Sherlock

John could no longer look at me. In fact, his eyes remained elsewhere entirely and the fleeting moments they did meet mine, he was quick to snatch them away again. He couldn't bear to be around me.
"You find her, Sherlock." His voice was low, almost calm, but strengthened with a kind of force I had never heard within his voice before. "You find her."
"How can I possibly -"
"Don't give me that. I don't want to hear it. I don't want to hear anything you say, unless it has some sort of relevance to how we can find Mia."
"John," I spoke very softly, surprising him. He turned to me, finally, and met my gaze. For one moment I thought that there might be a chance; a chance he might forgive me. I shook my head, helplessly. "I'm sorry."
But he just snorted. "It's too late for that. She's gone."
Our words were lost, drowned out, by the rain that had begun to fall from the darkened sky outside. We stared at it, silently, for a moment. It washed away the dirt from the glass and almost seemed to wash away the remnants of Mia...

Mia

The station was quiet. Almost deserted. The few people that lingered on the platform walked on quickly and did not glance back at me. I closed my eyes as the breeze tangled my hair. The air smelt of salt. A sense of crushing helplessness washed over me as I realised I didn't even know where I was. There was an ache in my chest that did not fade. I was aware of nothing but the sound of my heart beating and the silence that now confined me. Silence can be louder than a thousand words said. Silence can be so loud when all you can hear is the sound of your own heart.
I walked slowly, trampling on broken glass and crushed cigarette butts. I glanced at myself as a train sped past, hopelessly searching for my reflection before it disappeared completely. I no longer looked like me; I was a ghost. A ghost of what used to be. A ghost of what I once was. My eyes were dark and hollow and unfamiliar.
The streets were somewhat more crowded than the station. I stood on the cold concrete as the headlights of cars and buses flashed before my eyes, temporarily blinding me. I slipped my numb hands into the pockets of my hoodie in a vain attempt to warm them, but my fingers brushed across something. I frowned and withdrew a crumpled packet of cigarettes. I hadn't smoked in such a long time, not that I had ever smoked particularly often. I'd been at college and fallen into a crowd of people who smoked cigarettes and various other things aswell, though I'd never tried any of their other stuff. I didn't even enjoy it that much...just something to pass the time. It was strange, I hadn't even thought of anyone I had known at college since I had been staying at Baker Street, let alone thinking about smoking a cigarette. I could barely even remember any of their faces...a life before John and Sherlock and Baker Street seemed blurred and distorted and not quite real...
I lit a cigarette, my fingers cold and numb and shaking as I fumbled with the lighter I had found in my other pocket. Closing my eyes, I inhaled the smoke and breathed hard as it filled my lungs. I stared at the ash as it glowed and slowly flickered and crumbled into the cold night air.
"You're the only light I've ever known..."
I was beginning to cry. I couldn't help it. I continued to walk, the cigarette I had been smoking long forgotten between my fingertips, and tried my best to ignore the curious eyes of the people I passed. Some looked with pity and then looked away; others shouted stuff. I wanted to curl up in a corner of a dark, smaller and smaller and smaller, until I became a part of the night and disappeared completely.
I smelt the sea before I saw it; the scent of saltwater both familiar and strange. When I glanced around I saw a sign that read: SALTFLEET BEACH. A splinter of pain grazed my heart as I stared at the peeling paint. Saltfleet. This was a place from another time. A happier time. I had come here when I was seven years old, Beth even younger. Before my father faded away and my mother lost herself, we had come here and camped for a night on the beach. Back then, we had no worries. Only the sky above us and the saltwater in the air. I stood on the pier, the cold wind touching my skin, and stared at the lights reflected onto the water below.
For a moment I considered what it might be like to jump.
I stared at the dark surface of the water for a while. The saltwater breeze caused me to shiver. It was so cold and all I could hear was the waves below and the sound of my own heart beating against my chest. It was all too much. Everything was too much. I turned from the pier and crushed my cigarette onto the concrete beneath my feet, watching as its amber light flickered brightly and then finally dimmed until all that was left was ash. And then I saw him. He was a shadow. For a moment I wondered if I might be mistaken. Perhaps he really was just another part of the night sky. But then I saw the glint of the silver knife in his hands.
He stood before me.
The man with black holes for eyes.
Jim Moriarty.