Broken
He was sitting at he flat. His and Sher-. No, just his flat. His alone.
Today it was his funeral. Sherlock's funeral. He would be leaving soon. But now... he needed to think. He still couldn't get it. Why, why did Sherlock jump? Was it because of what he said. Because of that he, John Watson, for a few minutes, had lost fate in him. That was the only explanation he could think of. Why else would he jump? He had never cared what people thought of him before. But, what John said to him, it really seemed to get to him. He cared, had cared about what John thought of him.
What had been the last thing he said to Sherlock? He had begged him not to jump. But that didn't count. The last thing he said, face to face, that was what counted. He had screamed at Sherlock. Called him machine. Practically told him to go to hell. But he had been angry. He hadn't meant it. Or maybe he had, at the time.
He remembered Sherlock's broken body, lying on the ground. His pale eyes. Those gorgeous, grey eyes. Staring into nothing. He couldn't get the picture out of his head. Those pale eyes. The body, broken, lying on the pavement. Sherlock's long curly hair, stained with blood.
A/N: Okay, this was my first 221b fanfiction. God, it was hard to get everything down in so few words! It kept getting too long. And then when I changed it, it was too short! But here it is. Hope you like it. Please review.
