I snapped awake with a start as the train's whistle sounded shrilly.
"Sorry for falling asleep on you, Holmes, I –"
I broke off suddenly, choking as a thick, sickening wave of rampant grief swept over me like a flood to drown my heart. He wasn't there beside me.
He never would be again.
I was alone, on my way back to face the London he so loved without him, the duty of informing the world he was gone resting upon my shoulders.
I slumped in my seat, tears blurring my vision as I stared brokenly out the window of the train as we neared Victoria Station.
It had been six days already.
Six days, and the world still went on? How could it? How could I?
I shoved my way through the crowd of newspapermen that assaulted me wanting a lurid story, as I exited the compartment, running for a cab before I broke down completely.
Within thirty minutes I was closing the door of my house. Mary came running from the back, her big blue eyes filled with nothing but loving sympathy as I swept her into my arms and buried my face in her silky hair.
When she spoke, it was not with empty platitudes but with soldierly advice.
"John, Mr. Holmes would want you to be brave."