From the original author: Inspired by 'Together Again' by Evanescence, I highly recommend you listen!
Disclaimer: Nothing is mine. Neither the series nor the song.
From the translator: I'm just learning French, and enjoyed this story for the beautiful poetic feel of the writing as much as the story. Hopefully, I did it justice in translation. WARNING: This is a very sad story!
Never thought that I'd be leaving you today
I watch John go back into Baker Street. After my fall. He seemed in another world. As if he did not dare to believe it. I didn't think I would be leaving John today. I still hoped to find another way. And stay with him, to protect him. But I could not. I didn't have the intelligence in me to avoid it. Even if hope had not left me. And after the war, and being shot on top of that, he still had to bear my "death." I feel lonely. John is not at my side anymore. He is no longer next to me, the only one I ever tolerated, appreciated. Maybe even loved. I find myself feeling completely alone. Although, I am no more alone than I was before John came into my life. I am perhaps more attached to him than I thought.
So alone and wondering why I feel this way
Ultimately, I ask myself if I'm not better off dead, really. Even if I would have given in to Moriarty. Even though he would have won. I could go "haunt" John, even if I never believed in the existence of ghosts, spirits, and other extravagant fantasies. I could stay with him. I could have. But it would have risked his life.
I am reduced to watching him from afar. I have to leave him to the surveillance of my brother. To my great misfortune. I definitely cannot do it myself. Mycroft only truly answers to himself; he could watch John carefully, as I asked, or he could abandon him completely. Mycroft is completely unworthy of trust. I must destroy Moriarity's network quickly. I will return to see John between each death. I will return to watch him from afar, from the shadows, as often as possible.
So wide the world
I feel my task may be almost too big for me, this time. The loneliness that accompanies me crushes me before I can even begin. I would so love to tell John that I am not dead. I am not dead, but I cannot rest. Not until I am with him again. Just until then. He would not let me stay in the shadow, alone and tormented.
I don't even know why I want him! Why can't I just do as before? Why can I not simply act as if he never came into my life? Like before … I close my eyes painfully. I have to go. I must leave John behind and go do my job.
Can love remember how to get me home, to you
Afterward, I could return. Return home. With John. One day, I hope, I could explain it all to John. Even if I risk him hitting me. I let a sigh escape. My return will be slow. Difficult. And I dry the drop of salt water trying to escape my eyes.
I promise myself I will return to John as fast as possible.
Someday
We'll be together again
The days pass, and I continue to think of John, who I have left behind alone. I don't even remember why I did it. When I picture John in my mind I hardly dare to breathe, hardly dare look at his side to see that I am not there. I try harder not to think about the state John is in now, but I don't succeed. I try, but it's impossible to ignore the path his thoughts must have pursued, his lifestyle, how he must suffer! I want myself to suffer terribly from it. At least, I can say I am not dead. He cannot say that. I cannot get John out of my mind. I hardly eat anymore, hardly sleep anymore. I do not see a way to return.
All just a dream in the end
John has become a dream. The weeks begin to accumulate. Every night, the same dream returns. John comes back to me in the dream. Not the John of today, not the John alone in Baker Street, a cup of tea in his hand, in his chair, his eyes on my things that he would not remove. The John of before, before I put on my death scene. When we laughed leaving crime scenes, Lestrade shaking his head in despair, Anderson sniffing disdainfully. When we returned and he made us a cup of tea. Or even forced me to eat, to sleep. The John of all the days I miss. And I cannot ignore it.
We'll be together again
But Moriarity's network starts to diminish. Dozens of people die. And the integrity of the network starts to reveal itself to my eyes. All the threads that connect him to all the murders. The logic of the network that escaped me when he died, becomes clear, and I require a lot less time to find the killers. And evidence. I kill fewer people. I send the murderers and the evidence linking them to their crimes, burglary, and other breaches of justice, to Mycroft. Who takes care of them personally. I cannot trust him with John, but for this, I can. The well-being of the nation depends on it. And if there is one thing where Mycroft is trustworthy, it is the good of his government. As more months pass, I see the task in front of me diminish, and the path separating me from John diminish. But it still seems far to me. Too far.
Mycroft told me he was trying somehow to move on. He has managed to start smiling again, even if I know he does it for the people who care about him, so they will stop worrying. To know that John begins to recover, to surpass my death, overwhelms me. I should be happy for him. But it is beyond my strength. John is not selfish enough. He does not think of himself. I wish I could return to Baker Street and hold him and whisper, "It's all right. I'm not dead. I never was. You were in danger. I did what was necessary so that everything would be restored. I love you, John." But I know that I can't do that. I also know that the last sentence would be too much for John.
So many fears were swimming around and around in my mind
The months continue to accumulate, to form a year. A year without John. The hope that had begun to return in the previous months falls suddenly. I do not think I will see John again. I cannot hope. Imagining it hurts. I always dream. But instead of the comforting warmth that hugs me before I wake, stifling cold replaces it from then on. I fear what John would think of me if he knew I had killed. I think he would be even more disappointed if he knew it was for him that I did it. In place of eagerness and hope of reunion, fear and despair.
Who would have dreamed the secrets we would find
The consultant criminal's network is almost destroyed. But his most powerful collaborators are still here. And they still have a good grip. The more I learn about them and construct my evidence, the more their actions appear dark and sick. James "Jim" Moriarity was powerful and sick, but the worker ants are equally so. I'm disappointed. I do not have enough evidence for one of his most powerful allies. I am forced to "neutralize" him. But he was aware. And Mycroft was not innocent in all this. In Moriarity's death, in mine. My opinion of him, already terribly low, falls suddenly in the negative. And John is not there to make me a cup of tea. Or just force me to eat or beg me to stop torturing my violin.
I've found a world where love and dreams and darkness all collide
I hated sleep, now I hide myself in it. I force myself to sleep, take sleeping pills in quantity, to forget. I find refuge in dreams. I am with John, before my death. All the time. Each time, each night, it is a different dream, but the dreams are always about me and John. John is always there. We always live a scene of everyday life. An ordinary scene. Yet so very comforting. But these scenes are not entirely realistic. Not completely representative of the old reality. In my dreams, John doesn't deny that we are a couple. And he brushes against me deliberately, a smile on his lips, or drops a light kiss on my lips.
Maybe this time we can leave our broken world behind
We'll be together again
The network is destroyed. Apparently, John had his first date since my death. I take a dose of sleeping pills. A pill. Then another. And again another. Until I can dream about John. Of John and me. Together. I swallow my pills desperately. I swallow compulsively. I look forward to seeing John. I finish my box. That was barely started. I think of John. Of what I wanted to say to him, but could not. "I love you, John." And the darkness engulfs me.
All just a dream in the end