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-lightinside

When someone dies, how do you keep going?

That was the question I kept asking myself. I didn't understand how the world could keep spinning when all I wanted it to do was stop. I didn't understand how people could come up to me and be 'sorry for my loss' when they had no idea what it felt like. How could they really be sorry? How could this be happening to me?

A hand clamped down on my shoulder, making my heart leap in my chest for a few seconds before I looked up into my mum's sad eyes.

"Katherine, can you please go over and talk to Harry?"

I looked over at Harry who stared forlornly at the grave in front of him. I didn't want to go anywhere. I didn't want to move. I didn't want to make conversation with my estranged brother. But I didn't argue. I walked over to where Harry stood and didn't say anything for a long time.

I didn't look at him. He didn't look at me. I think we both preferred it that way.

Harry finally spoke. "Mum sent you, didn't she?"

For a few seconds, I felt bad. Mum had given me the job she didn't want and now I realized that even though Harry had screwed up in regards to his family and to us… that he had lost his brother, too. I hooked my arm through his and leaned my head on his shoulder.

"I'm glad you're here." I said.

It wasn't a lie. I knew that I was underneath all of the hurt I felt at seeing him here. He hadn't been home for nearly two years. I hadn't thought that he cared anymore. I should have known better.

"They aren't." Harry told me, cutting his eyes toward our parents.

"Forget about them. Mum and Dad always have something stuck up their asses. You know as well as I do that when you've been here for a few days, they'll forget about everything else. It's how they operate."

Harry sighed and pulled away from me. "But they won't. I'm not staying."

I felt my eyebrows knit in my confusion. "What do you mean, you're not staying? You have to stay. Mum needs you. I need you. What the hell do you mean?"

My brother's eyes glazed over and I knew that nothing I said was getting through to him. He wasn't paying attention to me anymore. Harry was going to take off and I was going to be alone with my grieving parents.

As the only girl and the youngest out of three children, I had learned how to make myself into less of a big deal. I would be the one trailing behind them, picking up the dirty dishes they cared nothing about. I would be the one saving the forgotten wash from the machine before it soured. I would be the one forcing my mum to eat. My dad would be drowning himself in extra work at his office. And Harry, once again, would have disappeared.

I was desperate to make him hear me. Before I could stop myself, I uttered the six words that I knew would alienate my brother from me forever.

"John would be ashamed of you."

With a start, Harry looked up at me and in that moment, I was the one ashamed of myself. No matter what I felt, nothing gave me the right to say that. Nothing.

The seconds stretched on. Apologies tumbled around in my head, unspoken words of regret sitting on my tongue. Yet, I couldn't say any of them. I didn't know if it was pride, or if it was the shock at what had come out of my own mouth. I just knew that the longer I stood there, the clearer I could see my opportunity at reconciling with my brother slipping away.

Finally, without a word, Harry shook his head… and walked away from me.

I closed my eyes. I took a deep breath. I burned inside.

Somehow, I knew without having to look around that people were leaving. No one wanted to stay. They had offered up what they could, sorries and one too many tuna casseroles, and now they were making their escapes.

I envied them all. I wanted to run away and never come back. I wanted to be the one who didn't understand what this kind of pain felt like. But the fact remained that I did know what it felt like and that I understood it completely.

My brother was gone and nothing I did would bring him back.

I don't know how long I stood there. I couldn't remember when everyone had gone. I knew that suddenly, the sun was high in the sky and that I was very, acutely aware of my aloneness.

I was twenty-four, I had a job in the mailroom at a movie studio in central London, I was a social pariah, and I had no boyfriend. Now, my brother was dead.

Somehow… I had known. When he had been drafted the second time back to Afghanistan, I could feel it. I knew that he wouldn't make it home. But, he was an Army doctor for God's sake. He was supposed to make it home.

I braced myself and finally tore my eyes away from the black marble tombstone. I knew that the moment I walked away, it would be real. I would be leaving him here while I went to live a life… whatever kind of life I could have after this.

The reason for all of the pity… the reason for all of the grief… people would move on. They would forget. But I wouldn't. I knew the name behind the reason.

My brother; John Watson.

Somehow, I turned my back on him. I walked through the cemetery and to the car that waited on me at the entrance. Before I climbed in, I looked back one time. That was all I allowed myself. Ten seconds. Twelve.

I bit my lip and climbed inside.

Back at my parent's flat, I sat in my old room and waited. My mum was in denial. My dad was gone. And I was alone.

I fell back on my bed with a sigh and stared at the ceiling, wondering if I could make a break for the door and escape notice. When I decided I couldn't, I draped my arm over my eyes. The sunlight was smothered from my view and I was finally where I felt the most comfortable. In the dark.

My phone chimed from its seat on my bedside table. I sighed moodily and reached for it, finding that the Caller ID was unknown.

Katherine Watson?

-SH

I stared at the screen for a moment, wondering if I should answer. The initials seemed familiar. I wondered who could be looking for me. Maybe it was another friend of the family that missed the funeral and wanted to pay their respects. The longer I stared, the more disinclined I felt to respond. Just as I was about to put my phone down again, it chimed.

I'm waiting.

-SH

I felt a disbelieving scoff escape my mouth.

Who do you think you are?

Staring at the screen, waiting for a response, I felt my irritation begin to grow. This time, I was irritated with myself. I had caved. I had answered a stranger, a very rude stranger, when I knew better.

Several seconds after I had begun to mentally kick myself, my phone chimed again.

Sherlock Holmes. Last I checked.

-SH

Sherlock Holmes? It finally clicked for me. John's old flat mate. God. What did he want? Though, underneath my inclination to tell him to piss off and never think of him again, I hesitated. John had always spoken so highly of him. Well… not at first. After the first year they'd known one another, John had taken to calling him his best mate.

Of course, not to Sherlock's face. John said that the moment he heard that, the man's ego would have swollen to the size of a hot air balloon. I decided to text back something that was borderline disinterested.

What do you want?

As I pressed send, I realized how cold I sounded. But that didn't stop Sherlock from responding.

If convenient, come to Baker Street.

-SH

Before I could respond, he texted again.

If inconvenient, come anyway.

-SH

Now what? Was I supposed to go? He might have some of John's old things to give me. Or he might need someone to talk to. From what I understood, Sherlock had really only one friend to speak of and that had been John.

Address?

Several seconds passed. I wondered if Sherlock had changed his mind. If he had, I could still go to Baker Street and ask around. Though, I would rather not seem like I was stalking someone I hardly knew.

221 B. Upper flat.

-SH

Upper flat? Did someone else live there? I ignored the barrage of questions that beat against my brain and stood, grabbing my jacket on the way out. I was still in my dress from the funeral, but I didn't care. What did it matter now?

As soon as she saw me, my mum was on high alert. "Where are you going?"

"I have a few errands to run." I said. I knew mentioning John's old flat mate would be a mistake. "I'll be back in a few hours."

"You're not going anywhere." She insisted, standing up from the couch. "You're staying right here."

"Mother, I'm going out." I repeated. "I already texted Mrs. Alvarez next door. She's coming over to stay with you until I or Dad get home."

"You are my daughter."

"Yes, I am. And your daughter has errands to run."

I walked out the front door, ignoring the sound of her angry cries following me until the door shut. Mrs. Alvarez walked out of her flat and smiled at me sadly.

"How is she?" She asked.

"I would let her know that it's you before you walk in. She might think it's me and try to hurl a vase at your head."

Before she could ask questions, I took off down the stairs and hailed a cab at the street corner. I tried not to overthink what I was doing. I didn't know why I was even going. I just knew that Sherlock was, frankly, one of my last connections that I had to John.

Anything he had to say was worth hearing.

When the cab pulled up outside of 221 B, I got out and stood on the curb as the car pulled away. Now was the time to change my mind. Now was the time to forget all about Sherlock and walk away.

I shook my head at my own stupidity. No way was I leaving now. I walked up to the stoop and took hold of the crooked golden knocker, tapping it gently against the door several times before taking a step back and waiting.

"Coming!"

When the door opened, I came face to face with an elderly woman, probably in her late sixties with short gray hair and sparkling eyes. I realized she had on yellow cleaning gloves and an apron and I, for some reason, felt terrible for interrupting her. But she was beaming at me with one of the most motherly smiles I had ever seen, and put me at ease almost immediately.

"Hello, dear." She said. "Can I help you?"

"Um… I'm here for Sherlock?" It sounded like a question rather than a statement.

"Oh! Might I ask who's calling on him? Can't be too careful."

"Katherine…" I swallowed. "Katherine Watson."

The older woman's eyes lost their sparkle. "Oh, dear. Come in." She ushered me inside and closed the door. Before I could even ask about Sherlock again, her spindly arms were wrapped around me in an inescapable hug. "I'm so sorry. I loved John like a son."

I didn't want to be rude, so I muttered a thank you and wound myself out of her embrace without making it seem too rushed. She seemed sweet and I didn't doubt what she said about loving my brother. So, I decided to put aside my impatience and worked on being caring so that I didn't accidentally hurt her feelings.

After a few more seconds, I asked; "Is Sherlock here?"

"Upstairs. Should I let him know you've arrived?"

Upstairs, a door opened. "For God's sake, Mrs. Hudson, stop chatting and send her up!" A baritone voice called, clearly exasperated.

Mrs. Hudson sighed and looked over at me with a shake of her head. "He's been so lost without John around. I hope you can do him some good, dear."

"Mrs. Hudson!" Sherlock shouted down the stairs.

I braced myself and cast Mrs. Hudson an apologetic glance before ascending the stairs.