#fff365

***

He looked like twelve that day – his last day on Earth. Just like he did the first time I met him. Seen in hindsight, something was different, though.

There was a bone deep sadness in his features when he played with the stress ball as if he’d realised how I and his other friends would react once they realised that he was dead. And yes, he did have more than one friend; I was just one of many. 

Mrs Hudson, for starters. In fact, she was more like a mother to him. She grieves as if she were, for sure. 

Then there’s Greg, Molly, Angelo, Wiggins, Mike; his entire homeless network, for goodness’ sake! Not to mention everyone who owed him a favour; there must be dozens, if not hundreds.

And still, he was dead (pardon the pun) serious when he declared that I was his only friend after we’d solved the Baskerville case. I could tell that he wasn’t shamming; trying to get into my good grazes again. It was pure honesty. By then, I had learned to discern the difference.

I can’t spend too much time thinking about that, or I’ll break down. 

Why did he feel the need to take his own life when…

***

I’ve stopped bringing Mrs Hudson when I visit his grave. She’s so fragile. It’s as if her sassy personality died that day too.

In the beginning, I always stood in front of his elegant gravestone like a soldier keeping watch, but now – if the weather allows it – I sit cross-legged on the grass instead. It’s oddly comforting to talk to the black stone as if it is actually him.

“Hi, Sherlock. I miss you. The flat is so quiet. Even when you were lying supine on the sofa, lost in your head, you filled the room with life. You were the most animated person I’ve ever known, even when you barely moved a muscle. I’m considering moving out, finding my own place. Too many memories and ghosts in 221B nowadays. 

“There’s a new nurse at work. Mary. She tries to flirt with me. It doesn’t work, but she’s quite persistent, I’ll give her that. Soon enough, she’ll realise that it’s a futile endeavour. I’ve even said so, but she just shrugged and winked at me. It was unsettling. Nobody has winked at me since you did it before you walked out of the lab that January day in 2010. I guess I should be flattered. Once, I would have been. Not after meeting you, though.”

***

My nightmares are always worse after I’ve visited his grave. In this particular dream, I have blood smeared on my palms. I realise this too late. 

Like I usually do, I place my hands on his cheeks, but instead of wiping bloody off his face, I add more. In desperation, I try do clean my hands by rubbing them on my jeans, but it keeps pouring out of my palms like small fountains. We both drown in it. 

When I finally wake, the bed is damp. My t-shirt and pants are soaked. For one horrible moment, I thought I’d peed myself, but it is only malodorous sweat.

***

“It was my fault,” I tell Mrs Hudson when we have tea together the day after I thought I’d drowned in my own and Sherlock’s blood.

“Nonsense, dear. You know there was no stopping him when he had made up his mind. Silly boy.”

She cries a little and I hold her gently until she manages to gather herself. 

We watch the last Bond film, which she takes great delight in. Strangely enough, this makes me miss Sherlock even more. 

Despite that I chided him for ridiculing the plot and the insane stunts, I secretly loved it. I guess he knew that, because he never stopped commenting, and he had this smug expression on his face while doing it. 

If I concentrate, I can hear his voiceover. 

“That stunt is impossible to survive, John. He doesn’t even have a scratch, for God’s sake! This inanity kills your brain cells, you know.”

I smile when Daniel Craig – against all odds - survives yet again, regardless of Sherlock predictions.

***

To my surprise, I sleep well that night, and I wake more rested than I have in a long time. Perhaps this is a sign that things are about to change for the better.

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“Akeuraji, wake up!”

“Hahhhhh…”

“You are crying in your sleep. You were calling my name. Are you all right?” Jun looks at him concerned.

“Yodaka-san!” Tsukasa stares at the man above him. They are lying on the same bed. Outside is still pitch black.

“Yes…” Jun strokes his blonde hair. He’s been wanting to do that ever since he’s seen him at the all Japans competition. “It is all right. Whatever was your dream. It is over.” He assures Tsukasa.

“Y-yeah…” He rubs his eyes while hands reach for him, holding him close.

“It is over. I am here now.”

A flash of lightning painted the city in stark black and white, immediately followed by a roll of thunder that vibrated in his chest. Without thinking, he raised his hands up to the sky. The water ran down his arms.

But the lightning didn’t strike him. It probably would have made no difference, either.

Alois wouldn’t want this. But Alois and his wants were no more.

If he had made different choices…

The roof was so slippery. It would have been so easy. He imagined it, briefly, the poor soul finding his shattered body in the morning. They’d probably still give him a state funeral, just to keep up pretenses he hadn’t willingly turned his back on them.

It made no difference.

But he stayed, stayed until the rain let up, and light filtered through the clouds again. The water ran off the roof and off of him and no-one would have been able to tell he was crying.