8.
Напишу это тут, т.к. немногие читают комментарии к части. Итак, скоро экзамены, и я в частности сдаю английский. Мне и написать продолжение хотелось, и извлечь из этого какую-то пользу. Пока что времени на перевод у меня нет. Может через пару дней напишу. В целом, текст довольно прост в восприятии, и сверхсложные слова в нем отсутствуют. Все в рамках программы 9 класса. Напишите, что думаете по этому поводу. Говорю это из вежливости, потому что на самом деле мне все равно. Мне это принесло выгоду, вам тоже. Тренировать иностранный полезно. Удачи.
That was...unexpected.
I knew, Sherlock was having a hard time. In newspapers they wrote about him being a fake, about him inventing Moriarty, about him being nothing more than a fraudster. I never believed it. How could I? Yes, Sherlock had a lot of sins, but he's genius, he's the best man, the most human.
That day they were hiding at St Bart's not knowing what to do next. Then John received a call from someone claiming to be a Scotland Yard. They told him that Mrs Hudson had been shot, that she's at hospital... That she's dying.
Sherlock refused to come with us. I said he was a jerk, that he was an insensible machine... I wish I never said that because.... He knew.
<b>He always knows</b>.
It was a trick.
There was nothing wrong with Mrs Hudson at all. Actually her spine was doing better that day.
By the time I returned to the hospital he was there... On the roof. Sherlock... Standing on the edge he called me.
-<i> Hello?
- Lolita.
- Is everything okay?
- Turn around and go where you come from.
- No, Sherlock. I won't.
- Do what I'm asking for. Please.
- Where?
- Stop here.
- Sherlock?
- Look up. I'm on the rooftop.
- Oh God...
- l...l can't come down so we just have to do it like this.
- What's going on?</i>
He tried to convince me that he was a fake, that everything they said about him was true.
I wouldn't believe him. I still won't.
<i>- Enough. Sherlock, please shut up.
- Nobody could really be that clever.
- You could.
He only grinned nervously.</i>
He was being forced to say it.
-<i> Your friends would die if you won't.</i>
He had to say it.
-<i> Please, can you do something for me?
- Do what?
- This phonecall... it's my note.That's what people do, don't they? Leave a note...
- Leave a note when?
And then I realized. I ran to him.
- Stop! Keep your eyes fixed on me.
- They always are.
That wasn't what I wanted to say. I swore once that I would never tell him that.
- Remember that you always were a priority. You was the one who mattered the most.
- Sherlock... Don't...
- Remember that you were loved by me... And you made my life a happy one.
- Sherlock, please let's talk... Talk to me. That isn't right...
- Will you miss me?
- What...why are you saying this?
- If I will die, for how long would you miss me?
- 'Till the end of the days.
We went silent. Seconds lasted for years.
- I'm afraid...- he whispered. - Goodbye, Lola.</i>
Then he jumped.
I owe him so much. I needed him. I still do. He meant nothing while he was alive. His presence was so habitual. But now life seems empty.
Now - when he's gone.
He told me once that I shouldn't make people into heroes, that heroes didn't exist and even if they did he wouldn't be one of them.
But now... standing on his grave I understood that <b>he wasn't always right about everything</b>.
His death smashed me. Broke apart like a Chinese vase. I saw him everywhere. Always. Always by my side.
I couldn't sleep. Nightmares. One night I got out of the bed again and wanted to reach the kitchen but Sherlock stopped me.
- Lie down, - he persuaded me.
- I can't.
- That's not funny anymore.
- Since you're gone many things seems not funny.
- Nightmares?
- Every night.
- Lie down. I'll take care of it.
A joke about Sherlock putting me to sleep would be very amusing one if it wasn't actually true. But anyway he didn't let me to the kitchen so I assumed that going to bed wasn't such a bad idea.
- Close your eyes.
- I can't.
- Why?
- Because everytime I close them, Sherlock, you are dying again.
He bit his lip.
Toying with such things was very dangerous. I graduated med, I know. Hallucinations are a bad sign. And a beautiful hallucination in a purple shirt and pants one size smaller which are so tightly holding such a gorgeous ass is even worse.
So I visited a psychiatrist. Many of them. They all were saying the same things. They casted piercing chilling gaze on me. They told me he was dead. They said I need to live my own life.
- <i><i></i>You need to go on. To breath. To smile. To live.
- I can't.
- You aren't even trying.
- Of course, I'm not! It's Sherlock... There's no life without him.
- But you lived on your own even when he was beside you.
- No. I didn't. I thought I was living. I hoped so. But never actually did. I felt alive only when he was there. Between our meetings... Between meetings with him all I did was waiting. Waiting for him to come. Now it feels like chapter had come to it's own end. And new is never going to start.
- It's time to let go. You were together once but now you need to turn over the page.
- The hardest thing is to understand that our time has passed away.
- You will never forget.
- I won't be able to.</i>
What's an awful metaphor with a book, but she may be right somehow. You're going away and I have no right to stop you. It's hard to say goodbye but if the time have come already I'm proud of being your friend, Sherlock Holmes. Sorry for all pain I caused you. Sorry for arrogance. Sorry I couldn't save you. Sorry and goodbye.
Since then he never came back.
I wasn't the only one who got hurt. John was suffering too. He was in so much pain that I wasn't sure if he could actually take it. I worried about him. It turned out I was a big lier. I lied to myself about everything. I thought that people mean nothing to me, that I'm unable to be attached to them, that I'm unable to cry. I'm capable. And John is. I wanted to help him. I wanted to be there for him because he was slowly dying. Because he reminded me about Sherlock. He smelled like Sherlock. He was owned by Sherlock once. Around him every single thing was... Sherlokian somehow. So we started to spend time together. A lot of time. We were nearly always together. We have slept. The grief reconciled us and eventually we started dating. The year passed away and we got engaged. We taught one another to go on. We were... happy, I guess. Up to this day. Because today Sherlock resurrected.
It was just another silly work day in the hospital. I have just left operation room and stepped into my office to drink some water. When I turned around he was there. Can you even imagine? After two years of woe, sorrow and mourning I can just see him right next to me with every single limb, with every single tooth. Without any little injury just perfectly okay Sherlock was grinning at me and hundred percent proud of himself. My mind went blank. I hate myself for that but first thought which flew across my head was 'Thank God'. For one second it was complete happiness. It was that type of happiness I never experienced with John. Not big amount of people will ever feel something like that and it's for the best because it was nearly hurting. It wasn't slow or viscous it was an explosion. Like Big Bang which gave a birth to our universe. This feeling meant that everything is going to change. Everything is going to fell apart and recombine. Again. Then bright light burned with red, green and blue fire. I felt anger, rage, pity, sadness and hate but all of them were nothing compared to the first flesh. They slowly melt, mixed up and spread over my body. They become a void. It was like my limit of emotions was reached. I wasn't allowed to feel anymore. So flexible, so cool, so convenient. This is a sensation you always have, Sherlock, isn't it? Wonderful. There was nothing biside cold validity. I'll never forgive you, I'll never abandon John, I'll never betray him.
- Sherlock, go away... - I weary stretched out rubbing numb hand.
- What? - he obviously prepared for another reaction. - W-wait a minute. You didn't get it correctly, - and how did I get it then? - I'm alive. I came back.
- Where?
- Well... To you?
- But I have no place for you, Sherlock.
- W-what are you talking about? - he frowned.
- Sherlock, you left and I started to live my own life.
- What life? I wasn't there.
- Yes. You weren't. And probably never will.