John never called it "fall" anymore. The memories associated with that word were too painful. "Autumn" was a much prettier word, and there were no negative memories connected to it.
It'd been three years since John had last seen Sherlock--well, since he'd last seen Sherlock alive. Every few days, John would visit the shiny black grave with silver words carved into it. It was only shiny because John kept it so. He polished the headstone so well, you could use it as a mirror. He wanted to keep it clean so Sherlock could use it as a window, so he could observe things and continue to make deductions.
One night, John was sitting alone in his living room. He looked over at the mantle, where Sherlock's favourite skull sat. Mrs. Hudson had let John keep it for old times sake, but he could barely look at it. It always caused floods of memories to pour in from the back of his mind, memories he didn't want to look back on.
But this time, the worst one of all came forth. This time, John saw the fall. He heard Sherlock's voice, saw Sherlock's coat fluttering in the wind as he fell off the roof of the hospital, and smelled the blood coming from Sherlock's body as John tried to push through the crowd of people.
John snapped back to reality, head in his hands, tears streaming down his face. His heart hurt. It hurt so bad that John just wanted to die. He didn't want to live without Sherlock, but he knew that him being dead wouldn't bring Sherlock back.
Sherlock was gone, and there was no changing that.
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My Angel (Johnlock)
FanfictionPainful memories were all John Watson could think of. His best friend, the love of his life, was gone. There was no way he could come back. It was impossible. Or was it?
