Chapter Text
Soft breeze brushed against Wato’s cheeks as she stood on the rooftop with a single red rose in her hand. She hugged the Hermes coat close to her chest. She did not want to let go of anything that could connect her to Sherlock. But then, she thought, if I hold on to you this tightly, will you be able to move on?
Move on to where, Sherlock would have said. There is nothing to move on to from death.
But the idea was too awful. She had to still be somewhere out there, in some way.
I need you here. But I can’t keep you here.
Her face felt hot and puffy from crying too much. She had tried not to cry, so people would have stopped treating her like she needed to be kept wrapped up in cotton. It had not worked. No one had told her anything. Everyone was shielding her. Everyone said she needed to focus on her own recovery. Her family had called and told her to return home.
The idea of returning to her family felt strange and alien, like a call to a place she did not feel had anything to do with her anymore. At the same time she did not know where else to go. Although Mrs. Hatano has asked her to stay at 221b, the thought of it was too much. The rooms of the house screamed emptiness.
Wato did not know what her family had been told about what had happened. Certainly it was not the whole story. That was a relief, in part, like somehow she could ignore the reality of all that had happened if she was surrounded by people who did not know. And yet, on the other hand, she felt so alone. Who would understand? Who would she be able to tell the things she wanted to say? She was like a wildfire. She made me alive. She was the first time I…
It felt wrong to put it in words, when Sherlock was not there to hear them. The words that should have been told her directly.
She set the rose down at her feet.
This is how I tell you, now.