This is the fic I wrote. I warn you. I cried while writing this.
Warning: suicidal thoughts.
I am sorry already.
By: Elina Honkonen
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"This phone call – it’s, er ... it’s my note. It’s what people do, don’t they – leave a note?" "Leave a note when?"
"Goodbye, John."
"No. Don’t." I begged, "No. SHERLOCK!"
He jumped. Time seemed to slow down as I watched him fall. Wind blew his black curls and I was just standing there, unable to do anything. Unprepared to what was coming. The pavement was getting closer and then it happened. Sherlock hit the ground.
"No" I whispered in shock. That didn't just happen.
I rushed to Sherlock's body which was surrounded by people from hospital. I didn't see or hear anything else than Sherlock. I pushed myself through the crowd and took Sherlock's hand. No pulse. No pulse meant no heartbeat. No heartbeat meant dead. My legs gave up under me and I fell beside his body. People dragged me away from him. He was rushed kin hospital and I didn't know it was the last time I saw him.
Sherlock Holmes was gone.
After a month and weekly therapy, John had gotten nowhere. He was still in mild shock and being in Baker street was pain. But if he left, it was even more painful so he stayed, sitting in his chair and staring at nothing. He hadn't eaten properly and had lost lots of weight. Mrs. Hudson was doing her best to help John but it wasn't working. John was in grief, the same questions rolling over and over again in his head: ^Why did Sherlock do this to me? What did I do wrong? Could I have said something? Did he know I cared about him more than anything else? If i had told him, would he have cared?^
John's therapist told him to write everything out. Every feel, every word he wanted to say. John thought it might help, so he gave it a go.
"I will start with my feelings. I'm angry at him, but I also miss him. I feel lonely without him. He was the only person I have ever cared about. And now he is gone. Forever. I never got to know if he cared about me or was I just a flatmate. I cared about him. My heart is broken and I don't know if it can ever be healed again. This month has been hardest of my life.
Sherlock Holmes was the greatest man I have ever known. He had lots of enemies and many people disliked him. People called him freak. I never thought that way. He was extraordinary and intelligent human being. I might be the only one who misses him, but that is not my problem. My last wish is to let him know I loved him more than anything and nothing can make me change my mind. He is my best friend.
Last thing I want to say is, that I am starting to give up. There's no point to live anymore. Sherlock was my everything and he's now in better place. Maybe I should join him and be on the side of the angels."
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A week later, Sherlock Holmes enters the 221b Baker street and the first thing he sees is John lying on the floor, gun in hand, blood on the floor and a letter in his other hand.
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