Although the nightmares, which chased him through the last few days, Sherlock thought it was time to go to bed. He walked into his silent room and sat on the bed. No, he couldn't sleep – it was so bright! The full-moon was peeking through the window and made his face paler and his hair darker. Sherlock rose and pulled the curtains shut, yet, before going back to bed; he chose his favorite playlist and played it on his laptop.

Sat on the bed, he closed his eyes, but didn't fall asleep. In front of his closed lids a long-forgotten face was smiling at him. Cunning dark-blue eyes were staring at him and were gently calling him on. He had forgotten these eyes – the cleverest he ever saw. One mystery he hadn't solved, even with the help provided by Scotland Yard and Mycroft.

These eyes wanted attention; they captured him in invisible trap. The face was pale, typical Scandinavian – thin pale skin, strange big eyes, delicate tip-tilted nose and pretty pale-pink lips. Thick and soft hair fell wavy, in big contrast with the pale face.

But the most superb thing in her wasn't the good looks, but her strong and swift mind, the matchless logic, which competed and even surpassed all of the detective's means. Actually, at least in from of himself, he admitted that her looks made impression on him, arose strong carnal desires in him. But, if it wasn't the swift mind, she would be just a face in his carnal dreams. Yet, alone for the person, that she was – the perspicacity; the hate arisen by her fear of people; the inhuman sincerity; the obeying of her own strict morals, enliven by martial arts; her typical day-dreaming states and by-no-means-conscious falling in meditation state; for all this and not only, he wanted the person hidden in the body. He caved the physical joint for reason, which wasn't known to him in words, but only in feeling. The feeling of desire to peck at her being.

In Sherlock's mind, this feeling wasn't called "love" – he just found this word filthy, a word, which wasn't to be used to describe his feelings for Ann. But, for the normal people, his Feelings were called this way. On the other hand, his love wasn't the one in the movies and books – he didn't want to sacrifice his all because of her desires. Only naturally, he was ready to give his life for her wellness, but that was a sacrifice that she would give for him too.

For Sherlock this whole story, these years, that he spent with her, on her side, were just one beautiful dream. Dream turned into his biggest nightmare, which chased after him even now – 6 years after her disappearance.

Anna was a woman, who would never hide something from Sherlock. She knew that by all means they were equal, and as a lover, she never saw benefit in lying. To the last moment everything was fine, there were no people, who wanted or could cause them any harm. Then came the day, when Anna didn't return home. Or even if she returned, was gone before he came home. When Sherlock walked home, angered by his brother's grumbling, he easily noticed the absence of the only living creature, capable of taming his anger. He called her, but there was no answer; he called his brother, but the second haven't seen her. He called Lestrade, but the police had no answer where she was.

Time went by and Ann was reported dead. Sherlock didn't want to bury the memory and kept the engagement ring, which he planned on giving her the night she disappeared. This ring was at the safest place for him – on necklace around his neck.

Lost in thoughts, Sherlock didn't notice the knock on the door; neither noticed John, whose head peeked behind the now open door. When the second finally spoke, Holmes returned to reality.

"Sherlock, there's a woman asking for you," John's voice was sleepy and worried.

The detectiveunconcernedly rose and followed Watson to the living room. There, standing beside the fireplace, stood a woman. A woman followed him into his dream for the last 6 years.

"Ann," whispered Sherlock.

Holmes drew near the woman and pulled her into hug, unable to believe. Tears rolled down both their cheeks.

John started to leave them alone, but two voices stopped him.

"John," said the woman, "I would like you to hear my story, because it is strongly bound by a case, you have been working with Sherlock for more than a year."


This is the English version of my story Последния Ден - The last day. I chose to translate it and post it as new story, because not all people here read Bulgarian.

If someone wants to take a look at the original story is welcome to do it here - () /s/7985661/1/The_Last_Day