Chapter Text
John sat in his old, worn tartan armchair. He stared at the slick leather chair in front of him, shining in the low light of the moon. A thin layer of dust was settled over it, giving away how long it had lacked use.
Once, it had been the perch of London’s greatest consulting detective.
Once, it had endured countless sleepless nights and heated arguments between the men.
Once, it had seen them fall apart and make up like it was nothing.
Now, John sat. Alone.
The weight of his pistol felt normal in his hand, his finger resting lightly on the trigger. It was aimed loosely at the yellow smiley face that Sherlock had painted on the wall oh-so-long ago. Fresh bullet holes sat next to old ones, created by an overwhelming feeling of grief.
John missed Sherlock. John hated Sherlock.
A pit settled in his stomach, as he once again let his gaze settle on the leather chair infront of him. He could see Sherlock’s violin led across the coffee table, the bow long fallen off. He almost missed the ballads that played long into the early hours of the morning.
He stood, gripping the gun tighter now. Indecision flooded his every thought as he brought it to his temple. The metal cooled his skin as he took a breath and put pressure on the trigger.
As he went to pull the trigger down, footsteps sounded from the stairwell.
“JOHN,” called out that familiar voice.
“Please” came the voice one again.
“I need you” It begged.