Hello Detective (Sherlock) Chapter 50
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20 Part 21 Part 22 Part 23 Part 24 Part 25 Part 26 Part 27 Part 28 Part 29 Part 30 Part 31 Part 32 Part 33 Part 34 Part 35 Part 36 Part 37 Part 38 Part 39 Part 40 Part 41 Part 42 Part 43 Part 44 Part 45 Part 46 Part 47 Part 48 Part 49 Part 50 Part 51 Part 52 Part 53 Part 54 Part 55 Part 56 Part 57 Part 58 Part 59 Part 60 Part 61
You shoved the note into your pocket and pushed your way past John and down the stairs. He called after you, but you didn’t stop. You left 221B, knowing that it could possibly be your last time there. It began to rain as you walked down the street, and you thought about popping into your own flat around the corner but decided against it. Like everything, it would just remind you of him.
You wandered around London in the rain, your wet hair sticking to your face. You noticed the strange looks you were getting from people walking by, but you didn’t care anymore. You didn’t care how you looked, you were broken inside so what use was it not being broken on the outside.
You found yourself in front of a familiar door, ringing the bell. You didn’t know who else to turn to, but you knew someone who might understand, even a little.
The door was tugged open quickly.
“Y/N, my God get in here, you’re soaking wet!” Lestrade said, pulling you out of the rain. He was clearly surprised to see you. He took your coak, but your wet clothes clung to your body. He frowned when he saw your lips had a blue tint. He wrapped a towel around your shoulders. You looked up to him, you still hadn’t said a word. You wrapped your arms around him, hugging him as a tear streamed down your check.
“It’s going to be okay, Y/N.” He said, rubbing soothing circles on your back.
‘It’s not though, it’s not going to be okay, Greg. Nothing will ever be the same.” You said, pulling back.
“It will just take time, trust me. You can come back to work when you’re ready, things can go back to normal.” Greg said.
“You don’t get it do you. I can’t go back there, I can’t work there anymore. Everything reminds me of Sherlock, every case I work I would just think of him, not to mention if I saw Donovan or Anderson. I can’t do it Greg.” You said, shaking your head.
“Does that mean you’re quitting?” Lestrade asked.
“I would only be there for a few months before leaving anyway. There’s no reason to go back now.” You said.
“What do you mean?” Lestrade asked confused.
“Greg, I’m pregnant… I’ve known for about a month. I’ve been staying with Mycroft, he’s offered to help but I still don’t know what I’m going to do.” You said quietly. Lestrade was obviously surprised.
“So it’s Sherlocks? Are you going to keep it?” He asked.
“Of course, it’s my last connection to him, the last bit of him I have left.” You said, lowering your head.
“Did he know?” Lestrade asked gently. You shook your head, your heart filling with regret. Maybe if you had told him he wouldn’t have done what he did.
“God…” Greg muttered, “Well if you ever need anything, I’ll be here for you. Always.”
“Thank you. I might go back home for a little while, to America I mean, still not sure. I think I need to get out of London for a little while.” You said.
“Well, you’ve always got a friend on the force… And if it’s any consolation Anderson quit and Donovan is very sorry.” Greg said.
“Sorry for what? Helping kill Sherlock and destroy his reputation, or for agitating me enough to break her nose?” You asked.
“Both, though I do think she’s had to have surgery to fix that.” Lestrade said.
“Small price to pay compared to what she did, don’t you think.” You said, now standing.
“He wasn’t a fraud was he?” Greg asked.
“He was many things, but never that.” You put your coach on, which had dried a little.
“Are you leaving?” He asked.
“It’s getting late, Mycroft will worry.” You said.
“Call me if you need anything.” He said and you nodded as you walked out the door.
After walking a little more it began to rain again, just your luck. You had made it back to Mycroft’s house and walked in the door, soaking wet.
He jumped to his feet when you arrived, rushing to you.
“Well?” He asked, curious.
You pulled the note out of the inside of your coat where it had managed to only get a little wet. You placed it on the table next to you and walked past Mycroft to hang your coat up and change into some dry clothes.
When you reemerged, newly dry, Mycroft was waiting for you, with the letter in his hand.
“Where did you find this?” He asked.
“At his flat.” You said simply, moving towards an armchair.
“Yes, but where?” He pushed as you curled up in the chair.
“In his room, his wardrobe. In a box of jewelry that used to be in my flat, but somehow ended up in his.” You said. He eyed you suspiciously and you wondered what he was thinking.
“What kind of jewelry?” He asked, why was he so curious.
“It was a necklace that he had given me for Christmas. Why do you care?” You asked.
“Just curious. Are you okay?” He asked.
“Of course I’m not okay! I’ve just lost the love of my life, and I’m pregnant with his child! Mycroft I know human nature is a mystery to you, but don’t you think it’s a bit obvious!” You yelled. He sighed and rubbed his temple.
“I think you should see someone, someone who can help you.” Mycroft sighed.
“Like a shrink?” You scoffed.
“A therapist. Y/N, please, do it for me.” Mycroft pleaded.
And you did, the next day you found yourself sitting in front of a therapist for the first time. Surprisingly you had never been to one. She told you that you were having trouble coping with Sherlock being gone, but you knew that. She also told you that a good way to handle that was to write letters to him, to say the things you wanted to and never did.
That night you sat at the desk in your room, pulled out a pen and piece of paper and began to write what was on your mind. Tears stained the page as you held it up to read it before tucking it away.
My therapist thinks this will help, writing to you, saying the things I wanted to and never did. Yes, I went to a therapist, the same one John uses I think. How ironic. I doubt this will help though, nothing helps. Nothing numbs the pain, and believe me I’ve tried everything. No one really understands, they try but at the end of the day they go back to their perfect little lives and I’m left all alone. And let me tell you, the nights are the worst. Sometimes all you can do is lie in bed, and hope to fall asleep before you fall apart. I think my mind is still having trouble wrapping itself around the fact that you’re gone.
I used to think I couldn’t go a day without seeing you. Without telling you things and hearing your voice back. Then, that day arrived and it was so damn hard but the next was harder. And I just know it’s going to get worse and I won’t be okay for a very long time. People don’t realize that losing someone isn’t an occasion or an event. It doesn’t just happen once. It happens over and over again. I lose you every time I pick up your favorite coffee mug; whenever I hear a violin, or when I see a deerstalker.
I lose you every time I think of kissing you, holding you, or wanting you. I go to bed at night and lose you when I wish I could tell you about my day. And in the morning, when I wake up and reach for the empty space across the sheets, I begin to lose you all over again.
I missed you every hour. And you know what the worst part was? It caught me completely by surprise. I’d catch myself just walking around to find you, not for any reason, just out of habit, because I’d seen something that I wanted to tell you about or because I wanted to hear your voice. And then I’d realize that you weren’t there anymore, and every time, every single time, it was like having the wind knocked out of me.
It’s sad Sherlock, how you were such a big part of my life and now you’re just gone. Missing you comes in waves, and tonight I’m drowning. I had so much left to say to you, and that’s the worst part. It’s 2:00 AM and I’m still trying to figure out how everything went wrong so fast. Was there something I could have done? If only I had been smarter, if only I had figured out his plan sooner I could have helped you, I could have prevented this from happening.
Sherlock, I miss you so much. I miss you when the lights go down, because it illuminates all my doubts. My therapist told me that we place all love in the dark, and I’m not sure how true that is, but at moments like this I began to believe her. She tells me I need to move on, but how can I? If you weren’t the one for me, then how come I hate the idea of being free? And part of me keeps holding on, hoping for a miracle. As each day passes, that hope gets smaller and smaller. I’m terrified that one day I’ll wake up and forget the sound of your voice, the color of your eyes, or the curl of your hair.
I remember all of the things that I thought I wanted to be, I was so desperate to find a way out of my world and to finally breathe. Only when I moved to London and when you followed me into Speedy’s did things start to feel right. Right before my eyes I saw my heart come to life. And it wasn’t easy loving you, but then again when it’s real it’s not meant to be easy. Every story has its scars, and ours always seems to lead to pain and scars. But that didn’t scare me when I had you by my side. When I had you I felt safe. Since you’re the only one that mattered, tell me who do I run to?
But when the pain cuts too deep, and the nights keep me from sleeping that’s when I realized you were my remedy. It was always you that pulled me back to what really mattered. You keep me right, though I’m sure you would argue the opposite. When the world seems so cruel, and my heart makes me feel like a fool I wonder if maybe you were right. Sentiment is a chemical defect found in the losing side. We lost… I lost. When has it ever worked out for me? This disappointment we call love? You were my one chance at happiness. You were my remedy and without you I am broken.
Not much is certain in this world, death and taxes and all that, but among all the lies, the one truth I could always hold onto was your love, and I will always love you.
You folded the letter and placed it in an empty envelope that would soon fill to capacity. Tomorrow was Sherlock’s funeral, you were supposed to say something, to stand in front of everyone and speak. Tomorrow was going to be a long day, and you hadn’t even thought about what you were going to say.