Chapter Text
Sherlock Holmes, the man I loved, is dead. |
John Watson stared at what he had typed, unable to breathe. He could not even admit it to himself without a strike through, and with it, he could hardly bear the twist of grief in his chest. He had lost friends, enemies, comrades in arms. John had lost motility in his shoulder, had lost his sense of self for a time. Truth be told, he had almost lost his life more than once. All of it had been worth the wound for him, Sherlock Holmes. The man that John Watson…
‘No.’ He couldn’t bear it, and so he wouldn’t. He would not tell the world, or Ella. He would not tell the glass of scotch that consoled him each evening, nor the pillow that absorbed his coward’s tears. He raised a finger, let it hover over the backspace key, and then—his cursor disappeared. Blink, bliiink, it said. That was odd. Blink, bliiink, blink blink. Fuck, this couldn’t be happening. John ran to grab a paper, waited for it to cycle around. Blink, bliiink, it said again. Blink, bliiink, blink blink. Blink blink. Blink blink blink bliiink. Blink.
John felt the tears streaming down his face as the code became undeniable. He just stared on in awe.
A. L. I. V. Blink.