Chapter Text
Mary Elizabeth Watson
Loving Mother and Wife
1974-2017
Sherlock reads on Mary's gravestone with this memory of John blaming Sherlock replays in his head. Some part of Sherlock knows it wasn't really his fault for Mary's death but John's words leave him so heartbroken that Sherlock can't help but blame himself.
It's hard for Sherlock to put of a smile when he just hurts so much on the inside. He always wanted to tell John something, just those three little words, Sherlock had never felt that way about anyone but John... John Watson was the first person that Sherlock has ever liked.
"Sherlock is actually a girl's name." Sherlock told John but of course that's not what he wanted to tell John.
The memory's of John raced through Sherlock's head, all the times he should of told him what he felt, all the times where Sherlock and John were so, so close to a kiss but just not close enough.
Sherlock was glad it was a rainy day because if anyone were to see him they would think that if was just the rain on his face and not the actual tears that Sherlock was crying now. He would never admit to someone, not even himself, that he needed help, that his drug addiction is getting worst, that at this rate he will only live for about a week or two.
Now back at the flat.
Sherlock was hiding in his room crying in a ball on his bed. It was dark outside and the rain still hadn't stopped. Sherlock was alone in 221B, Mrs. Hudson was spending sometime with her sister, but Sherlock didn't mind because this meant he didn't have to hide his cries or his drugs.
Sherlock hates his addiction and he really wants to stop but he can't bring himself to do it, he just hurts to much. It's not like the drug do much anymore, he still feels pain, he still always remembers, but drugs have become apart of his life now and Mycroft has stopped checking up on him so Sherlock never feels like overdosing is a bad thing, because now he knows John hates him and now his only brother hates him.
Sherlock glances at his nightstand at the corner of his bed. The nightstand and everything on it hurt Sherlock to look at, the stand itself was a gift from John for his birthday. On the stand laid a picture of John and Sherlock at John and Mary's wedding, a picture on Sherlock and Mycroft his mother gave him for his birthday, and a syringe. The syringe was filled with enough to kill a man, and Sherlock wasn't really sure is that is what he wanted to do but it just hurt so much to live.
He gets up from the bed and grabs the syringe, enters the living room, and sits in John's chair, which still smells like him, and slowly inserted the drugs into his system.
Sherlock was shaking so bad, he tried to stay still but some part of him didn't want to die, some part of him just need to tell John how he feels first... but it was to late and Sherlock's body was giving out and his mind went black...