It was time.
It had been three years. Three. Whole. Years. John sighed. It had been a long time since he had thought about Sherlock. Well, that wasn't exactly true, every time he caught himself thinking about it, he would force himself to think of another subject. Usually, this was his impending wedding to Mary, the only person in the world except Sherlock that made him truly happy. This never turned out any good though, as whenever he thought of the wedding, he thought about the fact that he didn't have a best man. He knew that the only person that could ever fill that space would be Sherlock, and since he wasn't here, john had decided that he would go without. But today, a week before his wedding, john had decided to go visit Sherlock's grave again. He went quite often, but hadn't been in a while because of the wedding planning. And he knew that every time he went, something in him stirred, and he wasn't the same for days. He had never been able to put his finger on it until the last time, and he realised that for a few days, he didn't laugh, or smile with his eyes.
He saw Sherlock often, and it had been every day for a long time after his death. But now it was just once a fortnight or-so. He was used to it. And so, as he walked into the graveyard, shoulders slumped, head down, he ignored his best friend standing there and walked on. It was a cloudy day. It would rain no doubt, but he didn't care. It was supposed to be spring, but typical British weather never co-insides with the seasons. He remembered the first time it happened. A week or-so after the fall, he was very depressed. Then, he saw Sherlock in the street. He couldn't believe it. He knew it wasn't possible for Sherlock to be dead. He knew that it wasn't real. He ran up to him screaming "Sherlock! What the bloody hell are you playing at? Thank god you're alive, I knew it! What happened?" everyone stared at this crazy man, as he ran to greet someone who wasn't there. Just as John reached him, Sherlock disappeared. He stood there, dumbstruck. He looked around frantically, in denial. After John managed to focus his vision again, a middle-aged African woman caught him from stumbling. She had a suit on and must have been out on her lunch break, judging from the crumbs on her blouse and the scrupled up wrapper in her hand. He caught himself, deducing things again. It had been a habit since Sherlock had died, trying to fill in what he would have said. "Are ya ok dear? Are ya lost? John looked baffled but managed to shake his head dully. She looked at him with mindful eyes but seemed to let it go. That was it. He just nodded blankly and tried to hold back the tears. he knew nobody else had seen Sherlock. Then she left him, alone in the street.
And so, he had learned to ignore Sherlock in public, as it was just his brain coping with the pain. And he looked mad talking to himself. He continued through the graveyard, until he passed the row of graves with fresh flowers every week looking almost too colorful, and remembered how Sherlock disliked flowers. He passed the cherry trees and reached the grave. There, lent against a tree, was Sherlock, looking at him. "You came." "Of course I did, I always come, and we've talked about this." Sherlock looked slightly confused. "John, I'm so sorry." He bowed his head. "What're you talking about Sherlock? You said sorry 2 years ago, when I finally accepted the truth and you started talking to me. I know you remember, you're in my imagination for god's sake. I tried to punch you in the face and you told me you were just an image. Talking to you is the only way I'm still sane after all this time." John sighed. It was the truth, but he knew it was stupid. "John, you don't understan-" "Yes Sherlock, I understand perfectly. Now, I don't know what's wrong with you, but I came here for two reasons. The first is that Donovan is making a 'surprise visit' today and I'm not sitting through that. Thank god Mary tells me when Donovan plans this stuff. The second, you have probably guessed. You know I'm getting married next week. I need….something from you." He sighed. This was hard. But he had decided. Even if it was only for him, he needed it. "Sherlock, will you be my best man?" he let out a huge sigh of relief. He felt better now he'd said it.
Sherlock nearly cried. John was confused. He didn't realize yet. But Sherlock had been right; John had been seeing him in his mind. It really had been him a few times, in the flat, when he had gone to see what had become of his things. He was in the lounge when John walked in. Without skipping a beat, John said; "why do you only show up when I don't need you to, Sherlock? Why do I fabricate you all the time?" this made him feel terrible. "I..I don't know.. maybe...your brain is giving you...help?" this was painful. He wished it didn't have to be this way, wished he could tell john the truth. "Never mind. I'm going out. I'll see you later. Bye." "Uh...good bye." After that, he realized that John really had given up.
And so, he stood facing John, he knew it was time. He had to know, and so did everyone else. He was ready. Everything was in place. He took a deep breath. "John, I-" "wait...I know that only I'll be able to see you, but you're my best friend. I know that you aren't the real Sherlock, but you're still...here, you're still Sherlock to me..I need this. There is no-one else. Only you can fill this gap. Please, just be there for me?" Sherlock let go. His eyes filled with tears and he lunged at John.
After he had said that, John held his breath. He didn't know what to expect. After all, this Sherlock was a figment of his imagination. But seemed to be exactly like Sherlock in every way. John watched as something inside of Sherlock churned. His eyes welled up with tears. John couldn't believe it. Sherlock never cried, hardly ever showed emotion. But he reminded himself that this was not Sherlock. And so his emotions were probably much greater. Then, Sherlock seemed to jump at him, no, did jump at him. But John didn't recoil. This Sherlock had no body or mass so would go straight through him. But Sherlock grabbed his shoulders.
John stood there, with Sherlock latched on to him. In utter disbelief. "John I'm so sorry. I wanted to tell you but I...I couldn't." John broke free and stumbled back. "Sh..Sherlock what are you talking about? How did you..do that?". Sherlock looked so hurt. John could see the tears blocking his blue-grey eyes. "John...I'm not dead. I'm so sorry I put you through this." "Don't be stupid. You're dead. I saw you die. I've spent the last 3 years trying to convince myself that you're dead. Why are you doing this?" It had started to drizzle but neither moved under the shelter of the tree. "God this is hard. John, it was fake. Yes, you saw me jump, but I didn't die." "B..but why would you do that? Why wouldn't you tell me? This makes no sense. I can't hear this now." And with that, John turned around and walked speedily away.
Sherlock stood, confused. After a few seconds he came to his senses and went after John. "John stop, you have to listen!" "No, keep away from me. I knew this was a bad idea." John trudged through the puddles and across the street. Sherlock quickly caught up with him and did the skipping-sideways-backwards-walk he did when trying to get in John's way but at the same time allow him to walk. "John please listen to me. I had to do it. I didn't have a choice." "No, this is not ok. Stop it. Leave me alone." John turned the corner and saw Mary's flat. Despite Sherlock's various protests, John unlocked the door and went in. Sherlock followed suit and stepped out of the rain. Just then, they heard Mary's voice call from another room. "John is that you?" "Yeah it's me" John replied, in a much more chirpy voice than his face let on he was feeling. John seemed to have blocked Sherlock from his mind, and not realized he had come in too.
The two men walked down the hall and into the lounge, where john slumped into a chair and put his head in his hands. Sherlock on the other hand, stood in the doorway, examining the room. It was about the same size as 221B, but was a lot tidier. There was a bookshelf on one side of the room, twice the size of Sherlock's. It was filled with all kinds of books, but mostly fiction. Good fiction. He was secretly pleased that John had found a woman with such a good taste in books. He knew they would get on fine. The rest of the room was pretty ordinary, light turquoise walls, with a coffee table and a few lamps. And a very large pot plant which he knew to be Rhapis excelsa, but they probably knew it as a lady palm. The curtains caught his attention. They were the same as the ones from his flat. Not the exact ones, but the same design none the less. And the rug, it was about 25 years old. 19th century design. He also noticed some of John's things form their flat, his laptop, his other jacket. But most of this was Mary's.
Mary came into the room with 2 cups of coffee, handed one to John and sat down. Sherlock had not expected her to look like she did; she was around 5.7 feet and was lean. She had ear length blonde hair pinned off to one side. Her smile was warming and her clothes reflected her light. She wore a light pink top with a floral pattern, and yellow jeans, which were surprisingly nice considering Sherlock hated colorful jeans. Sherlock immediately saw she was an accountant; by the way she had her hair and the way she walked, as well as various other little things such as her nails, the length of which was practical but still feminine. The most striking thing about her was her eyes, they were deep and blue and full of love, love for John. He smiled; his friend was in good hands. She said "Did you have a nice walk? Donovan was furious. She said that you'll have to talk to her sooner or later, but I told her that you had to go into the surgery." John seemed very grateful. "Thanks, I can't face her right now, she just makes me angry." "I know, don't worry. It'll all be behind us soon, we'll be in France for our honeymoon." John leaned in and they kissed, to which Sherlock pulled a face. Mary got up, and for the first time, noticed him. She jumped, and nearly dropped her cup, but just caught it. "Oh, hello, I didn't see you there. John, who's your friend? Would you like a cup of something?" John slowly looked up. He looked like he had just awoken from a nightmare. He looked from Mary to Sherlock and back to Mary. As he stared, Sherlock answered, "no thanks, I have a feeling I won't be staying long." And he gave her a little smile. Meanwhile John was still staring at him. "Y..you can see him?" he asked Mary. "Of course I can, he's a human being isn't he?" she let out a little laugh and left the room.
"Ok, what is going on Sherlock? How can Mary see you? You're dead" Sherlock contemplated giving him one of those, we-both-know-what's-going-on looks, but decided against it. "I told you, I'm not dead. I never was." John thought for a minute and then said "ok, we're going out and you are going to explain what the hell you're talking about. Right now." And with that, he got up. "Mary, I'm just popping to the shop" and she replied "ok, see you soon."
They walked in silence, caught a taxi and drove to Baker Street. Sherlock was worried. Once he had explained everything to John, he had no idea how he'd react. Even so, he still noticed how the taxi smelled. And had to stop himself from telling John that the previous person in this cab was none other than Sally Donovan, and that she had been at Anderson's again last night. And had lost her lipstick. They arrived at 221B, and John paid the driver. "Have a nice day lads" he said before driving away. John clenched and un-clenched his left hand as they walked to the door.
Once inside, John walked silently upstairs, closely followed by Sherlock. He walked in and sat down, then got up and leaned against a cupboard. "What the hell is going on?" he asked, there were tears in his eyes. Sherlock sighed. "I'll start from the beginning".
"Moriarty was real. I hope you still have enough faith in me to know that. He wanted to hurt me. But he knew the only way was through you." He paused to look at John, who had come and sat down. "John, you have to know, I'm so sorry for what you've been through. I never meant for any of this..." John stared at Sherlock, unable to say anything. "When you got that phone call, saying Mrs Hudson had been shot, I knew it wasn't real. But I knew you had to go. So, after you went, I met Moriarty on the roof of St. Bart's. John, you need to understand. He was going to kill you. And Mrs Hudson, and Lestrade too. If I didn't jump. There were snipers..the only way to save you was to kill myself. I couldn't bear to hurt you or the others. But mostly you, John." Sherlock looked up, at John. John was crying. Then, without warning, John punched him straight in the face, and he went flying off his chair. He yelled "Why wouldn't you tell me? I thought you trusted me Sherlock. I could've done something. Do you have any idea how it feels to lose your best friend? No. You don't. You don't feel. I went through hell, Sherlock. Hell. Three bloody years. Why so long? Why couldn't you have told me sooner? All I would have needed was one word. One." He fell back into the chair, tired and broken, and buried his head in his hands. Sherlock got up and touched the small cut on his cheek. "I know John. I'm sorry. But there was nothing you could've done. The only way to stop the snipers was to make you believe I was dead. And you were being watched for a long time. So revealing myself was risky. And believe me, I went through hell too. It's so hard to have to do that to your best friend. I never wanted to cause you pain. I wanted to save you. I'd be lost without my blogger." To that, John looked up, and nearly smiled. "I do trust you. More than anyone. But I couldn't tell you. Because I didn't know." John looked shocked, "you what?" "I didn't know I would have to make the choice so quickly. And I told you that I was a fake because if I wasn't then I would've had no reason to jump." They sat in silence for the next minute and John tried not to look at Sherlock.
"Well, that's it. I just have one more thing to say; John, you're my best friend..I.. love you. I'm sorry I hurt you. I hope you can forgive me... And, if the offer is still there...I'd love to be your best man. It would make me very happy. Although the circumstances have changed." Sherlock got up, went into the kitchen and went to the drawer where the nicotine patches were. "2 patch problem" John mumbled. And looked right into Sherlock's eyes, his own blurry with holding bank tears. "I never blamed you. I always knew you had a reason. I missed you so much. But I understand now..even though a little mad still, it'll take time." He smiled. "And yes, Sherlock, of course you can be my best man. You're my best friend.. And I love you too. And don't you dare tell anyone I said that, everyone is only just starting to believe I'm not gay." Thetwo men smiled and got up. They left their flat.
"C'mon, you need to meet Mary properly. You two will get on so well. And we need to tell her that I have a best man." "She really loves you, John. I see it in her eyes. I already- yes, we'll get on just fine." "Good...That's a relief." They got into a taxi and drove to Mary's
They got out of the taxi, and stood in front of the door. "How do you think she'll react?" "I don't know, she knows all about you. But I have absolutely no idea." "Well then, it's time to find out."