Crying in the Night
Hey guys, sorry I didn't post this last night like I meant to, I had my baby sister round earlier in the evening and I couldn't really post stuff when she was here.
Thanks to Loki'sdreamer for following this story.
Warning: We're at the chapter which has given this fic its rating. I put it as an 'M' because of attempted suicide and how the character speaking is talking about it. If anyone is offended or affected by it and would like to skip the section on suicide then stop reading after the first two paragraphs.
Anything you recognise is not mine.
Love Lost
Numb…that's how I feel, all I can feel is pain and darkness. He's dead, Sherlock had killed himself, believing that no one believed in him, that everyone thought he was a fraud. That's not true, I know that he really was that clever and I don't for one second doubt him. I've known him since university, we shared a dorm, and you can't spend that amount of time with someone without getting to know them! It's been six months since he died; I've managed to set the record straight, proving that that bloody journalist had used falsified information. All it took was a search on IMDB and a quick phone call to the Actor's guild to prove that Richard Brook didn't exist although the TV programme that he said that he was in did exist. Kitty Riley was summarily sacked and an apology was published with the truth. They've still got my name on record, possibly because they want to remember me as someone they shouldn't cross, I don't fully understand their reasoning.
I don't think I can go on much longer, each day is getting harder and harder to continue without him in the world. It's funny, there are so many people who care about him, but he never knew it while he was alive. Not only was there his best friend John and his landlady Mrs Hudson who saw him like a son, but his brother really cared about him as did Mycroft's partner, Greg Lestrade. None of them knew about me, I guess that Sherlock never saw the need to tell them that I'm one of the two people from university that did like him. I never told him that I love him, even though Mary had told me to multiple times. Mary is the only one who knows just how much I miss him, she's the only one who can understand my depression. Everyone else is just confused about why I'm so upset. I had a visit from some members of Scotland Yard today, Greg Lestrade and Sally Donovan. They wanted to ask me how I knew that Sherlock was innocent. I simply told them that I'd known him a long time and that Anderson could tell them more about it if they asked him about me.
They'll probably want to talk to me again, but I don't think they'll be able to. I just can't go on, just knowing that Sherlock is dead is killing me. I've had a plan for a long time, I came up with it shortly after he died actually. I'm going to take an overdose, I know that it's predictable and 'boring' as Sherlock would have once said, but it's the easiest method for me to get hold of everything I need. There's always plenty of Paracetemol in the house, my mum and I are prone to migraines so we get through a lot. I've already written my suicide note, I feel like I need to explain to everyone why I'm doing this. I've also written a list of what I would like for my funeral, I don't really care what they do with my body, after all, I'll be dead and it's up to those who are left what they want to do with it. But I would like 'If Today Was Your Last Day' by Nickleback played at my wake and white oriental lilies as my flowers. I've also specified that I'd like everyone to wear something in a bright colour, I don't want it to be too sad.
I've got everything ready, all the pills and a large glass of water to take them with. I'm going to listen to some of my favourite music as I go, hopefully it'll be like going to sleep, in fact, I might take a sleeping tablet too, then it really will be going to sleep and never waking up. I would light a candle, I like the idea of the romanticism behind it, but that would be leaving it unattended and it might catch fire and hurt someone. Even moments before my death, I'm concerned with someone else getting hurt. I've always been like that, Sherlock always said that I was somewhat unusual, a freak like him, just because I am so compassionate. The way he said it though, it was as though he was genuinely fond of me.
I just hope that everyone can finally understand why I'm so upset, I know they've been getting irritated at me because of it. I've never felt so alone. Soon, I won't be alone any longer…