60 Ways to Say Goodbye - A Johnlock Fanfiction

Chapter Four

To my relief, they slowed to a stop in front of me. I opened the door and lowered myself into the seat.

“Thank you, sir,” I said.

“Welcome. Where to?” he asked me.

“The Gherkin,” I told him.

He nodded and the car lurched into motion. It was a silent ride, as I liked it. It was common knowledge in London that I was John Watson; Sherlock Holmes' companion and...maybe more? People always asked me about it and it was getting old quickly.

During the ride, I got a text from Mycroft. This time he texted my phone, for which I was thankful.

John, would you mind if I stopped by this afternoon?

I replied: I’m sorry Mycroft, I won’t be home this afternoon. Perhaps another day.

Lastly, he said: Very well.

The ride continued with no further interruptions. We finally made it to the Gherkin building.

Just as Greg had said, t was easy to see which alley was the place of the crime, for there were police cars guarding the entrance. I walked over to where the yellow caution tape lined the road and slipped under it with ease. I was given a pitiful glace from Sally Dovovan. Her look said I told you so. Anderson was standing next to her, and when I made eye contact with him, he stifled a laugh. I would have expected nothing less from him, though it still made my blood boil. I resisted the urge to flip him off. I am the bigger person.

I found Greg hunched over, looking at a heap on the ground.

“Hello Greg,” I said coming up behind him.

“Ah, John. Here’s he body,” he said motioning to the heap on the ground. I bent down to get a closer look at the dead man. The poor guy. He used to have a life. He was a walking, talking, functioning human. No he was just a 'body'.

There was slight bruising on the back of his bald head, but the mark was thin. I reasoned that it was probably a piece of broken off piping or a crowbar with he was hit. The rest of him looked seemingly unharmed. My medical knowledge and a quick analysis helped me conclude that he had been dead for about nine hours. The perfect time for a late-night jumping.

“Greg, looks like this poor mate just had a run in with a gang,” I told him my diagnosis.

“Is that so?” he asked.

I stood up to be at eye level with him.

“That’s all it seems to be, but as you know, and as I said earlier, I’m. Not. Sherlock,” I made sure he knew where I stood.

“Very well,” Greg sighed and handed me a wad of cash,” You can leave if you want, John.”

“Thank you. I’ll see you soon Greg,” I said. The case was too simple. Sherlock wouldn’t have taken it, I thought to myself.

I’m not Sherlock, I reminded myself.

I went to a small café near the Gherkin. All I wanted was a cup of tea, but they were having a special where a blueberry muffin came for free with a large cup of tea, so I accepted it. I would leave it at the grave. Whoever was cleaning up Sherlock’s grave seemed to be living in the cemetery. They must be hungry.

I sipped my tea as I walked in the direction of the cemetery. The walk from here would be a long one.

Usually I would use this time to think, but I had nothing that was in need of pondering. I instead looked at the people walking. There was a young lady and her dog. The dog was golden and sitting obediently by her side. The lady was wearing mostly black, but had her hair dyed blue. I laughed. This was Sherlock and me. I was the obedient dog and he was the lady with the blue hair.

I walked by a TV shop. They usually played the news, as I recalled, but today they were playing a Doctor Who marathon. I had never seen the show, for when I had heard about it, my life was busy non-stop. Maybe I would watch it now that nothing ever happened to me.

I looked back at the people walking. There was a beautiful young woman in a large and bright white fur coat walking my way. She had dark hair and bright red lipstick on. When she got closer, I could see her bright blue eyes. She reminded me of Irene Adler, but of course, she had been killed.

I now stood at the gate to the cemetery. After buying another yellow rose, I walked through the rusted steel bars and made my way back to Sherlock’s grave. I laid down the rose first this time along with the muffin I had received and then made my speech.

“Hello, Sherlock. They tried to have me do your job today. They were crazy if they think that I could ever be as good as you. At least I got enough money for the rest of the rent. It’s still a mystery as to who left that envelope. Maybe you know?”

I waited for an answer. My answer came in the form of the wind whistling in my ear.

“Damnit, Sherlock, I’m so sick of you….being dead!” I yelled, “I need to talk to you! I need to tell you so many things! I just can’t take it any longer. Come back, please.”

Tears started pouring out of my eyes as I sank to my knees.

I sat there crying for a good five minutes. I couldn’t handle it. That was it. I wouldn't allow myself to be so fragile over him anymore. He was gone. I couldn't bring him back and that wasn't going to change. I couldn't live my whole life pining over him.

“I’m sorry, Sherlock, but I can’t do this anymore. This whole visiting your grave thing…it’s tearing me apart and I just can’t…I’m sorry. I won’t be coming back,” I said.

And with that, I turned and left.

A/N- Just to be clear this is NOT the end!!!!!!!!! There is definitely going to be more, so don't stop reading. Thanks!