"Why are you here today, John? You haven't been here since Sh-... Is everything alright?" Ellen Thompson, my therapist. Always worrying, although this time she may have been right to worry.
"It's been a year." I murmured. I was slightly dazed by the thought of that actually. "An entire year. Since my best friend, the greatest man I've ever known, jumped off a building and killed himself." Ellen simply nodded her head sagely, as if this was something she saw every day. That would usually irritate me, but not that day. That day I was having trouble remembering to breathe, let alone having enough energy for anger. "It's been a year." I whispered, still not quite believing.
"John, you wouldn't have come to me if it was just an anniversary of his death," Note how she won't say his name until I do, "after all, you didn't come after it'd been a month. What's different? What's new?" Clever Ellen, clever. "Is everything okay at your job? I hear you've been traveling quite a lot recently, want to say anything about that?" Oh Ellen, if I told you what I was doing while traveling, you'd put me away. I mean sure, Mycroft would have me out in a heartbeat, but you'd still be frightened.
I was waking out of my stupor now. I could feel the chill closing in and I had to fight it off. The cold that threatened to consume my heart and my soul. Just like they thought it had consumed his, even though it hadn't. A small smile graced my lips without me realizing it. Ellen gasped, perhaps she was surprised to see the sadness in my eyes. Because it was there. So much sadness, that it just seemed routine to feel heartbroken now.
"I've been traveling on Sherlock's behalf. " That was true enough. I was. The fact that I was killing on his behalf, I'd keep to myself.
"How so?" Ellen tilted her head to one side, curious and slightly confused.
"Sherlock left some loose ends when he-. Anyway, I've been clearing them up for him." My tone was dismissive enough, but for some reason she still had to pry.
"What sort of loose ends? How have you been dealing with them? Has it been hard for you? Please, John, you need to talk to me if you want me to help you." I stared at her for a while in stony silence, long enough to make her sigh and drop her head.
"Well then, if you won't talk to me about that, why are you here?" Fine, enough games. The smile slipped from my lips, and I could feel the blood draining out of my face. "John?" My eyes grew even more sorrowful.
"I've been having dreams." And such dreams they were.
"Nightmares?" Ellen, come on, you're cleverer than that. Did she honestly think that the soldier, the heartless killer and murderer would go to her about a string of bad dreams?
"No, no not nightmares. I'm used to the nightmares, I've been having them for the past year. The dreams themselves aren't bad at all, they-... they are just..." I trailed off, unable to explain.
"What are they like, if they aren't bad?" Ellen glossed over my admission to having nightmares for the last year. She probably had already guessed that.
"They-... I-" I was getting frustrated now, it was impossible to explain!
"Just, describe them to me John. What happens in your dreams?" Her voice was perpetually smooth and soothing. I wonder if you had to take a class for it before become a therapist?
"In my-my dreams," I took a deep breath to steady myself before continuing, "Sherlock and I just solved a case. He's practically glowing with smug superiority and he's in high spirits. Mrs. Hudson, Greg and Molly had come over to celebrate. He's telling a story. I don't remember what of, but I remember what he looked like as he told it." My eyes slowly unfocussed as I became overwhelmed with the memory. I grin broadly, the first real smile I've had in a long time. "His eyes where full of life, his face slightly flushed, his hair generally disheveled and his arms gesturing as his legs moved him about the room, acting out this story. We were all laughing, with glasses of wine in our hands... We were happy." I came back to earth slightly, gulping as I remembered just exactly were and when I was. "Later in the evening, Sherlock brings out his violin. Our guests have gone home, Mrs. Hudson is back downstairs, and it's just me and him. He starts to play. It's something new, something I've never heard before in my life, but it wrenches at my heart. It's just so beautiful and serene, as if he's taken contentment and love itself and transformed it into this." I took a deep, shuddering breath.
"It's a beautiful dream. What's the problem?" She didn't seem to understand.
"The problem is when I wake up!" I snapped at her. "The problem is that when I wake up, I remember, I remember that he's dead. That I'll never hear him laugh again. That I'll never get to see his eyes light up when he's solved it at last. That I'll never chase after him because he's done it again, that brilliant, bloody idiot has messed up again and I have to help him. I remember. Tha-That he threw himself onto the pavement and he's dead." At this statement my heart just breaks. I could see the sympathy inside of Ellen's eyes, and I just couldn't take it. I stood up and walked to the door, before pausing and whispering brokenly back at her, "The problem is that he's dead, and the only way I'll ever see him again is in dreams that break my heart." I walked out of the door, not looking back. And knowing that if I did, I'd see the pity in her eyes, and she'd see the tears in mine.
This one's all nice and edited now! Added a few things, I think it made it better, let me know what you guys think. Thanks for reading, please keep doing so, the next one is all nice and action-y. It's fun. All characters so far belong to the BBC, not to me. But hey, it's still fun! Sorry about it being a bleeding angst fest, but I like it like that.
Next Chapter: The Final Loose End
