If you have ever lost someone close to you, then you understand; you don't need any explanation. But if you haven't, then the truth is there are no words. There is nothing anyone can say which even begins to scrape the surface, that can express how it feels to have someone you love taken from your life forever.

"Hello?"

"John, its me"

"Sherlock! Jesus Christ we were worried, where are you? Rykov's escaped. Mycroft's men are trying to get into the control room but the keypad's smashed, it might take them a while. He says they've got almost everyone who was at the OASIS meeting, he can stop them SHerlock, the other bombs, even if the missiles get launched, we did it Sherlock!"

"Not quite"

"What're you talking about?"

"It was him John, Moriarty"

"What! Jesus Sherlock, what happened, are you alright?"

"Sherlock?"

"Sherlock where are you?"

Grief is like drowning, sinking in an ocean with no bottom. You think it can't get worse; that surely at some point you'll reach the rocky bottom and the grief will level off. But it never happens.

You think you wont live through it, and some don't.

"What the bloody hell does that mean Sherlock? If you think for one minute you're going to stop the missiles like that…if you think I'll let you stay down there and... and"

"Its too late John, stay where you are, don't come any closer to the castle, there's only two minutes left. You should tell Mycroft, get him to contact any of his men left down here, tell them to run"

"We can send someone Sherlock, we'll find another way, we can figure this out"

"In two minutes? I don't think so John, not this time"

"John?"

"Yeah"

"I'm sorry"

"Nope"

To live with someone, to love them and then to lose them, perhaps that is the greatest cruelty the world has to offer.

Not that John lost him all at once, you never do. It happens piece by piece. At first there is shock, tears and anger, but this is just how it starts, this is just the beginning because it isn't real yet. There was the funeral to be planned, there was his family and the surprising number of people who called themselves his friend. There was always someone around, busy, bustling, planning, preparing, reminiscing.

But in the midst of grief the world seems different. You think you're dealing with it, you remind yourself this is just life, everyone dies, everyone loses someone in fact at this very moment thousands of people out there are going through the exact same thing, and you tell yourself if they can do it, so can you.

But the unspoken truth is that no one is coping, how do you? Where is the guidebook which teaches you how not to feel?

And all the while there is the inescapable feeling that something is not quite right. It was as though John was seeing the world through a lenses, a spectator not a participant, separated by something he couldn't explain. The funeral was the worst, it took on a dream like quality, he was certain it wasn't real, it couldn't be. Even the sound wasn't right, it was as if someone had turned down the volume, the words, the sounds, all muffled.

He sat in the corner, the smell of flowers, the sound of the outside downpour, he watched the rain through the stain glass window, people spoke, music played and then a deep silence reverberated as he stumbled to his feet. The wooden podium an eternity away, but it mattered not as he could not speak. He wanted to say something with meaning, something that would make a difference, that would somehow do justice to the greatest and wisest man he had ever known.

But what words do you use when the chance for goodbye has long passed? Happy memories were shared by others, but it was as if all sentiment had fallen far past John's grasp and he was lost in the chasm of despair that divided them, him and Sherlock.

Slowly the church began to empty, he felt the soft hands of peoples hugs, the low sound of their hushed words and then it was just the five of them. The landlady, the lab girl with the long brown hair, the red eyed inspector and finally the man sitting in the front row, dressed in a crumpled three piece suit, an umbrella carelessly discarded beside him.

This man simply stared at the ground, hands clasped firmly on his knees. His once brilliant eyes rose tiredly to Johns and he saw in them a depth of agony that would match even his own; grief beyond tears. He seemed lost, floundering with no inkling of the future, nowhere to go but to sit there until he was swallowed by his pain. This unbearable helplessness was something John understood well, he felt it himself, and he realised there was nothing he could say to amend this, nothing that would make the truth fade, so why did people bother? Why did people offer reassuring words, the promise that everything would be OK?

Because the simple truth is, make believe games are much easier than the truth.

Then bit by bit Sherlock disappeared from his world, the experiments were cleaned up, his mail stopped coming, the scent on his dressing gown faded and the violin grew dusty. The visitors, the well wishers were fewer and far between until finally they stop coming all together.

That's just how it works, while you remain still, stuck in the endless abyss of grief and loneliness, the world carries on, the clock keeps ticking.

And then when he was finally alone, when it was finally quiet, it truly hit him, overwhelmed him a way he could not have possibly imagined. A line is crossed and you end up in a place none of us really know until we get there. The walls close in around you, the loneliness trapping you inside. john didn't know how to get out, how to fix it, but it didn't matter. In fact nothing did, because the pain comes soon after.

The pain.

You're never free from it, not after what its done to you. That day at the castle had taken from John the one thing that had truly mattered to him.

"John there's something I want to say, I've always meant to say it but I…er…I never got the chance. Seeing as this is the last time we'll speak, I…ah…I guess now is my last chance"

"…."

"Sherlock?"

"John I- I don't really know how to…I never thought this would happen…I mean before I met you I hadn't ever… but then you came along and…and things changed"

"Sherlock… I…why didn't you say something"

"I thought you knew"

"Of course not! If I had known you...you felt the same, if I had thought for even a second my feelings were reciprocated…"

"Reciprocated? You mean...?"

"Of course you brilliant idiot, of course. I've always...its always been you"

There is a point, a depth of grief which exceeds the capacity of a human being to express, and so it rages within, tearing you apart piece by piece.

They had found each other when they were both lost, alone and drifting in the world. They had found their way home together, they had found their way back. Such a journey was never easy, it was not a path that one could tread alone, there were demons to fight, old resentments and regrets which threatened the very foundations of their lives. But they didn't have to face it alone, they had done it side by side, as brothers, as friends, as partners, as two pieces of a whole.

But now there was only one.

And there was no comfort in all the world that would rescue John from that.

There was no switch to flick, no door out, no release from the cold grip of grief.

As hard as you wish, as much as you plead there is no turning back, there is no returning to how things used to be, and perhaps that was the worst part for John, the thought of him without Sherlock and Sherlock without him. There was the guilt; of walking where his feet may never touch, in the air he may never breathe, the sounds he would never hear. The guilt of the life that should have been his, guilt that he was here and Sherlock was gone, for the dead have no one but us.

"Mycroft...would you tell him...tell him that I..."

"I will"

"I should go, there's only 30 seconds left"

"NO, no please Sherlock, stay on the phone, I need to hear your voice. I wish I was there, I wish I was with you"

"No, I'm where I'm supposed to be John, this is the only way to end it, You'll be safe, Moriarty is gone, OASIS will fall apart, Mycroft will make sure of it, London, the other cities, they'll be safe now."

"I don't care, I don't give a damn about OASIS, or anyone. Please, Sherlock... just...don't."

"I can't. I'm sorry John, for everything, truly I am."

"I know"

"I'm...I'm scared John"

"..."

"Sherlock?"

"Sherlock!?"

"SHERLOCK!"

"No, no, it's not real, this isn't happening...please…don't, I can't...please….Sherlock."

"...Don't leave me... not again"

But despite every part of yourself screaming otherwise, despite everything, you still endure. Its simply what people do, what we've always done. We endure.

Time struggles on and so must we. There is no choice, there is no one waiting for us, no one to pick us up and carry us. We must drag ourselves to our feet despite every part of us which screams at us to lie there and let the darkness swallow us.

And so John began to tread the long path back to life, its a difficult road, to John it was familiar, except this time he faced it alone. Eventually he got used to surviving, he had done it before, he would do it again, and before long it becomes like a second nature.

And when he least expected, he looked around and realised he had made his way back. The sun on his face felt warm again, the greyness of the world was slowly replaced by colour and the volume on life was turned back up.

That's how John would survive. Because he would survive and one day, many, many years later he and Sherlock would meet again.

John would die, comfortable in his bed, surrounded by his children and his grandchildren.

Then the consulting detective, the greatest man he had ever met, the man who had saved him in every way a person could, in every way which mattered, would appear.

The dark curls, the bright eyes, his face untouched by time. He would be waiting for John, he had waited for forty-five years, but he would have waited forever. A warm smile on his face, his thin hands outstretched.

And they would greet each other like old friends.

The End

I just want to say thank you for reading, I write quite a lot but I've never put anything on a site like this before and you have all been so, so lovely. As I said before, I didn't actually think anyone would read this and so your very kind reviews have made this fantastic.

Thanks especially to GirlAtTheRockShow182- you're awesome!

Elena xx