Chapter Four

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A/N: Warning you that this story will not be as long as I originally planned, because that would require a lot of boring things that would be ugh. Expect two chapters after this, possibly three. If I end up writing another fanfic, hopefully it will be longer. Also trigger warning-mentions much alcohol and drunk jawn

What seemed like years had passed within the first few days after the funeral. I didn't feel like doing anything at all. After I gained the energy to get up from the floor of the flat the first night, I knew I wouldn't be able to make all the way upstairs to my bedroom, so I settled for Sherlock's and trudged down the hall.

I had stopped crying ages ago; I had no tears left, but it still wasn't good to bring myself into the place that will remind me the most of him. Yet I didn't have the ability to care anymore. Never in my life had I felt so completely unable to do anything at all. I collapsed onto Sherlock's bed and went to sleep, inhaling the unique smell of a very unique man.

That first night after the funeral was far from enjoyable. I woke up screaming at an ungodly hour, not that long after I fell asleep, flailing as a useless attempt to try and save Sherlock from falling again and again. This awful nightmare left me shaking and muffling screams with Sherlock's pillow, tears streaming down my face. Once I finally calmed down and done the best I could to rid the memory of my mind, I laid back down in Sherlock's bed, running my thumb gently across the corner of his blanket, back and forth, back and forth. I never got back to sleep, but I laid there for several hours more, thinking.

That afternoon, after laying in the same position for many hours in Sherlock's bed, I set out, trudging through the streets, in search of a shop that had beer. Once I located the closest one, I walked in and purchased a fairly large amount of alcohol and brought it home. I then carried it all into Sherlock's bedroom, and began to drink. And drink. I felt the burn in my throat as the liquid sloshed down, yet still I continued to drink. Over the course of the next hour, I had consumed over eight bottles of beer, and my thoughts floated all throughout my head. Most of them were about Sherlock, swarming about my brain, threatening to take over everything and consume my whole being, so I tried to push them away by stumbling into the living room. Before I was aware of my actions, my coat was clumsily being shrugged onto my shoulders, and I was making my way down the stairs. I busted out of the door and staggered down the street, bumping into several people, yet ignoring them. I knew exactly where I was going by the time I entered the graveyard where Sherlock was. My legs wobbled slightly as I slowed to an unstable power walk, approaching Sherlock's headstone quicker than I thought. Once I had reached my destination, my legs gave out and I fell to my knees, and placed my hands on Sherlock's headstone to keep everything from spinning and to catch my breath.

Once I could speak, I tried to get my words to make sense, but they were slurred and barely intelligible. "Sh'loh" I mumbled. " I forgodda tehl you. I nev'r said 'nythin' befohr buh I 'lways mean iht." I took a few seconds to contemplate how I was going to word this, but then decided that I didn't care, as long as I said it. 'I...I luvouh. 'lways have, Sh'lock. But nowur dead 'n I c'never tehl you 'nd I missu Sh'lock. Please c'me back. Ple..." I tried with all of my energy to finish the last word, but I couldn't. The world was spinning faster now, an unknown blackness was swirling in from everywhere, and in seconds, I was passed out on the ground, still clutching Sherlock's headstone.

* * *

I awoke to the sound of chirping birds and a throbbing headache, but luckily the intoxication from the previous night had prevented the horrible nightmare/flashback from making a reappearance. I looked around, dazed, and slowly, the events of yesterday began to flood back to me. I was still collapsed on the ground of the cemetery, my hands still holding on to Sherlock's grave just as I had been the previous day. I had recollections of mostly everything, including the things I said when I arrived. As that particular memory got to the front of my mind, the only reaction I could come up with was oh, shit.

The strangest thing was that even though I was highly intoxicated, I knew somewhere inside my head that it wasn't a lie. I loved Sherlock Holmes, with all of my heart. I wish I could see his face every single day and tell him that, let him know that even if he didn't return the same feelings, that couldn't stop me from loving him. I would travel to the very ends of the earth for Sherlock Holmes, I would shoot bullets for him as well as jump in front of them, I would be more than willing to risk my life for the man I care about most in the world. This thought, this revelation where I finally found out that I loved Sherlock, made my chest feel both incredibly lighter and incredibly heavier at the same time. A giant weight was lifted off my chest when I realized that I actually felt so strongly towards Sherlock, but I also felt as if a house was being dropped on me when I realized that I was too late. A single tear, one of both joy and complete misery, fell from my eye and slid silently down my face. Once I had finally sorted out the way I felt towards the man who mattered most, it was too late because he was already gone. I stretched, rubbed the sleep and tears from my eyes, and shot one last somber glance at the headstone on the ground, shining almost mockingly at me, before I turned and walked away,

A/N: Hello again! Look at that, another update! It's a bit rubbish I know, and I'm sorry about that but yeah, hope you enjoyed that, because he's never going near alcohol again, just saying. Feel free to comment anything, say you love it, or you hate it, I'd like to know what you think. Thanks!

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