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The world closed around him. Knowing that his one and only best friend, Sherlock. Who was a remarkable, mystifying man was gone, made his heart break. John stood in front of his tombstone, flowers in his hand. He looked at the grey stone, written in big bold letters read " Sherlock Holmes ". He bent down and put the flowers onto the grassy ground, and that was when he lost it all. He couldn't resist those tears that were eager to flow out from his eyes. And so he let them.
"Sherlock, please. Please come back! I need you.", he said, what sounded like a whisper that was filled with so many emotions.
Anger, frustration, sadness and agony surged through his whole body. He let them out, screaming in agony. Just the sight of him dead was unbearable. That image played in his mind, through and through.
"Mrs Hudson, Molly, Lestrade, Mycroft, me! We need you, Sherlock. I need you. Why? Why did you have to leave us? I thought you enjoyed all the things we did together? Didn't you? Meeting you was probably the best thing that's ever happened to me and just as I was about to know more about you, to find out more, you left me. I know you, Sherlock. But, not too well. And I can't do this on my own. I can't do those cases on my own, now. Why? Why did you have to jump? Did you even think what we would feel, what would I feel when you're gone? Did you? You're and idiot, do you know that!" John spoke with so much pain in his voice.
John cried, harder this time. By the time he was done, his eyes were bloodshot and red. He just wanted to be sucked into a black hole and never coming out. John stood up, slowly, hugged Sherlock's coat tightly against his chest, where he brought it from home and put it tidily on the gravestone. He put his fingers onto the engraved stone and traced out his name, over and over again.
"Just do one last thing for me, Sherlock. Please, please. Don't be dead."
He breathed in deeply, took one last look and moved off. Tears welled up in his eyes, but he swallowed them back. Wiping his tears angrily and walked quickly back into the car where Mycroft and Mrs Hudson was waiting.
"You all right, dear?", asked Mrs Hudson her voice filled with total concern. John only nodded and looked outside where he stared at Sherlock's grave. "I'll make you a cuppa afterwards, dear. That'll make you feel better. Mycroft, you could join us, too if you'd like, dear." Mrs Hudson suggested.
John wanted to just cry out and say, "No! It's not! Nothing will be all right without Sherlock here! It's different. Don't you feel it! Nothing will be all right!"
But that would hurt everyone wouldn't it. He kept quiet, his hands curled into a ball of fist.
"That would be nice, Mrs Hudson. I would very much love to join you.", Mycroft said and smiled towards Mrs Hudson who returned his smile. He then looked towards John, who was still looking outside the window at what must have been Sherlock's grave. Mrs Hudson looked towards Mycroft's direction and her smile instantly faded. Instead, her face showed a sign of pity and sadness. She looked back at Mycroft a slight frustration in his brow and his eyes filled with such sadness. Mycroft quickly turned towards the driver and they moved off into Baker Street.
As the car moved, John watched Sherlock's grave move out of his view. Further and further away. He looked down on his hands, hands which were first balled into fists was now trembling. His eyes started stinging but all he did was hold them back. Just like how he swallowed all the pain of leaving Sherlock. Of him not being there beside him, was heart breaking.
~ The End