry came. It claimed her name. He loved his family and friends, but not life.
This is a companion piece to : Please, Don't Go!
The Eulogy of Sherlock Holmes presented by Mrs. Hudson
Mrs Hudson rose from her seat, dabbed at her eyes, and proceeded to the podium in a solemnly. She unfolded a small piece of paper and began to read with a quivering voice:
My dearest Sherlock,
What you have forced me to write, I would have never imagined to do so in all my years as your landlady/housekeeper/mum. I would have thought you to write mine, no, I do not mean to be morbid, but what does it matter now? How much morbid could this get? Sherlock you make me so angry, but heartbroken. It hurts too much to think about it. I lost not a tenant, but my son today.
Please Sherlock, tell me! Why did you have to leave me? I loved you, I love you still. I always will. You and John are my sons. I loved you the moment we met, the moment you helped my case against my late husband. I know you were special, a special kind of special. One that was suited to me perfectly. I made it my resolve to me more than your landlady, though I insisted on being just that.
I cannot believe you are gone. Really actually gone. It is so surreal, the pain has not come yet. I have not shed a single tear I feel guiltily. I should have cried my eyes out by now. I know it will come soon. When we lay your strong slender body six feet under, it will come then. I miss your shouts about murders as Christmas presents. I miss your music at three in the morning. Some of those pieces you played were so moving, I never knew you could play with such emotion like that. They made me cry, but you could not hear me, thankfully. You said you composed your own music, I never doubted that. Your brain was so complex and nimble, much quicker than my old one.
Once, many years ago you wrote me a piece, it was a concerto for two violins, but somehow through your brilliance you managed to play melody and harmony together. It was beautiful. Truly a stunning piece. Through that piece I could hear the Sherlock the world never saw. I felt privileged to be able to know the real you. The Sherlock that laughed, a hearty laugh-not a superficial strained one. The Sherlock that broke down those walls and cried like a babe. The Sherlock that felt the need to satisfy the silliness inside you.
Some of your compositions were just plain awful. They kept me up with those horrid screeches on the fingerboard. I knew when you were on a case those bouts of stress would be taken out on that poor violin. I would give a lot to even hear that again. That horrible sound!
For me Sherlock. Just once more, let me hear you play your violin. Once more let me hear your heart sing from your violin, even it is at three in the morning. Please Sherlock. You have no idea the hole you left behind. I miss you, John is beside himself with grief. He is in the blackest of moods, nothing will soothe that anguish.
I miss you my son.
Please one more miracle, for me and John. Don't be dead.
With those closing words Mrs. Hudson stepped away from the podium and fell in to John's strong arms sobbing uncontrollably.
A-N: It is been a year now, but that does not change the fact or the plethora of emotions felt with their absence. I can only ask "Why?" though I know the answers will never satisfy the question.