Consulting Fangirl

Epilogue

A/N This is my final author's note for this story. I'm feeling very nostalgic. Well... it's been fun my friends. It's been fun. But now our time is drawing to a close. I hope this concludes everything nicely. I love you all and thank you so much for reading this story! 

The first chapter of my newest Sherlock fic is up so if you want, check it out. Enjoy!

I sat up in bed, my face covered in sweat. I panted, my eyes darting back and forth, searching for the men. They weren’t here, though. It was a dream. Of course it was a dream. In the dream John was alive.

After pouring myself a bowl of cereal I knew I wouldn’t eat, I sat myself down on the couch and flipped on the television. I wasn’t watching it, though. I just sat there, the bowl still in my hands, and thought. That’s all I could do these days. Think. I worried about what I did to Sherlock. I worried about Mrs. Hudson and John’s family, and how they were taking this. Mostly, I worried about John and where he was now.

I was startled from my daze when a knock came from my door. I sat up on the couch, fear in my heart. How long had I been in my head? How long was I lost in my own little world?

Judging by the light from my windows, or lack of it, it was nighttime. Hours after I sat down. A whole day, if you counted me sleeping late.

Looking down at the table, I noticed the soggy bowl of cereal that sat untouched. Sometime during my semi-consciousness I must have placed it down. That was slightly reassuring, but the fact that I didn’t remember doing it was not.

The knocks continued and I stood up slowly, still groggy from confusion.

“Coming!” I shouted, my voice cracking slightly. For whatever reason, I wanted to cry. It must have been the repressed feelings. I hadn’t cried the entire day, which was a new record. It was all starting to come back to me and I wanted nothing more than to curl up and sob. 

As scary as it was to think that I spent the entire day in my mind and didn’t realize that time was passing, it didn’t surprise me as much as it should have. What was the point of doing anything? There was none. John was dead and I hated myself and there was no point to anything anymore.

When I opened the door, I almost had to do a double take. I wouldn’t have believed who was on the other side if he hadn’t been standing there, right before my eyes.

Sherlock Holmes stood at my threshold, oblivious to the pouring rain, with an expression that I couldn’t read.

“Mai, before you slam the door, please listen to what I have to say.” He said quickly. He was wrong, though. I wasn’t planning on slamming the door. What was the point? To be perfectly honest, I wanted him to tell me why he did what he did. I wanted him to give me a damned good reason that would make me forget all my anger because what I was feeling right now- the pure hatred and blackness- I never wanted to feel that again. I never wanted to feel that burning rage that consumed my mind ever again, because if I did, if I continued to feel this way, it would destroy me.

When I didn’t say anything, he continued his defense slowly, almost cautiously. This was new. Sherlock Holmes had never been one to be cautious with people’s feelings.

“Yes, it’s true, I faked my death that day. I knew what Moriarty would make me do, so I planned the whole thing. And yes, I chose to stay away from John.” I opened my mouth to yell again over that, but he must have read my face.

“Please listen,” he begged, but I wasn’t feeling very generous.

“No! You left John alone for two years, Sherlock. That was so hard for him, but you didn’t even care. How could you stay away-,”