Things continue steadily after that. Robbie goes about his day to day, bringing food to the patients, and, on occasion, chatting with Sherlock. It’s clear that Sherlock’s already fragile health is inexorably declining, but neither of them mentions it.
A couple of months pass and one day Robbie is bringing lunch to Sherlock who today does not acknowledge him. Robbie doesn’t think much of it, it’s happens from time to time and he doesn’t take it personally, but as he is leaving, Sherlock quietly calls his name. Robbie turns and stands by Sherlock’s bedside.
“Robbie,” Sherlock whispers “May I ask a significant favor of you?”
“Of course” Robbie says “anything you want.”
“I am an old man, and my health has been bad for some time, but I don’t believe that I’m going to make it through the night. I understand that it is a lot to ask, but I don’t want to die alone. Will you sit and wait with me tonight?”
Robbie is taken aback and at a loss for words, but he nods dumbly and Sherlock looks grateful and relived. In his time at the home, Robbie has discovered that when a resident says it is their time, they are usually right, and so he goes about his tasks with a heavy heart.
That evening when his shift has ended, he returns to Sherlock’s room to find him sitting. as always, in his bed staring out the window.
“Thank you” Sherlock says quietly. “I was wondering if you’d be willing to read to me from his blog? Some of the earlier entries I should think, so that I may remember a happier time”
And so Robbie does. He reads to Sherlock well into the night, but finally pauses to take a sip of his coffee and sees that Sherlock has drifted off to sleep. Robbie promised that he would stay, so after a quick trip to the toilet, he settles back in the chair and continues silently reading through the blog entries one by one. Eventually, Robbie dozes off. He is awoken sometime later by a hoarse, panicked whisper.
“John? Is that you John?” Robbie opens his eyes to see Sherlock watching him with half-focused eyes. After a moment of indecision, Robbie answers “Yes, Sherlock.” and impulsively reaches up to take his hand. Sherlock stares at their John hands for a long moment before looking back at Robbie.
“John – I “ and for a moment, Robbie is worried that Sherlock is going to start raving again, but he just sighs and says “I missed you terribly. It’s been so hard here without you. I can’t stand it.” and he continues on like that for awhile; rambling at length about the tragedy of his life after John’s disappearance, but every once in awhile touching on some fond memory of their too brief time together. Throughout his ramblings, Sherlock dips in an out of coherency, but it’s clear that he’s always talking to John. After an indeterminable amount of time, Sherlock swerves into permanent incoherency mumbling his slurred thoughts and scattered memories. He drifts off again from there, and Robbie is soon to follow.
When Robbie wakes in the morning, the hand in his is cold and lax, and he takes a deep breath and wills himself not to cry.