A/N: Thank you, readers. Your reviews make my day!

Well, short version: Not dead

Nothing. I feel nothing. Or maybe, I am feeling so many things at once that I don't know what I am feeling. Here I was, finally, FINALLY moving on, ready to propose to a woman I loved and he HAD to ruin it for me. Lately, the Universe's past-time has been ruining my life and my mind.

I see red. I go absolutely mad. All those emotions that I had pent up suddenly broke loose. Love, grief, hate, regret, surprise, gratitude – every emotion. I wonder for a second if I was hallucinating again – if my brain conjured Sherlock up in the hope that I won't be moving on. As a sign that I still loved him. But, no, Mary's looking at him as well.

Bit mean springing it on you like that, I know. Could have given you a heart attack, probably still will. But in my defense, it was very funny. Okay, it's not a great defense.

I know he's saying something and my mind barely registers what he's saying but I am somewhere else. A thousand voices – each voicing a different thought, a different emotion. I felt conflicted – as if there were multiple parts of me, each having their own personality and each part wanting to me to either kiss him or punch him. Is this what insanity felt like?

SHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHS

I punched him.

Multiple times.

The first time was for playing with my mind.

The second time was for the fact that he trusted Molly Hooper more than me

The third time was for him believing that things could go back to normal. And, his definition of normal did not involve the proposal in the hospital. Therein lies the irony. I got what I wanted the most – Sherlock not dead, but in return, I had to give him up. I was cursed to love a man who would never love me back. In retrospect though, it was completely my fault. He warned me, in the very beginning,

I consider myself married to my work

I was a fool.

What was his reason? Ah yes, it was very "funny". Funny? FUNNY? Was that what I meant to him? Someone to play a prank on? For the first time, I am broken. I broke when Sherlock fell off the roof but this was worse. A million times worse. He never really did care, did he? All that mattered to him was the game.

Such was the state of my mind when I was lying on the bed next to Mary. I look at her, sleeping peacefully. Her tranquil face soothed me and I found myself relaxing slowly and looking into the matter rationally.

Sherlock is alive. He does not love me back the way I do. I have a woman in my life who was willing to take me despite my flaws, despite knowing that she would be always second in my world. Life offered me two options here: Chase Sherlock or have Mary. I was tired of chasing Sherlock. There was only one option left.

A bird in hand is worth two in the bush

I slowly droop off next to the woman I vow to make my wife.

SHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHS

I'll talk him around

You will?

Oh yeah

For the first time this evening, I look at her. Really look. I had been obsessed with very minute details about John that I didn't really observe her. Mycroft's voice hits me.

Expensive dress, not so rich woman

Probably her birthday

Hardly. She was alone at the restaurant

Probably came for the food

She'll talk him around

John has found a shoulder to cry on. A good…..friend?

They are going home in the same cab

They live near each other….do they?

Baker Street? He isn't there anymore. He's got on with his life.

Got on with his life? Got on? Got on…..oh! How blind, how foolish, how stupid I had been. I fall down and lay crumpled on the pavement with my head in my hands. How incredibly idiotic of me! I should have been able to deduce this right at the restaurant.

This feeling however, soon left, only to be replaced by sadness. Grief overshadowed me and even Redbeard could not console me this time.

Players end up getting played

Was this a price I had to pay for playing with John's mind?

Take the high road

It's the least John deserved after all I put him through. He loved her? I will silently accept it. I will not make him choose after he has already chosen. I wouldn't risk his friendship for anything in the world.

The best moments of my life were to remain a hallucination to him

SHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSH

It was midnight when Mrs. Hudson woke up. She could hear Sherlock's violin, his music pouring from all corners of the room. She crept upstairs and peeped through the door to hear him better.

Sherlock was facing the door, but he could not see Mrs. Hudson for his eyes were closed. He played incessantly, hands moving rhythmically, manipulating the instrument. The music was slow at first – it talked of grief, of pain and suffering, of unrequited love. It spoke of the words that were left unspoken. This went on for an hour, Sherlock constantly slowing down each successive turn. It made Mrs. Hudson want to cry and she could see tears on Sherlock's face. The slow sad music slowly turned to a neutral tone – a slow dreary sound, a sound of acceptance. Music that talked about letting go, about giving up. His hands moved in a way she had never seen before – slow and lacking energy. His face looked defeated. He looked…broken. It slowly turned fast, it was slowly becoming a mad screeching sound, his hands moving in the speed of light. The music was talking about his frenzy, his madness crept out. Sherlock's looked mad. The noise was horrible but Sherlock didn't stop. Sherlock's hands moved and moved, their speed getting only faster.

Tang

A string of his violin broke and Mrs. Hudson could see that Sherlock's finger got cut. Blood was seeping out and was dripping on his bow. Mrs. Hudson wanted to stop him at once, but something told her not to. Sherlock needed this in order to get over his problems. As long he does not cause himself a permanent injury, it was fine. Sherlock did not stop, however. He continued to play, if possible, even faster.

Tang

The second string also broke. His hand was filled with blood. The carpet was also slowly turning red. Sherlock seemed to not even realize that his hand was injured.

Mrs. Hudson left, with tears in her eyes, unable to see her son grieving like that.

SHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHS

In the morning, Mrs. Hudson found a normal Sherlock playing Operation with his brother. He was the Sherlock he always was. Nothing about him talked of his night before, except for the bandages on his hand.

Well, those and three pieces of bloodied wood in the trash which was what remained of Sherlock's violin.

A/N: Do let me know what you think!