After reading the note, Sherlock's expression turns as hard as a stone. John gasps and desperately tries to hold back the tears, that are falling down his face and die in his colored button-down shirt.
"Oh my God." John whispers wiping the tears away with his soaked sleeves.
"There's no God, John. Don't be ridiculous." Sherlock points out, his eyes sending cold shivers towards everything that touches his glances. With that he's out the door and stopping the next cab.
John hurries after him, ignoring the questions he got from Mrs. Hudson, who's now staring at the leaving cab.
Red eyes are the only trace of tears left in John's face as he and Sherlock arrive at St. Bart's to see the body. Sherlock is still ice cold, as if he would just observe another case and not someone he cares for. He rushes past Lestrade and shoots a piercing glance towards Molly, who's standing next to the metal bed with the dead body, covered in a blue thin blanket, on it. As Sherlock stands next to the corpse he stops mid movements. His hands hover over Abby's body, not willing to touch her yet. John moves over to stand next to him, a reassuring hand put on Sherlock's shoulder. Their eyes meet and a small but thankful smile crosses Sherlock's face. The ice inside him slowly melting. With shaking, pale hands Sherlock moves to pull the blanket away, to make sure that it's Abby's body. He grabs the blue sheet, takes a deep breath and then reveals what was already obvious, what everyone wanted to be a mistake came out as a painful truth.
Her skin is pale, the eyes, that had the colour of dark wood, were now closed forever. It is then when it hits both men that they will never see her smile, never hear the laughs she rarely shared, never feel her heat or her breath on their skin. She's gone, and she will never return.
A silent tear falls down Sherlock's cheeks and John presses the other men's shoulder a little tighter.
"Yes, it's her. It's Abby." Sherlock says, his tone no longer freezing, but breaking at the mention of her name. Just as he's about to pull the sheet back in place, John grabs his arm and stops Sherlock's motion. "What?" he whispers confused.
"Look at that!" John exclaimed pushing the sheet back and pointing at the black writing, that is barely seen under Abby's right arm. "She's got a tattoo." John takes Abby's lifeless arm, shivering at that feeling, and lifts it up. The tattoo is against her upper ribcage, next to her breasts. The dark ink standing out on her skin, the words small and cursive.
"The way I see it, every life is a pile of good things and bad things. The good things don't always soften the bad things, but vice versa, the bad things don't necessarily spoil the good things or make them unimportant - The Doctor ", John says softly with a fond smile on his lips.
"Doctor...who?" Sherlock asks with confusion behind his blue eyes.
John can't hold himself back anymore, he cracks up laughing, and Molly and Lestrade don't need much time to join in the laughter. Sherlock just stands there looking at the strange tattoo and wondering why everyone laughs like they are stoned.
-The End
Thanks to everyone who left reviews, favourited it, followed it and everyone who took the time to read it. Thank you very much.
Sorry, not sorry that I killed Abby, I just kinda needed that for myself. The purpose of that story was that I could write about self-harming and suicide, some sort of cheap therapy. Anyway, happy so many people read the story and again thank you.