Actions

Work Header

Again.

Work Text:

It was nearing the end of my honeymoon when I got the call from Greg. He seemed detached and then uttered the words I never wanted to hear in my life. Sherlock was dead. Again. He overdosed.

I fell to my knees in the hotel room and sobbed as I sunk into the carpet, silently pleading the ground to take me. Mary found me there a few minutes later, hyperventilating and a constant stream running down my cheeks.

He's gone. I thought he was better. Mycroft had assured me, even Sherlock himself had. I missed a danger night and I wasn't there for him, I should have been. I would've flown out to him from that tiny island without a doubt if he had just said one word.

I went back to Ella after we unpacked. I cried some more. Then I met up with Harry and she hugged me harder than she has since we were kids. She made it so easy for confessions I've never said aloud to spill off my tongue with ease. I told her I w̶a̶s̶ am in love with Sherlock Holmes. He never knew. He'll never know. So my heart breaks all over again.

Life goes on despite all this. I know I'm fading without him and everyday is more difficult. So when Mary discovers the sex of our child is a boy, I insist we name him Sherlock and she doesn't argue as she sees the passion seeping from my chest.

One night soon after, I woke from a dream about him. Mary's there and she knows. She knows I w̶a̶s̶ am in love with him and we don't argue about it. Did everyone know but me? My chest ached.

So now I'm sat at his funeral. Again.
This time I know it's real because his parents are sat next to me and I can't see them through the blur of my tears but they're here. His mum is a nice presence beside me and it's a warmth I haven't felt since I got the call.

After the funeral, his parents are still by my side. I tell his mum. I sit down with his parents, Mrs Hudson and Mycroft and I tell them my child is to be named after him. After warm embraces and declining various offers of company, I take my leave and go off.

Then as I walk onto Baker Street I see signs. Bouquets, envelopes, and posters. All about Sherlock.
I'm reminded of looking around at his funeral and seeing Molly tearfully leaning on Greg with a surprising amount of Scotland Yard seated behind them. The rows seemed empty but now I see messages from all the people he'd helped.

I walk up the steps and I sit in his chair reminiscing and wallowing. I miss him, achingly and overwhelmingly. No more miracles.

I never got to say my vow to him. Never got told "until death do us apart"- although death is for quitters because I can't stop loving him.