Day Eight
I made it all the way to the kitchen today before remembering he's gone. You'd think the fact that I actually got through a night without being woken up. I woke up, got dressed, got my cane and kept going. Walked all the way to the kitchen before realizing how quiet it was. How empty it was. Afterward, I felt so guilty. I'd forgotten him, just for a second. For a split second I had let him go. That's got to be an improvement right? I should see it that way but I don't. All I can think about is that if I don't remember him, if those closest to him allow themselves to forget, then what becomes of his memory?
(John's eyes skimmed what he had written, and his hand hung over the delete button. He had revealed too much of himself; or maybe not enough. He kept typing.)
Moving on is all well and good, but I'm not ready yet. So until that time comes my readers will just have to deal with me talking about it, because I can't forget until I'm sure others can remember. What I want to forget most are those people who come up to me in the street to tell me I'm wrong. They tell me to get my head out of the sand and see the "truth". The only truth I am concerned about is that he was here, he was wonderful, and he is gone. Help me remember Sherlock Holmes.
Comments:
Oh, God, I'm crying again. –Molly H.
Sorry Molly. – JW
I remember mate. –Lestrade
I Believe in Sherlock Holmes. – I 3 deerstalkers
We all do. –Mrs. Hudson.
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A pale, long fingered hand hovered over the keyboard, trying to form words. For once they failed him, so he reached out and touched the screen, then turned off the computer and walked away.
This fic was inspired by a picture I found on Tumblr. I don't know who actually made it but I will post it to my Tumblr, the url being nerdyfangirl, after I am finished uploading this. Thanks for reading and please leave a review. -Athena