Love and Haunting told from John's point of view. For best results listen to "Svefn-G-Englar" (Sleepin-g-angel) by Sigur Ros as you read. Translation of lyrics into English are at the end of the fic.

The steam is suffocating me. That's good. I breathe in and I breathe water, the perfect representation of my drowning. My lungs pulse, searching for air. I turn the shower off. Push the curtain back. Let the water run into my eyes so I won't turn my head and see my reflection.

I learned how to be alone. Before him. I'd gotten pretty good at it. And then he stormed into my life, filled my life, and made me forget how it felt to live without him – how am I supposed to recover from that? I can't. I don't know how.

A person like him shouldn't ever cease to be. It hardly seems possible. His incredible mind – his heart – how could it all just stop? It never occurred to me that he was human enough to die.

I pick some clothes up off the floor and go out. I don't know the bar, but more importantly, it doesn't know me. I am a stranger to these people. A stranger to her. She tells me her name and I forget it. Her hair is almost as short as his, except a bit lighter. Her eyes are the wrong shade of blue. She's too tan. Too short.

But for tonight, she will be perfect.

We talk about things that don't matter. I order another drink. It takes so much energy to keep track of conversation and half my mind is always seeing him. Carving his face deeper into my memory, clinging to every detail.

Sherlock.

I would give anything to touch you again. To see you one more time and tell you... everything.

The woman stops talking. I look up. For a second my mental image of him is superimposed over her – she's looking at me the way he would when I did something he thought was smart. A little bit of wonder. Maybe even love.

I never let myself think that before. But I think that's what it must have been. Love. Right? I wish I could ask him.

"Wanna get out of here?"

"Yes," she says. "My place, or yours?"

"Yours."

She cringes a little. "Sorry, I only just remembered. My flatmate's parents are in town. Can it be yours?"

I jingle my keys in my pocket and clench them so the teeth dig into my fingers. No, it can't be mine. Because it's not my place; it never belonged to me. It was ours. Sherlock's and mine.

"Alright," I say, hating myself.

The cab ride is quick, thank god. I give the cabbie a wad of bills and have to stop myself from shutting the car door in the woman's face. Guilt is a bitter taste in my mouth. I smile my best smile at her, telling myself to be nicer to her. She stares at me, wordless. She's strange and quiet and I like that.

"Would you like a drink?" I ask, walking into the kitchen.

She responds by resting her hands on my back. It's too soon. I'm not drunk enough; it was a mistake to bring her here. God forgive me, Sherlock – I shouldn't have brought her here.

She squeezes my shoulders. Breathes against my neck. A network of hairline fractures spread under my skin, reaching deep inside of me. I close my eyes and pretend the breath is his. Try to ignore the voice telling me that he will never breathe again.

I turn and take her into my arms and bury that voice in her hair. I press my lips against hers, stopping Sherlock's name with her mouth. I tell myself it's okay. We were drinking alone in a bar, and now we're here together, hearts beating beside each other, and that's much better, isn't it? Isn't anything better than being alone?

We shed our clothes like skins. I pull her into my bedroom, onto the bed that holds me when I dream about him.

She straddles me. I'm glad. Now I can close my eyes and drift.

But then she speaks.

"John," she says.

"Hmm?"

"Open your eyes."

I do. It's dark and all I can see is a crown of short, curly, dark hair and it makes my breath stop in my throat. She lowers herself onto me. All thought spirals away.

"John." Her voice again, stern this time. "Keep your eyes fixed on me."

I gasp, sit up, hold her by the shoulders. Those words. "Why did you say that?"

She says, "Because I want you to see me."

I understand. I understand.

We move together. I lose myself in her. My body overrides my heart and mind and I'm just a collection of nerve endings, and all that matters is sex and friction. In these moments, the sweetest amnesia is gifted to me.

The woman gasps. I think for a second she's about to come, but her exhale is too ragged. I focus on her. Tears are dripping from chin onto my stomach. I gather her into my arms, hoping I didn't hurt her somehow.

"What's wrong?" I ask.

"John, John, John…"

"Hey. Hey, talk to me."

"John, John, John…"

I lay back and pull her down beside me. Cushion her head on a pillow.

"My last magic trick is almost over," she says.

His words. Those are his words.

I take her face into my hands. Her eyes – the wrong shade of blue, and she's crying, but…

"Goodbye, John."

"Svefn-G-Englar" (Sleepin-g-angel) by Sigur Ros

I'm here again

Inside you

It's so good staying here

But I can't stay long

I float in underwater hibernation

(in a hotel)

Connected to the electricity board

(and drinking)

But the wait makes me uneasy – I kick the fragility away

And shout – I have to go - help

I explode out and the peace is gone

Bathed in new light I cry and I cry - disconnected

A ruined brain is put on breasts

And is fed by sleep