Denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance are the five stages of grief, and believe me when I tell you that over the past two years since Sherlock died, I had experienced all of them. Some came on more forcefully than others and I cannot recall every single detail of my process, but I can tell you that it was a whirlwind.
Days after the funeral, Watson came to sit with me. In a way, he was a doctor in need of his own doctor. He told me that it was almost as bad as seeing his closest friends dying all around him on the battlefield. He told me that when Mrs. Hudson found out what had happened, she didn't speak for days and when he insisted on staying at the flat and keeping her company, she told him that she was alright and that he should be living his life with Mary, though he still stopped by to talk to her every Friday.
Both of us tried to imagine the pain away; we wanted to believe that he wasn't really dead, or that his death was fake and that this was just another one of those tricks. I also tried to make myself believe that this whole thing never happened and that he was trying to find his way home to me.
I tried to put Holmes out of his mind. But I had to admit that I payed much too much attention to our postman, the lamp lighter, the waiter, even the beggar I saw on the street. I thought he saw Holmes in one of his infamous disguises everywhere. It was slowly driving me mad that none of them were him. What if he was in trouble? What if he needed help? Both were likely. But he forced himself to live his life as Holmes suggested, and trust his friend that all would be set to rights eventually.
This was Denial.
No matter how far I tried to push those feelings away, they would just keep coming back to me, telling me the exact opposite of what I wanted to hear. I tried to think of the many possible ways he could have survived the fall. They never found the bodies, so either he had miraculously pulled himself out of the water, and avoided those sharp rocks at the bottom, or the current was much too quick to keep him floating; or the shock of the cold water pulled him under, never to come up again.
People told me to reach out to God but I was too angry. People told me to come and talk to them but what did they know? I was too resentful. I'd see old men and wonder why did they get to live and he had to die? We fear exposing our vulnerability, so we lash out at those around us. It could be towards someone close or a total stranger. My parents and Grandfather would help me as best they could, but nothing they said or dead could change the way I felt.
Why did you have to die?
If you loved me, why did you leave me?
You had everything! A brother who loved you, friends who adored you and you had me. Wasn't that good enough for you?
Why can't people just leave me alone? Can't they see I'm going through something?
This was Anger.
During the bargaining stage, I felt vulnerable and helpless and I looked for ways to change the outcome of an event; all the 'what ifs' and 'if onlys' started crossing my mind.
Was there something I could have done?
What if I was waiting at the bottom of that waterfall? I could have saved him.
If only we had spent more time together before this happened.
If only I had known what he was going through.
Then there was a period of depression. It was the most quiet stage, when I would spend days or weeks alone in my room, just writing or looking out the window, thinking about what could have been.
What am I without him?
How am I supposed to go on?
How will I pick myself up again?
How can I tell you I love you?
Most days, I would curl up in a ball on my bed and cry for hours and hours; salty, sour tears that came out as a cry for help. I didn't want to feel like this anymore, I wanted the pain to go away.
Things were different since Jane had married William and they found a place of their own, there was less chatter and more hardest thing for me was to accept the reality that he was physically gone and recognizing that was the new and permanent reality.
It was not until recently, when I had come to the last stage: acceptance.
On one dreary morning in November, I pushed myself out of bed and dressed in some warm clothes before taking a walk, since it was one of the only things that seemed to work. It was hardest when I would pass all the places that reminded me of him, like the Diogenes Club, where we first met. At first glance, I was thinking I had seen his face amongst the crowd. The gravestone sat there in the middle of the church cemetery as a constant reminder that he was gone, and once in a while, I would just talk about what was going on in my life and how much I missed him.
"Jane is talking about having children, I always thought that she would make a wonderful mother. Speaking of, John and Mary are still deciding on baby names." I just said whatever was on my mind and most of the time, half of it was just random things that wouldn't matter to most people, but to me, they were worth talking about. "I know that the baby would have loved you. Something tells me that you would be the uncle that would give the child sweeties and tell them not to tell their parents."
For the longest time I would lay down on the grass, letting people just stare at me like I was completely mental talking to my dead loved one. I traced the bumps and curves of the words on the stone and before I could even stop them, tears began to flow from my eyes again. As soon as I thought I couldn't cry anymore, I was sobbing. "Please, just give me some sort of sign that you were real, that you weren't just a dream."
Coming to terms with the fact that this was my new difficult. It had started to feel as if it was all just a crazy dream, that he was just an illusion. I was starting to forget the sound of his voice, and the only way that I could remember his face were some clippings out of the newspapers which Jane was more than eager to give me, especially since she was a married woman.
"Oh God, Holmes," I groaned. "After all that we've been through... every time I thought for sure it was over... and this is how it ended? Though I must admit, you had to prove me wrong, didn't you? You weren't a selfish bastard after all. You jumped, taking Moriarty with you so the world would finally be free of him." I am so fortunate to have had so many wonderful days with you, and you will always be in my memories."
I was unaware of how long I actually stayed there before I opened my eyes a little later and saw that I was in my bed in my bedroom. Father told me that he had found me fast asleep in the church cemetery. That must have been a sight for him to see. People must have given him odd looks, but he wasn't one to pay attention to them.
"You were gone for two hours. We were worried," he said, sitting on the edge of my bed and handed me a cup of tea. I took a sip and it warmed my insides. "You have a visitor, by the way." He nodded toward the door and I was glad to see Mary standing in the doorway. She had only just started showing and she looked as radiant as ever.
"Charlotte," she said in her sweet voice. "Are you feeling any better? John is downstairs having tea with your mother, but I wanted to make sure you were alright."
"I appreciate it," I smiled at her as she sat down beside me. "How's the baby?"
"Oh, it has just starting to move," she replied, glancing down at the small little bump near her abdomen. "It's almost like there's a butterfly fluttering around in there, but John says it won't be long before the flutters will turn into actual kicks."
"I'm really happy for you, you'll both be wonderful parents."
"Thank you." Mary smiled kindly and then tilted her head to one side, giving me that same analyzing look. "There's nothing, nothing wrong with being angry. You lost someone precious," she said, she was one of the only people in my life who truly understood how I felt and I never wanted her to experience that kind of pain ever again. "Give yourself the time you need to grieve."
"I've only just come to accept that he's really gone and will never come back," I said in the most strongest voice that I could muster. "But I don't want to forget him. I can't."
She was going to say something along the lines of ''He's never really gone." But she decided against it. Instead, she said. "You won't ever forget someone who means so much to you. I know from experience that it's hard to let go of someone and not want to hold onto them a little bit tighter, but even though they're gone, the memories are still here with you."
"It's not the same as having him here with me." I felt one of her hands take mine and I closed my eyes. "And I don't ever want to replace him."
"I know. I felt the same way before I met John. I didn't think that anyone could bring me that same level of happiness and joy as my previous husband, or I should say fiancé, because we never had the chance to get married. He was very sick and passed just months after we had gotten engaged."
"That must have been very difficult." I squeezed her hand a little.
"It was." She paused, "but when John came along - see I was out with Charlie and you know how he loves to stop by the bakery on Trafalgar Square - anyway, from the moment we met, there was a special connection that we had." She gave a little shrug and pouted her lip. "What I'm trying to say is, I'm here for you."
"Thank you, Mary." I managed a smile. Then I remembered something that I couldn't possibly forget. Today was their baby shower. "So am I still invited to your party tomorrow?"
"Of course you are. Though are you sure you're well enough to come? I don't want you to feel like you have to if you're unwell."
"I wouldn't miss it for the world, even if I was on my deathbed."
"Well that's reassuring," Mary laughed.
"Have you thought of any names?" I asked, sitting up and trying to smooth down my bed head. I wanted to steer the subject a little, instead of talking about death, I would much rather talk about the new life that was to come into the world.
"I was thinking of naming her something sweet and pretty, not too plain."
How can any child of John and Mary Watson be plain? She will probably be the most beautiful baby in the universe.
"Plain? No child of yours will ever be plain," I said. "You could name her anything and it would suit her just fine."
"At first, I was thinking about calling her Pansy?" she said with a smile. "She was the name of my first cat, and I promised my cat that I would name one of my children after her."
"Maybe not Pansy. There was a little girl next door that used to pull on my braids and drag me around the schoolyard. It was humiliating."
She laughed, "Alright, alright. How about Adeline?"
"Adeline's pretty," I agreed, "You know, I know someone who named their child Ermengarde."
"Heaven's sake! I am not naming my daughter Ermengarde!" She put a hand to her heart as if the very name was an insult.
"And you don't have to. How about Emily? That was my grandmother's name on my father's side of the family."
"Emily Watson sounds adorable, though I think I'd shorten it to Emma."
"Emma? I've always loved the name Emma. "It goes perfectly with the last name Watson."
"I was also thinking that Rosie would be an adorable name."
"Have you talked to John about it?" I felt uncomfortable addressing him by his first name, but Mary assured me that it was alright. Besides, we had known each other longer than the two of them had.
"He agrees with the name Rosie," She replied. "So I think we'll end up choosing that name."
"Alright, then. Rosie Watson it is."
"My first name was Rosamond, but I always went by my middle name because it was short and sweet and I loved the way the children I looked after called me 'Miss Mary' it was quite charming coming from the young boys." She stood up. "I should let you get some rest."
"Thanks for checking up on me."
"You're my friend, Charlotte. I want to make sure you're alright and I want you to be able to depend on me for anything you need."
I have nothing to wear.
How is that possible?
I had a closet full of clothes, but so far, nothing in my closet seemed appropriate for a baby shower. Well, maybe they did, but I was indecisive and was having a hard time picking which one I wanted to wear. This was the one occasion that I actually didn't mind getting all dressed up for.
As if she heard my prayers, there was a knock at my door and Mother entered my room; at first she was startled by what she saw, but then she started laughing.
"It's nice to see you going out and about, The fresh air is finally bringing some colour Into your cheeks; but I don't think the doctor or Mrs. Watson will appreciate you coming to the party in your undergarments, dear."
"I wasn't planning on it," I said, shaking me head a little and slumped my shoulders. "I just can't decide what I should wear."
"Charlotte, don't slump, it's not becoming of a young lady," she said lightly, then went to my closet, searching through it until she put her hands on her hips, agreeing silently that nothing I had in my closet was proper for a baby shower. "You know what, I think I might have just the dress for you. I'll be back."
She left momentarily and I sat on the edge of my bed, looking out the window. The sun was shining today and the wintry air coming in through my window was a relief to my hot skin. I took the pins out of my hair and put them on the vanity so that I would not lose them. She came back with a flowing pink gown. "I know that this is more of an evening dress, but I think it would lovely on you and it will match the theme of the party."
"I love it," I said, holding it up to me and looking in the mirror, then I sat down and allowed my mother to do my hair and makeup, it was how the two of us bonded nowadays, but I knew that these kinds of moments wouldn't last forever and I wanted to cherish every second I had left with my family.
"Don't cry, Charlotte, you'll ruin all the makeup." She lightly dabbed my eyes with her handkerchief and I blinked to keep the tears at bay. I didn't like feeling so sensitive and vulnerable. "There, you're all ready to go," she said and helped me to stand up straight.
Soon, I found myself knocking on the door to John and Mary's house and when I was allowed entrance, the first thing I saw when I got inside, was the beautiful cake John had baked. It was a huge sheet cake, vanilla, decorated with pink and white chessboard icing over the top of the cake. Who knew that he was so talented at baking? I could see that one square made one serving, and there were enough pieces to feed everyone here. It was a girls only party, according to Alice, boys found these types of parties boring, but we had allowed Watson to join us because he didn't have anything else to do, and he genuinely wanted to be there.
After Mary introduced me to the guests I didn't recognize, her family and some of her close friends, and settled me on the couch, I glanced around; there were about ten people besides me, her niece, Victoria, was only eight years old. Her blond hair was done up in two little braids; she twirled the end of one of the braids between her fingers as she looked back at me inquisitively. It seemed that I wasn't the only one in the midst of complete strangers.
"Hello," she said. "Are you Aunt Mary's friend?" I nodded and she walked over to me. "I'm Victoria. You're really pretty."
"Thank you," I smiled at her. "You're pretty, too. I love your braids."
"My mama likes to braid my hair. I've tried to do it myself, but it's really hard."
"It is, isn't it?"
"Yes, but I'm gonna practice until I get it right."
When it was time for us to have some cake, John used a long knife to slice the cake along the lines of the grid. Of course, being a doctor, he was naturally good at cutting in a straight line.
After cake, Mary opened her gifts. She got bottles, and not the plastic ones that are said to exist in your time, but real glass bottles that would break easily, but they were bibs, blankets, and a few baby toys, and a ton of diapers.
They also showed me the nursery. It was decorated with pink wallpaper, and there was a rocking horse on a small white rug near the window. They had a beautiful dark wood crib on loan from Mary's sister which had pink sheets and a stuffed lamb and rattle placed where her head would go. I said that I would knit her a blanket to go with it. I had some pink wool at home that I never used, now all I had to do was reteach myself how to knit!
The last gift was presented to her proudly through Alice and Margaret, who announced that they had helped each other make the gift. They wriggled all over like two impatient puppies as Mary took off the paper. It was a stuffed bunny that she had sewn together out of white fabric.
"That can be Rosie's nickname, little lamb," she said fondly, stroking her growing baby bump. "We can't wait to meet you, little lamb."
Mary suppressed a yawn; a full day of celebrations and excitement had left her rather tired. She was quite relieved when everyone left except me, for some reason I was an exception. "I think I'm going to go upstairs and lie down for a while."
"Alright, Dearest," John said, giving her a quick kiss on the cheek and then went into the kitchen to clean things up from the party. "You should be getting home, Charlotte. I know this has been a busy day for you, too."
"I don't mind, it was nice to just get out of the house and-" I didn't finish my sentence because I heard the crinkling of a paper underneath John's foot, and frowning slightly, he leaned down to pick up an envelope. Maybe it was a letter from one of his friends or comrades, or maybe it was one they'd forgotten to open at the shower. I figured that it was none of my business, so I finished cleaning up some wrapping paper that had been discarded and tossed it away into the rubbish bin.
When I turned back to John, I noticed that he was dreadfully pale and that he looked like he would collapse at any moment. "John? Are you alright?" I asked him, but he was completely unresponsive to anything I was saying.
"Don't worry about me, I just felt dizzy for a moment, I just need to sit quietly for a moment."
That answer made me a little bit uncertain and was I debated whether or not I should question him further. Being a doctor, he would know himself if something was wrong. Maybe he had sleepless nights like I did and all he needed was some rest, but on the other hand, maybe he truly wasn't feeling well and was trying to keep it from me so that I wouldn't worry.
I was sort of tired of people hiding things from me. I may have been going through a tough time, myself, but John was my friend, and since he was always looking after me like the mother hen he was, I wanted to do the same and make sure that he was alright.
"Are you sure?" I asked, "I can tell when something is bothering you."
He was hesitant, but then said, "I suppose I'm just worried about Mary and the baby. I worry that I won't be a good father to Rosie."
"That's silly," I said, sitting down next to him on the couch. "You are the best husband that anyone could ever ask for. Mary has said so more than once that she has never met anyone as brave and selfless as you."
"But sometimes I don't feel very brave. Sometimes I am very afraid, I am scared that something will go wrong and I will lose Mary, just like I lost..." He trailed off and I took his hand in mine. This was one of those times when words weren't enough and they weren't necessary, but the way we looked at each other conveyed everything we wanted to say, but couldn't. "You should be getting back home, get some sleep, too. I'll stop by on Sunday and check on your grandfather."
As I grabbed my coat from the hook and wrapped my scarf around my neck, we exchanged a few more words before we went or separate ways. I wanted to ask about the letter, but then had second thoughts, knowing all would be revealed to me in time.