"John?" Sherlock jerked his head from the novel his was reading, and examined the door. He could've sworn…but no. He was gone.
Sherlock gulped hard and looked at his tea. The last pot John had made. He'd been drinking it for the past few days, in little sprits, so as not to waste any of it. Or to lose what little he still had left of him.
That doctor, Sherlock despised him now. Left him the height of their careers. Sherlock Holmes had never felt more alone than after losing his one and only friend. He opened the book again in an attempt to get lost once again in its words, but could not, and instead snatched his laptop from the table and powered it on, pulling his knees to his chest. A few moments of silent, horse-like clacking on his keyboard sounded, until he pulled it up.
John's blog.
How stupid, he though, sneering as he re-read "A Study in Pink", the first adventure John had wrote. Too much relationship, not enough fact. Where is the hardcore detail? We don't care for your opinion on the color of pink! Sherlock groaned and slammed the laptop shut, tossing it carelessly into the floor. He stared at the ground, the wall, the bookshelf, the kitchen.
A case. He needed a case, something to draw his mind off of it all. Irene would be of no help. Mrs. Hudson would make it better with useless tea and nursery rhymes, and as he constantly pointed out he was not a child (though he did miss John's commenting on how he was acting like a five year old). Perhaps there was something new at Scotland Yard. Hadn't Lestrade mentioned some missing goat in the Southside of London?
Obviously in France with the workhand, he thought. He could have some fun insulting Anderson, hang out with Molly as she constantly flirted with him.
I'll go grab a bite instead, Sherlock stood and pulled a coat on over his suit, tucked his scarf in neatly, and as he grabbed his gloves (along with his gun just for good measure) he turned behind him. "Oh, and John I need you to – " he caught himself before he could say much more and scurried down the stairs, not even bothering to say goodbye to Mrs. Hudson.
Like John would have done if he was here.
Sherlock ducked through the doorway.
He went to one of his and John's favorites, ordering a simple coffee and taking a seat where one could observe everything if he'd wanted to. Sure, as people strolled by, he caught the basics, such as name and age, what they were doing and why. Susan, from Nebraska, obviously here on some sort of trip…James, a field hand – the same one who stole the goat. Make a note for Lestrade later. Klaine, here on business. He wasn't paying attention though. He saw everything, and that was his curse. He wish he didn't, oh, how he wished he didn't!
He'd seen John, right before it happened. It was still his fault and he knew it. The gun was pointed at them, he could have saved John…and boom. He was gone and so was the other, the killer.
He could still hear his last words, "I'll be alright, I'll be alright…"
"Like I said, Sherlock," a voice whispered in his ear. "I will burn the heart out of you."
Sherlock swiveled around, and upon seeing nothing, went back to his coffee.
I will burn the heart out of you.
"You've accomplished it."
Because I felt the need to write something like this.
:D
Love, Hope, and God bless,
~Future