SHERLOCK FANCFICTION

CHAPTER 1

John stared at his reflection but stared into the ocean deep eyes of his friend, Sherlock. The eyes were piercing as they always were but now they were slowly dimming, the light was growing weak and they were dying. This was John's reality now, an imaginary footstep on the wooden floor or the gentle mutterings coming from a corner that haunted his mind. John gasped for air as he pushed these emotions back into their glass case in his mind. But this glass case was slowly cracking down the middle and John had no way of stopping it.

As John sat rigidly upright in his chair, facing the spot where Sherlock would sit and mutter deductions. And he started to notice the colour red in everything no matter where he looked because it was the exact colour of the blood that had covered the pavements a couple of weeks ago. Wether it was a swirl in the carpet or a small rose on a teacup, John would never get that image out of his mind but the truth was, he was holding onto that last memory of Sherlock that he had. John gasped for air as he realised that this is what his life was coming to, grasping for a thread that would connect Sherlock back to him.

John's days were mundane and monotonous with the occasional break down when he swore that he could hear Sherlock muttering in the corner or hear the solitary but harmonic tunes from the violin sitting near its stand. John's hands tensed around the plate he was washing as he heard laughter on the street below him. "How can they laugh and be happy? Why can't I get over this?" he thought as he forced back tears and continued to wash the remnants off of that nights dinner.

"John, we should go out sometime maybe for a picnic or something. Would you like that?" Mary had been asking these questions day after day for the past couple of weeks but the blank expressions that was returned to her eventually stopped the pleading. John's life was falling apart and he couldn't find happiness in things he had once loved. Going out for coffee and scones with Mary was their idea of a date night but now date nights had stopped and John spent his days alone, blogging and deleting the new posts on his blog, not eating, barely sleeping. Just staring at past experiments of his friends that were never cleared away and never touched. This was John's life and he had no intention of making a change for the better.

The light from street lamps streamed into the dark bedroom where John lay awake. Car alarms went off once or twice every couple of hours and each time it happened the anger inside John's heart grew. "Sherlock is dead and nothing matters anymore, my best friend is dead and no one will care." These thoughts raced through his head and a solitary tear rolled down onto the pillow. "Get yourself together man, you have friends that love you. But do they really love you or is it all an act?" The anger and sorrow hit him like a tidal wave and pinned him down till he couldn't breathe and couldn't move. Days came where he lay in bed and didn't eat, didn't drink, didn't even speak. Where John listened to the sounds outside the window and he could swear he could hear Sherlock moving around in the room beside him. His imagination played these cruel tricks on him day in and day out till one day John reluctantly pushed all of his emotions into a glass case for them to wither and hopefully die. He slowly started to put all of Sherlock's belongings into neat boxes in Sherlock's room while muttering to himself, "Out of sight, out of mind." When he couldn't see any evidence of Sherlock, things might get easier, he might be able to live again.