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The rain stops pouring as the sky clears and the first cracks of dawn appear, painting the sky in splashes of orange, red and yellow.
As the minutes pass, I watch the sun bathe everything it touches in light. How dare the sun rise without John Watson? It casts it's gentle warm light on everything it touches as the flowers begin to wake up, the trees swaying gently with the chilly breeze, and another day begins. Another day without John.
I watch as the light ascends, and ascends until it reaches me. Taking me in until I am warm in colour. But am I warm on the inside? Am I as alive as the sun's bright rays? Am I capable of forgiving myself? No, forgiveness is out of the question. How can I forgive myself if I had destroyed the only thing that has ever kept me alive since that day at Bart's?
I hide my face in John's tear-stained jumper, it smells like him in the faintest of hints. It's soft against my cheeks. My back is resting against the cold tombstone, my knees up against my chest as another sob gets the better of me. Pathetic.
I didn't make it in time. I was late. I am late. And now, he's gone. He went to join me except I wasn't there to begin with. There's nothing to do about it.
I was, am, prepared to do anything for him. And yet my very actions had ended him. And now there isn't coming back to him, rather, there is going to him.
It is unlike me to give up and surrender to sentiment. But this time, it took over me with a giant wave, throwing me deep into the ocean where I wrestled for my life. And yet I wasn't strong enough as the water swallowed me, took me deep down until I lay at the bottom, the sun was nothing but a blur far above me. And then walls enclosed me, trapping me in a room with my worst enemies. Fortunately, I found the key and broke free, but as I opened the door, I entered another locked room. A never-ending maze, it is.
I was in too deep to escape. All I want is my John. And that is what I shall get today.
"You lied to me." He stated as I observed the room. It was white. Everything was white in color. Even John's clothes, white. The walls blended with the ground that I couldn't tell them apart, leaving me a choice, to believe that the walls are too close and there is no escape, or to believe that there are no walls, that there is no limit."
"I protected you."
"That didn't quite work out, did it?"
"Not quite, no.
"What are you doing here?"
I look at him confused. "What do you mean what am I doing here?"
"Sherlock Holmes, you aren't in your bloody right mind. " He is angry. I can feel his radiating anger seeping through me.
"Obviously, you left. You keep me right, John."
"Sit down, Sherlock." And he's calm once again, whatever anger was there is replaced by complete utter calmness.
The white room evaporated, and now I am standing at...221b Baker street. But it's......cold. It's not the same flat . It doesn't feel like home. The fire is on yet no warmth or light is coming from it. The windows cast nothing but shadows. My chair is dark in the shadows as I take a seat on it. John sits on the chair. The chair where all their clients have sat on.
"What are you doing here?"
I let a laugh out, "John, this is absurd, you know why I am here." Isn't that what he wants? Isn't that why I want?
"You're here because you need me." He stated at a matter of factly.
My brows furrow. "I am here because we need each other."
"Yes, but you aren't here because I need you right at this moment, are you, Sherlock?"
"John..."
"No, Sherlock. Open your eyes. You see but you do not observe."
"I am observing you, John."
"If you are, then you would know I am not John."
"I know how you look John, I memorized every quiver of your voice, every line that has formed on your face over the years, the way you walk, the way you hold yourself, the way you tilt your head. You are John Watson."
"You see but you do not observe." John folds his hands over his chest as he looks at me, expectantly. "Think."
If he is not John, yet he looks, acts, talks, behaves exactly like John, then who is he?
"Sherlock. What is the safest place yet the most deadliest place that you always go to?"
A riddle. Why is John playing games with me now, that I am finally here with him? And above all, why am I not bursting with happiness on seeing him? Something is wrong.
"Yes, something is wrong, Sherlock."
I look up at John, confusion written all over me. How did he know what I was thinking? How is he not John yet he looks like him? What is the safest yet dangerous place that I go to?...Oh. No, this surely can't be it, can it? This is impossible.
"It's not. I told you, I am not John. And you aren't here because I need you, you need me. Why do you need me, Sherlock?"
My voice rasps as I speak. "Because I simply need you, John." I look around 221b, taking in its details, and the information hidden away inside each and every item. I really am at my mind palace. "Why are you sitting in that chair?" I demand.
"You should have taken my case long ago. But you were too busy grieving, overcome by all those years' worth of emotions. Take my case, Sherlock."
"What case?"
"Do you remember Redbeard?"
"Of course, I do."
"The day you eavesdropped on me and Mycroft, do you remember?"
"Obviously I do, I am you."
"He said, 'My brother has the brain of a scientist or a philosopher, yet he elects to be a detective. What might we deduce about his heart?' Tell me, Sherlock, why did you become a detective?"
My eyes are watering, my heartbeat increasing as the seconds go by. A tear rolled down as I remembered Redbeard. "I don't like unsolved cases."
"You love Redbeard. And yet you couldn't solve his case. You love me. So take my case now, and solve it, Sherlock. You should have done this the day I died, but you were drowning. And so here you are, in need of guidance."
And he is right. A sniper had shot John dead just before I returned. I was too focused on John that I neglected what I always do. And that is to solve the problem.
I smell something bitter with undertones of the artificial fragrance contained in soaps and cleaners. l smell antiseptic. Hospital. I am in a hospital. The medical equipment beeps, filling the silent room. I am alive. I am alive? I lift my hand, taking it closer to my side and pinching hard. Pain shot through me. I am alive.
Overdosed. I overdosed. I am in a hospital. Mycroft. Maybe I wanted to be found by him. Maybe I had this planned.
I lay there, awake, and deep into my mind palace once again, but this time it is who is in control. I try and formulate a plan. A plan to find whoever killed John. I have one lead, and that is the name, Moran. I know he is the culprit behind John's death. Why haven't I avenged John yet? Why haven't I taken on John's case before? Stupid.
The opportunity presented itself. It was deep into the night, the lights were off in my room. I helped myself up, unhooked myself from any equipment, and walked to the window. The cold air greeted me, as I observed in search of CCTVs. Mycroft will be watching me, but he will also be helping me.
I am a new person now. Awakened from my grieving, unstable, emotional self. Awakened with a new case to solve. I have a purpose now. My final case.