All Good Things (Come to an End)

By AmandineGrace

Flames to dust, lovers to friends. Why do all good things come to an end?

My empty eyes were met with the sight of my best friend's chair as I awoke. The sight of which once brought an inner happiness, knowing that for once in my withdrawn and forsaken life I could rely upon the presence of another without fear of rejection or disdain. For that is what he offered; a place where I could finally allow myself to be myself without being alone.
I exhaled slowly as the last remnants of my nectarous dreams escaped my mind's eye, just as the single tear that had formed in my incubus did, and the hard, unfeeling exterior I feigned followed suit in the solitude of my now empty home.
I squeezed them shut, attempting to rekindle my dreams. Taking a deep breath, I pictured the days when I would open my eyes to the sight of his strong, unassuming features gazing at me thoughtfully from that same chair. The familiar scenes danced across my eyelids and I felt as a small smile formed on my lips. The smile that only he ever saw, on the lips that I prayed to all that was good and holy only he would ever kiss.
If I was to be completely honest, I would admit that he awoke a part of me that I wasn't even aware of. The part of one's soul that remains dead unless it finds its other half. The chemicals in the brain that remain locked inside the cage of naivety, only to be released when the right key unlocks them, setting them free to spread like a sweet poison over the mind, polluting and destroying all rational thought and replacing it with the blessing and curse that is love.

John Watson…

I sighed as the memory of my first meeting with him replayed in my mind, his deep, slightly husky voice swirled around my head, going straight to the deep reserves of my memory where it would remain always.
I lifted my hand slightly, remembering his firm soldier's handshake and the slight shock I felt when I touched his war-ridden, rough hands. I felt as that part of my soul was given a jolt, and my brain tried to warn me that he was the key.
His familiar smell filtered into my thoughts and I realized that I was clutching his favourite jumper to my chest. My breath caught in my throat as I looked down at the woven threads and recalled how they wrapped around his toned chest, his strong arms and down to encircle his hips in a way that made me want to stop are marvel at his true beauty for hours on end.
I lifted the over worn jumper to my face and inhaled the scent of his aftershave and his intoxicating sickly sweet sweat. A tear escaped my closed eyelid and fell into the abyss of the only remaining physical reminder I had of him. I let the jumper fall from my grasp; I didn't want to taint that glorious essence with my own insignificance.
"John…" I whispered, my throat swallowing my voice allowing only a faint susurration to escape into the hollow room.

Another tear fell from my dying eyes onto the skin of my bare, empty hands and was soon joined by another.
He had never seen me cry. I had never had reason enough to lament in his presence; for the few times we had had a disagreement, I had never let it go far enough to result in tears. I couldn't bear to see his beautiful face stained with the evidence I had hurt him. The mere thought of it induced an increase in the tears now staining my own face.
I stood shakily, clutching the chair's arms for support. I had not moved from this position since the day I had received the news that had sent my life into precipitation.

I stumbled to the bedroom…our bedroom and collapsed onto the unmade bed, inhaling the scent of the sheets. I curled onto my side, hugging my legs and burying myself in the sheets we shared.
I let my mind wander as I focused on breathing in the essence that was us, our love, and my breaths grew shaky as I began to replay that night in my mind; the night when I had abandoned all traces of my fears and embarrassment and had let John love me so completely.

I recalled his delicate touches and his voice: low and encompassing. He was so understanding and so gentle, never once did I feel afraid. My timid touching became more passionate as my confidence grew. I recalled the tingles in my spine when he kissed his way down my back, softly and tenderly, and the delicious taste of his supple lips as they melded with mine. The feel of his body upon mine; just the right amount of pressure to make my heart leap to my throat and the fire within my soul was lit. I had never felt this way; this insatiable love had taken over my body and mind and had left nothing but an overwhelming desire to make the man I was with happy for as long as time would allow.
I pulled the sheet closer to my body as I recalled the absolute feeling of ecstasy that he gave me, and the way he held me after, talking softly into my ear between heavy breaths.
I pulled my legs tighter to my body, yearning to feel his touch again…to feel the tenderness of his loving kiss upon my lips. But I knew I never would again. The one thing had made my existence bearable was gone and now all I had was suffocating memories and overwhelming feelings that threatened to cave in around me.

I stretched out a shaking hand and placed it on John's pillow, where he laid his tired head and I so often watched him in this slumber; letting myself believe he dreamt about me the same way I dreamt about him.
I breathed in a shaky breath and pretended that with each breath, my heart didn't crumble. He wouldn't want me to give up…he'd want me to be strong.

"Maybe the ultimate wound is the one that makes you miss the war you got it in."

John's favourite quote echoed around my head, the words resonated far too much within me and I felt as my hand subconsciously gripped the pillow. My ultimate wound was the half of me that was torn away, leaving me bare, afraid and alone, but I would never regret the war that gave it to me. For if I had never received John Watson's love, I would never know what it feels like to be complete.

I sat up slowly, allowing the constant stream of silent tears to fall freely. I hugged the pillow to my chest, burying my face in it.
What if the wound is fatal? I thought to myself, lifting my head to look at my sallow face in the mirror across the room.
What if the ultimate wound leaves one so destroyed, there is no hope of recovery? I closed my eyes, picturing John's concerned face. I could almost hear him telling me what I already knew;

"You stop that Sherlock. You stop it right now. Don't you dare think about it."

But John, you would never understand. You would never understand what it feels like to live a life alone after spending the most joyous days of it with you. I took a slow, deliberate deep breath and opened my eyes again. I knew what I had to do.
I placed John's pillow back in its rightful place, next to mine and stood determinedly. This was the only way. If I did this then I would see his beautiful face again, I would feel his tender touch and most importantly, I wouldn't be alone. I had spent too many years alone and in the little time I had spent with him I instinctively knew that one couldn't live without the other. For before Doctor John Watson, I was the living dead.

I made my way to the bathroom, leaving a trail of clothing the way I always would to entice John, a slight smile made its way onto my lips remembering the times John had returned from work to find a trail of my clothing leading to wherever I wanted, no, needed him to be.
I prayed that he would come now, because I needed him more than ever. I let my last tears fall as I undid the buttons of his favourite shirt and let it fall to the ground. I always left the shirt until last…it was somewhat of a tradition. It fluttered to the tiled ground below my feet as a tear dropped from my cheek and landed with a delicate splash.

"I'm coming John." I choked as I climbed into the full bath, gasping as the cold water hit my skin.

I made a vow that I would never abandon him. I would never abandon my one true love, even in death. Even as I looked into his cold, blank eyes on that fateful day I knew that I would keep my vow, despite knowing he wouldn't want this. I knew I was betraying him by joining him in death, but surely he would know I was dead already. My soul had died when he was torn from my arms and I was nothing but an empty vessel now.

I held the knife with a steady hand above my wrist and closed my eyes. I imagined I was sharing this bath with John, and that the sharp blade was his soft lips, kissing my wrist lightly, and then moving onto the next. I closed my eyes as I felt the deep gashes on both wrists began to bleed heavily and sank deeper into the water. I hummed a song from my childhood, from one of the rare times my mother had sung me to sleep and felt as I slipped into unconsciousness.
My life replayed in my mind, I suppose this was what was meant to happen. My mind skillfully skipped all the years I had spent alone and taking me straight to my times with John. Each kiss, each touch…every time played before me, taking me higher and higher into the plane of ecstasy. Slowly the dreams faded and I opened my eyes again. I was standing beside my own body. It was a strange sensation, looking at my own pale form as I lay there in a sea of red, a peaceful expression on my motionless face. As I thought of all those I had left behind, I felt a slight stab of remorse. I stood looking at myself for a few somber moments, wondering how one man could have led me to do something like this. Love was a fatal injury, an injury that both destroyed and completed me.

I sighed as I accepted that this is what I had become. I had let myself be totally and completely unveiled and loved beyond comparison and now as a result of this, I had taken my own life. I closed my eyes and prayed once more for the reason for my life, the other piece of my soul. If he wasn't here when I needed him most, I believed that my fate was doomed to be a wandering soul, alone once again.
"You always were a drama queen Sherlock."
I heard the familiar voice embrace me and my heart's pace quickened. I was almost too afraid to open my eyes in case this was all a cruel trick of the mind. Was it really him?
I felt as my hands became entwined in his gloriously rough but delicate hands and that was when I knew.
I slowly opened my eyes to find him there. His stern face softened by the light of the room we were standing in. I realized then that we were stood in front of the windows of Baker Street, where I usually stood awaiting John's return from work, where we would embrace and I would feel whole again. It seemed all things led back to Baker Street.
"John?" I choked, feeling as all the tears I had tried to suppress fell from my eyes.
"I'm here Sherlock. Of course I am here." His soft touch wiped away the tears from my cheeks and he hushed me soothingly
"John…" I lost the ability to speak, and was quickly losing the ability to stand.
"How could you be so stupid Sherlock?" he murmured as he brushed my cheek lightly with his thumb.
"Because. Because I love you John and I couldn't live without you." I looked at him, guilt in my eyes. "I'm sorry." A million other reasons were ready to pour from my mouth, but John placed his index finger over my lips and looked at me the way he always looked at me; with pure, untainted love. With that look I knew I was forgiven. I knew despite how I had gotten here, he was as happy to see me as I was to see him.
"I love you too Sherlock." He whispered as he pressed his lips tenderly to mine. "I always will."

The kiss was short, but it was the one thing I needed to keep me going. I stroked John's face tenderly and threw my arms around his familiar frame. He did the same, snaking his arms around my chest and squeezing tightly.
"I'll never let you go Sherlock."
I buried my face in his shoulder and pulled him even closer.
"Not all good things have to come to an end." I whispered.
"Not this time."