John was falling, falling, falling. It wasn’t a good type of falling nor was it bad, nor did he want to stop. Nothing mattered any more, it wasn’t worth thinking about. Nothing that’s all he wanted, to just be swallowed in the nothingness. It would have been nothing if not for the voice that rang out.
“John, John, please, please.”
John ignored these voices. It didn’t matter, these voices were nothing but his imagination.
“John, please, I’m sorry, please wake up.” The voice was filled with sadness.
John yelled into the darkness, “I’ll never wake up, Never!”
John woke up, looked around, expecting the smiling face of his detective to greet him, and only finding an empty bed beside him. John put his face back in his pillow and let out a muffled sob. It had been two years and he found the same thing every morning, nothing.
John pulled back the covers and slowly lugged his body out of bed. He sighed, “Another day” he walked to the bathroom and looked at himself. What stared back was a middle aged man with silver blonde hair and blue eyes that hadn’t sparkled in more than two years.
After getting dressed decently John stepped out onto the street of 221B and hailed a cab. When the cabby pulled up John told him, “the cemetery.”
Upon his arrival at the cemetery John walked the path he had memorized to the grave he had seen every week,
WILLIAM SHERLOCK SCOTT HOLMES
John walked to the grave and just stood there, after a couple minutes he spoke up, “Sherlock, it’s been two years, and…” he swallowed, “I don’t know of you’re coming back.,” he felt the tears start to well up, “I can’t wait any longer! You know when you said you were a fake, I…I never believed you.” The tears started cascading down Johns face as he reached into his pocket feeling the gun he had grabbed before leaving the flat. Pulling it out he felt the metal and lightly touched the trigger. “There was something I never told you….. I…l…love you, Sherlock.” John put the gun up to his temple and still sobbing slowly put pressure on the trigger.
