Ending can be just as amazing as beginnings.

Life is full of both: First kiss, last one, first day of school, graduation day. There's a first and a last for everything, whether or not it is completely obvious.

Everything will end. And that's what makes it a terrifying and beautiful mess.

For me, a series of events have been leading up to this moment, the little knots and cut threads that created a big jumbled adventure that, unfortunately, must come to an end.

First meeting him, seeing him become upset and tell me that he plays the violin. Those deep, so beautifully recited words, I can hear them now: "How do you feel about the violin?"

First sacrifice. My shot, which pierced the glass and shot a man I did not know through the heart, who put a stranger at immense risk. The blood that escaped through the flesh of his open wounds, his blank, cold, one-dimensional eyes boring through the ceiling, as I felt panting and hot breath behind me.

First date. Angelo's. I didn't consider it at a date at the time, he told me later that he did. I asked him if he had a girlfriend, or a boyfriend. I flicked my eyes away, after he said he was married to his work, trying to avoid the red in my cheeks and the embarrassment I felt. We ate in mostly silence, and I felt abashed but yet comfortable of my surroundings.

First tears for a lost one.

First reunion. Him coming to my door with flowers, white roses that matched the color of his porcelain skin, contrasting against the red pavement. First hug, first night together, first kiss. First morning after, him giggling in his robes and my face still blushing from the tearful reunion.

First case together again. First "real" date that was consensual from the both of us. First time I told Lestrade about us, first time we held hands in public. Moving into Sherlock's bedroom, first time cuddling together. First time kissing in the rain, first time huddling together under a blanket during a storm.

First proposal. Second proposal, when I did. First planning for our wedding, first meeting. First wedding, first time either of us had been that happy. First wedding night.

First real adventure: having a child. First time shaking hands with the surrogate mother. First time seeing Hamish. First time holding him, all of us smiling intensely as Hamish's tiny hand grabbed onto Sherlock's finger, and a lone tear fell from his eye. First time he walked, talked. First day of preschool, grade school, and so on.

First time we said goodbye to him, first day at university. First girlfriend, first graduation, first real job. First time we saw him propose, and become as happy as we were. Standing together, Sherlock's hands on my shoulder's, as we cried tears of joy watching him tenderly kiss the woman of his dreams.

First grandchildren, twins, a boy and a girl named James and Samantha. First time we saw them play together, first time I felt as old as I was.

And now, first time alone. First time I cannot feel his hand beside mine, first time he is not here with me.

Last time he says the words "I love you" before falling asleep, one last time.

Second time visiting his grave, second time crying over a lost love. Second time grieving, second time questioning the world, its cruelty unimaginable, the way it pulls us all apart, plucking our souls out of our withering bodies one by one.

No more reunions, no more nights, no more cuddling, no more holding hands and kissing in the rain. No more seeing the gleaming look in his smile as he plays with James and Samantha.

No more Sherlock and John, no more cases.

And, my last time. The last time my eyes are open, the last time I feel the softness of the bed below me, last time hearing mindless chatter from nurses and wandering pedestrians. I smile and close my eyes, bracing to see his face once more.

My first and last time alone.