oooyooo:

book-spazz:

The wind was whipping through John’s hair now as he stepped one inch closer to the edge. He was counting how many days exactly it had been. Too many. One too many days of waking up, afraid that he would survive yet another day, one too many days spent wondering why he was even doing it all, one too many days with no one there. He wasn’t there. He hadn’t been there for so long and it felt so…

The wind whipped through John as if he wasn’t standing there at all, as if he had become a ghost just like the rest of his life, unimportant, unnecessary, unwanted.

He took a deep breath and took another step.

He could hear the words of the few people who still spoke to him in his head. “He’s gone John, you should move on now. It’s what he’d want.” “You know you’re very precious to us.” “Are you sure you don’t want to start looking for a job at the very least?” Some of them cared, really cared of course, he knew they did. But the sadness in their faces whenever they saw his sunken, empty eyes enter a room was maddening. 

He put one foot on the ledge. The sad voices of people around him stopped and he heard Sherlock again. “Pass me a pen.” “Bored!” “What’s it like in those tiny brains of yours, it must be so boring.” “I don’t have friends. I just have one”

John choked out a twisted laugh. He put the other foot on the ledge. Now he could even feel Sherlock, in all the empty spaces where he hadn’t been for almost three years now. He reached his arms out “Sherlock…” He whispered and the air around his torso whispered “I’m here.”

John’s throat closed up and he saw a tear slip from his chin onto his jacket.

He stepped down. But he could still hear Sherlock’s voice.

“I’m here.”

BAAAAAAAAAAAAA ;;;;;;;;