Sherlock and John.

Always Sherlock and John.

Never just Sherlock and never just John.

Sherlock and John.

Always.

Two names fused together, entwined and knotted and never apart. No matter that those names could exist independently, no matter that they had, because they were stronger for being linked and tied. They found each other and made each other and sparkled with the strength of lost loneliness. We were a joy that danced off the lips, Sherlock and John, because we were two halves made whole, a collected set of syllables like music.

Sherlock and John. Unknottably knotted with strings of the heart.

We thought we could not be unravelled; we thought our bonds too strong. But everything must come to an end and everything must crumble and wither and die.

And so death cut us short.

He tore your name from mine between one second and the next, and all the love and heart and secrets we shared that poured like clearest water from our souls were unravelled and pulled away. From me. From John.

I miss you, Sherlock. I miss your name beside mine.

I don't want to be John, all on his own again.

Lonely again.

Because we were

A collected set of syllables

Like music.