To: Sherlock Holmes
Subject: Candles
- I stop by Angelos occassionally. It's really not the same anymore. Eating alone used to be normal to me, but no more. I just
- want to see the damn candle, Sherlock. That one that Angelo always put out for us. I don't care about the meaning anymore!
- I just want the candle back...
John sighs as he leans back in the booth. It's deadly familiar- the atmosphere, the people, the food. It hasn't changed.
Except for one thing that has.
Sherlock's not here with him.
Angelos is still the same old restuarant and, thanks to Sherlock, John loves it, but...
It's not the same. It's not the same, it's not the same, it's not the sameit'snotthesameit'snotthesame...
John buries his face in his hands, ignoring the plate on the table. It's been a month, for God's sake, almost two months. He doesn't understand how this can keep going on, this hurt. He doesn't know how long...
He scrubs at his eyes. He isn't crying- he's cried his share in the weeks that had followed Sherlock's...
He can't think the word.
He draws his face out of his hands, blinking hard. He's not okay, and he is never going to be okay.
God. He's just realized that.
John stands and grabs his coat, laying money on the table. Angelo doesn't make him pay, but John does it, anyway. His eyes linger on the other seat, on the table where a candle used to sit...
Sherlock was like the flame on a candle. Vibrant and beautiful, but ever flickering, close to the edge. And the candle had gone out. Extinguished. Gone.
John slips out the front door into the rain.
To: John Watson
Subject: (No subject)
- Failure to deliver message.
Schnitzel. This... this kinda... ugh. Man. I don't know. I've never been so... choked over any of these drabbles I've written. If you want to heighten it, go listen to Prepared to Do Anything- Sherlock Series 2 Soundtrack while/before/after (I suggest during and after). It's just... oh, I'm just going to shut up. I'm still all messed up from Reichenbach like no other.