It’s been a year since the death and fall of a brilliant man. A man so dear to poor (Y/N)’s heart that she wept and wept in days without end, and consumed nothing but coffee in an attempt to warm the pit of darkness he had left when he cascaded down St. Bart’s, and had her as a witness it from a bloody television set. No one told her of the event until she switched onto the news channel to find herself watching Sherlock Holmes’ lifeless body, along with the headline; SUICIDE OF FAKE GENIUS in bright red letters.
For months, her nights were filled with nothing but pain and agony. She slept with tears in her eyes, and choked on them the next morning. John couldn’t do anything but encourage her to find someone better, although; they both know how stupid that sounded. No one was better than him. No one could compare, no one could replace.
Everything felt surreal. He couldn’t have just left like that. (Y/N) spent her days inside. She grew pale and sickly, her figure distorted due to lack of nutrition. The combination of caffeine, nicotine and pills were not too healthy.
None of her friends knew how much pain she endured, and she couldn’t put her feeling into words. This thing, this depression she felt. It was worse than death itself. She had hoped that wherever Sherlock wandered off to, wherever he may be; (Y/N) hoped that he could see how much of a mess her life has evolved into.
How much little she had left, after he had left. How much time she’d spent on the couch he once laid down on, just reliving memories in fear that they’d die in the back of her mind. That’s all she hung onto, the memories of him berating her. The memories of him rushing in and out of the flat, and her surprising him with dinner or a cup of tea. The memories of them lying on his bed, and the way he’d recap what he had done that day, and he’d watch her look at him with fascination in her eyes.
On that thought, she’d cry some more. Her limbs fell stiff at John’s request to have her write a eulogy and have it recited on his funeral day; it was then when she realized that her beloved consulting detective was truly gone. Hysterically, she bawled her eyes out like a frustrated toddler who didn’t what he wanted for Christmas. John couldn’t do anything but watch his friend slowly slip out of denial and buffer into shock.