Loss, lust and love

Death

The sound.

It cut through the silence, slicing through the air like a knife through butter.

My scream. Heads turned, their shocked expressions nothing compared to the horror which cracked my face. Rough breathes and heavy steps sounded as i pelted towards the scene with doubt. It couldn't be true. It couldn't be true. It couldn't.

John's arms wrapped around my waist like an anaconda to it's prey, holding me in place and failing to silence my wails of agony. An 'oof' sounded from the blonde as my elbow connected with the soft skin of his stomach, winding him as I pelted from his grip whilst fear froze my veins. Rounding the small building, I registered Greg hissing to his colleagues, demanding to know who allowed me on the premises.

I didn't care. The voices, the feelings, the smells, tastes, everything. They all faded to black, a ringing filled my ears and blocked my own wails from my ears. Everything went blank.

It was just me, and the body. The red, blood red, Crimson red, oozed from the body, coating everything.

"No!" I wailed, dragging the word on with hoarse screams as I clutched at the lifeless body with weak hands. I held the cold, dead hand to my chest whilst John pulled me away, crying also. "That's my dad, that's my dad, that's my dad!" I continued to scream whilst paramedics hoisted the body on a stretcher and into an ambulance.

It would be no use, the body was as dead as my father's tobacco blog.

My dead father.

I shook, banishing the thought from my brain. I was only briefly aware of John's arms pulling me to his chest as he sobbed, and of the paramedics and police officers firing questions my way.

"Back off!" Lestrade growled, shooing the minglers away and shielding me from their voices. A sea of burning hot tears seeped from my eyes and traveled down my face, soaking it further as I whispered continuously, "my dad, my dad, my dad...".

The ambulance sped away and out of sight. My dad was dead. Sherlock was dead, there was no use in pretending otherwise and we all knew it. I cast my stare upwards, looking at the building from which my father had jumped. His last words rang in my ears like a record player trapped on repeat. "i'm a fake."

"Daddy" I whispered, not daring to think of what had happened to the only other important man in my life. My heart had already split in two, I couldn't risk more pieces. Not today.

~~~

The hot coffee warmed my ice cold hands through the mug as Mrs Hudson sobbed from the sofa, not quelling my pain in the slightest. John paced beside me, distraught clear on his aged face.

"What did he say?" Her elderly voice cracked, dripped with pain and heartbreak.

We glanced up, John and I. Our eyes met, both red and oozing with tears from our pain. I could almost feel fear's icy grip, clawing and leaving me weak like a child.

"Uh," John spoke up, scrunching his face in search for the memory of my dad's final words.

I hadn't spoken in over an hour. In truth, I didn't know how and when my mouth opened all that sounded was my internal pain escaping in the form of sobs, as bats do from caves. I decided to keep my mouth shut, blocking my weakness out. This is what shock felt like. I had believed I was immune to it the way a person grows immune to bacteria. That's all emotions were; bacteria feeding on living victims and chewing them up, leaving nothing behind but a puddle of tears.

"That he's a liar and a fake." Surprise washed over me as I realised I had spoken. I looked at no one yet felt their hawk eyes bore holes through me. I could feel the pity they felt, my mother being a controlling dominatrix who had thankfully abandoned me at birth, and my father now leaving me at so young.

"You're only 19" Mrs Hudson whimpered after some time. I nodded, but I knew I was legally an adult now and had to decide what to do with myself.

"Ashe." My name. The name my dead father chose for me was spoken by John. I could see the hurt in his eyes, cracking like glass pains. "What about Mori-"

I shook my head, the hot coffee spilling a little over my hands. I couldn't talk or even think about it, the pain at having lost my father was difficult enough and I refused to cause myself more heartache by thinking about him. Moriarty. The only man I ever loved.

My attempts to sound strong faltered as my voice shook and my lip quivered. "Not today, please."

He nodded. John had always been so wise. Not clever, he was actually rather dim and reminded me of a Labrador, but he was wise with feelings. He had always known how to help.

~~~

I slept in his bed that night, the smell of his favourite shirt comforted me whilst the material soaked up my tears. I was shocked I had any water left in my body to cry out. I sighed as I drifted into a restless sleep, knowing I couldn't ignore Moriarty for long.

[hey guys so let me know how this is, it was just an idea which popped into my head earlier and I decided I should expand on it. Let me know what you think and how I can improve it. Cheers, guys. Sorry this has been so descriptive.]