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The Good Times (Sherlock/Johnlock Oneshot ANGST)

"Remember the good times? When we could be kids? When we could just solve crimes? Pretend to be straight?" John asked, looking at Sherlock's grave, the already dead flowers seeming looking at him with pure disgust for not saving him. For not getting to him sooner.

"Remember our first kiss, that was... eventful." John chuckled, wiping away a tear that made its way down his cheek.

"We just... we were just stupid kids." He sat down on the ground near the grave, pressing his head against the cool surface. "Why can we just still be stupid kids?" He have the grave a watery smile.

"Ya know, I already wrote my note. Hopefully Mrs. Hudson and Mary understand. And Molly, Lestrade, everyone." He said, pulling out his gun from the pocket of his coat. "I'm gonna use this. More effective than your way, huh Sherlock?" He asked, putting the gun back and pulling out a piece of paper from his pocket. "This is my note, don't worry, there'r two. One for you, and one for everyone else."

Dear Sherlock,
Ever since your death, I just couldn't do it. Mary's been trying her best, but I just can stand it anymore. We were two lovebirds. We can be soon, but don't dwell on that. Just remember that you'll see me soon. Hopefully the same as you remember me. I'm sorry if this isn't what you want, and that you want me to live a long and happy life, but I just can't. I can't go on without you. You were my light in the darkness, as cheesy as that sounds. Well, I'll see you soon, love.
- John Hamish Watson

John put the note on the ground, and covered it with a few pebbles so that it wouldn't get blown away. He got up from the grave, and walked away, not looking back.

——- well this is gettin fuckin intense wouldn't you say?——-

When John arrived at the flat, he left his other note on his nightstand, the one for everyone else, and put on the outfit that Sherlock loved him on most. He laid down on their bed, searching for just a little bit of him, but is been almost two years, everything if him is gone. John took the gun, clicked the safety off, and whispered a small 'I'm sorry everyone.' Before he raised it to his temple, and pulled the trigger.

Mrs. Hudson ran up the the apartment when she heard the gunshot. It couldn't be Sherlock, he's dead. And it wasn't, she went up to John's room, and was met with a terrible sight. John laying on the bed, gun beside him, hole in his head. Mrs. Hudson called Lestrade and then took the note off the dresser, Reading it, and then breaking down into tears.

Dear Everyone,
I'm terribly sorry what I must put you through, but I can't live without Sherlock. He was my light at the end of the tunnel, and now that light's gone. You know, when your grieving, the first few months it's all sentiment and 'I'm sorry's and pats on the back. But after that people start talking about them again, and you're not ready. They start just randomly bringing him up when you're in the room, and it's all you can do to not run into your room and cry into your pillow for five hours, wishing that they were there with you. But they're not. They never will be again.

But you all have been so supportive, and I'm sorry for this. But I'm going to finally be with him wherever he is. I'm sorry that you couldn't see through my facade until now, but I didn't want you to until now.

I just want you all to know that I love you. Mary, I love you most of all. Not in a romantic way, but you were one of the best friends that I've ever had. You listened to my fangirling about Sherlock, and then me squealing when he asked be out. You were amazing.
Lestrade, you were the best at making Sherlock irritated, so I congratulate you on that. You were also so funny and I'll miss your never ending support and constant jokes.
Molly, I just love how you were so supportive of Sherlock and I's relationship, even though you had feelings for him. You were so amazing and I'm sorry that you have to let someone else you care about go. You shouldn't have to, you're too pure. I just hope that you don't get my body in the morgue, but if you do, can you place me next to Sherlock please?
Mycroft, what can I say, you're fantastic, brilliant. I just want you to know that Sherlock loved you, even though her didn't show it, and I considered you my brother.
And last but most certainly not least, Mrs. Hudson. You were so good about taking care of Sherlock and I. Especially after Sherlock's incident. You're a kind, respectful, Amazing person, and I couldn't ask for a better landlady, or friend.
I'm sorry I had to put you all through this, but it's for the best.

——- well shit that was sad——-

Of course, Lestrade came and immediately left the room, but Mrs. Hudson gave him the note and he called Molly, Mycroft, and Mary to come down there at once. After they all did, Sherlock busted through the door and demanded to see the love of his life. The all just looked at him. Lestrade just pointed to Sherlock's room, wordlessly telling him to go inside. After Sherlock got over the shock he ushered them all out, telling them that they needed to grieve together or separately, but without him, and going and laying on the side of John that wasn't shot.

He reached under the bed and pulled out a special mixture. Heroin and cocaine. 10% heroin, 15%, enough to kill him. He stuck the needle into the bottle, jotting down few words on a stray piece of paper. She pulled out enough of the mixture to fill the entire syringe, carefully making sure no bubbles were in there.

He stuck the needle into a vein on the inside of his elbow, pressing the plunger all the way down, before laying down next to his dead lover, and closing his eyes with his fingers, before passing out himself. He never woke up.

Dear Friends,
Well now you can say that I'm not a machine. I'm sorry for how I've ever treated you into eh past. I truly do love all of you, even you Mycroft. I'm sorry for what I have to do, but I was the reason for John's (and your) despair. Goodbye.
Don't Forget Us,
William Sherlock Holmes Scott

Let's just say, no one forgot the two, ever again. Molly found someone, and she was happy with him, even though she remembered the lovebirds sometimes.
Lestrade lived out a nice life at Scotland Yard, getting promotions here and there, and visiting the two graves, that were side by side, every day when he got off work.
Mary went back to being an assassin, killing a way for her to cope with the pain of both losses. She visited their graves from time to time, but never stayed long. She told the flower covered patches of ground stories of when they were younger, and as for John's not, everyone left it there, untouched. It was protected from the rain by a small tent being set up over it.
Mycroft never truly got over Sherlock's death. Not John's either. They were both brothers to him and he didn't ever want to let that go. But he did eventually, still mourning from town to time, but overall okay. He kept up with his work and eventually became the founder of one of England's suicide hotlines and charities.

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1310 words. Not including my authors note down here. Sorry for the angst by the way, and the shitty writing but yeah. I felt like angst so suck it. I am now sad from writing this.

By the way, I do not condone drug use. Not good. Get some help. Also, suicide isn't the answer. I know some people are probably tired of hearing that, but some people don't hear it enough. Here are the hotlines for different countries:
USA - 1-800-273-8255
Australia - 13 11 14 (idk that's what came up)
UK - +44 (0) 8452 90 90 90
France - 01 46 21 46 46
These are what I found. You can go to suicide.org if they don't have your specific area. Remember, you can always talk to me too, and I will not find your problems and burden.

In the USA, there is also The Trevor Project, which is a free, confidential LGBTQ+ suicide hotline that you can call.
Trevor Project: thetrevorproject.org and 1-866-488-7386

I love you all and as always, stay safe, don't do drugs, and have a nice life.
- Pansexual Problem