John Watson tried. He really did. He tried to get over it- to leave it behind. He tried to store each thought away into a box. He tried to "delete" the thought as Sherlock would say. There it was again. Sherlock. John felt the pang of stress it the back of his jaw as he tried to lock away the emotion.
"Damnit Sherlock." He breathed, lowering his head so that his eyes would rest on his inner wrists. He didn't need this. Not now. Not after he had gone so many days without a breakdown - without a tear. He had just shoved everything about Sherlock into little boxes in his mind. Not letting himself open them.
He took a long breath, counted to ten, then exhaled shakily. John's eyes reluctantly fluttered back to their work.
The doctor was sitting in his living room across from his laptop. Staring at a textbox. A blank textbox. On a very blank blog.
"What on earth am I suposed to write about?" He wondered out loud. And at that moment, there was a knock onhis door.
"Oh. Sorry Mrs Hudson!" He called, standing shakily. She had told him not to lock his door after sherlocks death. Afraid he might do something drastic... John rolled his eyes. He would never anything too awful... would he?
Just as John reached the door, it shuddered. Was she kicking my front door?! John thought, astonished.
"Hurry up, Jonh! We dont have all day!" A young female voice yelled. John stopped himself from turning the handle. That wasnt Ms. Hudson...
"John! Open the door before your landlady hears us!" She said, pounding on the door.
The doctor took a step back, debating whether or not to let her in.
Then he heard a second voice. A man's this time. And deeper. He couldnt make out the words, but he could tell they were arguing. But that voice... the second one. Was it... no. No. Absolutely not! He would not allow himself to think it. He refused to aknowledge that it was the same barritone voice. But it was... wasn't it? The same voice he had tried to lock away into a box far too small for it, for far too long. With a shaking hand, the doctor turned the doorknob. Just ever so slightly. To hell with it. He thought, and opened the door completely. A box toppeled over, spilling its contents, but he was peroccupied by the sight in his hall to notice.
There, standing in his doorway, was a young girl. In her early twenties no more. Her pale high-jawboned face was topped with brown messy hair forced into a bun. She wore grey leggings, a pink chiffon scarf draped around her shoulders, and wool vest. She grinned, and handed the doctor her luggage.
"Thanks John!" She said with an american accent, and walked into his apartment. The she stopped and frowned. "You are John, right? John Watson? Will you make me a cup of coffee?"
He stared blankly at her for a second, then opened his mouth. "No. I mean yes...! I mean yes I am John Watson, and no I will not make you a cup of coffee! And ...wait what? Im sorry, but who are you?" All of this was said in the usaul "Johnish" manner. As if straining to be polite as well as annoyed.
John placed his hand over his eyes while he held his temples. Then he remembered why he opened the bloody door in the first place. Thats right... the voice. His voice!
Just as the girl opened her mouth, John asked, "Is there someone else here with you?" He blinked.
"An odd question, unless you expect a certain answer, dont you think?" The young girl was grinning again. "But honestly, im not the one who should be-"
"Isabella! Good god, when I say pack, I dont mean like youre going off to war! Do you even..." A voice called from the stairs. The voice. His voice. As it grew nearer to the door, the man saw John, and stopped complaining.
"John!" Sherlock grinned, but it wasnt genuine. This day came too fast, but it needed to happen. "Would you mind helping me with this? She packs like a rodent...John? Are you even listening to me?"
But John Watson had zoned out a while ago. The floor beneath him felt like it was tilting (Ms. Hudson wouldnt like that.) And his lungs dissapeared completely. Suddenly, the last few seconds soaked in. There was a random girl in his sitting room, and a deadman in his doorway. But not just and old corpse. It was Sherlock! His Sherlock! And that, well, it was surprising. In a good or bad way, he couldnt decide yet, but the shock hit him like a bus. And several more boxes toppled over off their shelves, littering his brain with forgotten thoughts.
"Oh my god." Was all he could say. As well as stare at him of course. Just stare though. Not interact. Interacting meant that Sherlock was still alive. And he couldnt afford to beleive that. Not while he was on the verge of insanity.
John pinched the bridge of his nose delicately, and let his mind wander. The rush of questions was overwhelming. But the answers came just as quickly, so it was bearable.
Who was this girl?
Sherlock's girlfriend, obviously. They were very close, thats for sure. And why else would Sherlock, the world's most heartless man, carry her who-knows-how-many bags of luggage up the stairs? The had to be dating. Dammit. John felt a pang of jealousy, but refused to ask himself why.
What were that doing in my flat?!
Sherlock must have come back to collect his things, and they'll stay for a couple days.
Where was Sherlock staying for three years?
With her? Probably.
How did Sherlock survive?
Faked his death. Seems like something he would do.
And the most nagging question finally spilled out.
What would happen now?
John finally took a breath. It was weak and shaky. "Sher-" He started, but his voice failed him.
"Yeah... I think I'll get that coffee on my own then..." The girl, Isabella, said and scrambled awkwardly into the kitchen.
"Sherlock..." John managed to say again. "Are you really alive?"
The detective gave him a guilty look. "I am John. And I know I shouldn't be, because I put you though this... And for that, I'm truly sorry. I really am. So please-"
His apologies were cut off when John's fist connected with his jaw line.
"You knew?!" The veteran screamed in a rage. "You watched me mourn for months on end and you did nothing?!"
There was another punch, but Sherlock sucked up his pride and took what he knew he deserved.
"I knew you were heartless Sherlock, but I never expected this!" John punched him again, tears starting to well up. This time square on the nose. There was blood and a loud crack. Sherlock inhaled sharply, glaring down his face. But the doctor still drew back for another punch with his right hand. This time though, Sherlock caught his fist. "John, please..."
Again, the doctor punched with his left, but he was weak with emotion. Sherlock caught it again, and still holding both John's fists, pulled his blogger out of his doorway.
"Please John. Hear me out. I dont apologize much, so you better savor this moment." Sherlock said in his low voice.
John managed a half-hearted laugh. He felt as if he nearly drowned. And he was tired just so tired. He stepped foreward and rested his forehead on Sherlock's chest. He wouldnt mind that would he? Of course not. He just needed to rest...
The detective tensed. Then slowly exhaled, and laced his fingers into the doctor's clenched fists. "John... I'm sorry for making you go though all this... I didnt think you would take it so badly...so... im sorry."
"But why Sherlock? Was it really that bad? I know you didnt fake all those cases, and even if you did, you wouldn't throw everything away without thinking... so why?"
Sherlock took a deep breath "I need to save something important to me." He said, choosing his words carefully. "It was one or the other, and I chose me. At least they thought I did... so now, we are all alive, and I beat Moriarty."
Even though John wasnt looking, he could hear the arrogance in Sherlocks voice. And without asking, he got the feeling that Sherlock was taking about him.
The doctor sighed, still holding hands with his best friend and his head leaning on his chest. It had been three years since that day. And after three years, he could finally breathe.
"John?" Sherlock said abruptly.
"Hmm?"
"My nose..."
"What...? Oh god Sherlock...! Sorry! But you couldnt have said so sooner?" John let go of one hand and reached into his jacket pocket for a tissue. The doctor then started dabbing it sherlocks face, a worried crease across his own.
"No its fine. Its the least I deserve." Sherlock muttered, his eyes not leaving John's. (Which was not easy, considering they were nearly three inches apart.)
John raised his eyes to meet Sherlock's when his hand was squeezed.
"Can I kiss you John? " Sherlock asked, his eyes slightly squinted looking for a reaction.
John simply went red. "I... um... Sherlock... yes...I mean no...uh- wait... what happened to not being gay?"
"Oh good god John." Sherlock rested his free hand on the side of John's neck, while rolling his eyes. "Yes or no?"
"...Yes." The doctor gave in, unable to think of a witty response.
Sherlock started to bend over, but John stopped him. "Sherlock.. wait."
"What is it this time John?" Sherlock asked, obviously annoyed.
"That girl... Elizabeth..."
"Isabella."
"Sorry. What about her?"
"What about her?"
"Arent you two... you know... a couple?" John leaned out of Sherlock's arms to look him in the eye.
"John stop worrying. Shes my sister." The detective said annoyed.
"Oh thank god..." John muttered into Sherlock's arm.
" Good lord, John, just look at me." Sherlock said, sounding exasperated.
"What?"
And Sherlock kissed him. Right there in the doorway of their flat. And all the boxes inside John's head began to empty themselves into his thoughts. All the memories that had haunted him for so long. He held Sherlock tighter, and for some reason he was crying, but he couldnt remember when that started. And then Sherlock was holding him, letting him know that he was back and there was no need to cry now. And they held eachother as violent sobs wracked though John's body. They stayed this way for a couple minutes until John sniffed and pulled away, giving Sherlock a sad smile.
"What?" Sherlock asked.
"Nothing. It's just..." John gave a hollow laugh. "It's just that... well, I've missed you, Sherlock."
The detective blinked.
John looked at him expectedly.
"What?" Sherlock asked again.
The doctor untangled himself from his friend's arms. "Its just, normal people would say 'I missed you too,' or 'im sorry.'"
"John, you're forgetting... I'm not normal." Sherlock said, taking John's hand again. "And don't you think for a second that I didnt miss you. Not one day went by without me thinking about how much I wanted to see you again." There was a pause as they stared at each other.
"Alright. "John gave a curt nod, then gently pulled Sherlock into his flat by the hand.
"Plus John, you know I'm not good with all this emotional stuff. I just say what I mean. Its easier. " Sherlock scrambled to explain himself.
"Of course." John said absent-mindedly. "Would you like a mug of tea?"
"Only if you make it for me."
John paused. "No."
"Fine. Pass me a cigarette."
"But you were doing so well! Dont tell me you gave in." John looked up from preparing the two cups of tea.
"John, I only stopped smoking as a courtesy to you. And now I need one. Please."
"No."
"John!"
"Im already making you tea! And anyways, I got rid of all your cigarettes around the flat." John said matter of factly.
"WHAT?!" Sherlock roared, diving towards the desk. He threw open every droor and searched through the two cabinets. When he couldn't find what he was looking for, he looked to John wildly.
"Here." John offered him a mug. "You'll feel better."
"No! Its not stong enough! JOHN! Please. Please love. Please sweetheart. Where are they? Please tell me." Sherlock had crawled over to where John was standing and wrapped his arms around his middle, sill on his knees, and looking up pleadingly. John Watson was a tomato.
"Sh-Sherlock... stop it!"
"Don't pretend you aren't enjoying this John. I know you are."
The doctor turned even redder, if possible.
"There are some in the bookcase. Lies My Teacher Told Me, by James Lowen. " John couldn't stop himself from saying.
"You are a saint." Sherlock popped up and flew to the bookshelf, quicly pulling out a pack of cigarettes.
John sipped his tea, calming his racing heartbeat. He had never thought of Sherlock in this way. Not until today at least. Perhaps the feelings were building up the entire time. Perhaps they were always there. Or, perhaps they didn't exist at all.
"Sherlock! Stop smoking!" Another voice called. It was Isabella, Sherlock's sister. "Oh, and get me my phone." She trotted down the stairs, wearing sweatpants and an old sports shirt. "Its on the table." She grounded her self on one hip, and pointed to the coffee table with John's laptop on it.
The detective took a savored, well needed puff from his cigarette. "Ask John." He finally said.
Isabella looked to the doctor, who was in mid sip.
"What? Ah-no. This is shallow. Get it yourself." He said, trying not to sound annoyed.
"You know whats shallow?" She asked, walking to the table and getting the phone herself. "You two being a couple after meeting for like, ten minutes." She finished, waving her phone in John's face.
They both blushed.
"Eight of which, was making out." She added, leaving the flat. "Im going jogging. Ill be back soon."
After a few moments of awkward silence, John finally said "What's making out ?"
"Snogging. Shes American." Sherlock answered, breathing out.
"Is that where you've been hiding then? In America?"
"Please don't call it hiding, John." He said absentmindely
"Thats what it was, wasn't it?" John had a tint of anger in his voice.
"Dont do this, Mr. Watson." Sherlock's voice was a thunderstorm about to let loose.
"Why Sherlock? Why not?" He had put down the cup, then threw his hands in the air. "I deserve answers, dont I?"
The detective stared for a minute, then hung his head. "I was staying with Isabella in America. No one knew me there, so I was safe."
"Thank you. See? Thats a good answer!" John cried.
"John."
"You dissapear of the face of the earth for three years, Sherlock! This is the least I expect!"
"John."
"Plus, you didnt even give me a hint of what was going to happen! You could have told me Sherlock!"
"John, listen."
"No! You listen!" The doctor was in a rage now. He thought it was over, but it wasnt. He felt naive. How could he have thought that three years of anger and hate would dissapear with just an embrace? "Sherlock do you know how awful it feels to see your best friend die?" He made air quotes. "It can drive you insane. I was put on suicide watch, Sherlock. And just when I thought it was over, when I thought the pain would end, you're back from the dead! Maybe it would have been easier if you really did jump!"
Sherlock stopped trying to he didn't try to make a snide comment back, or try to explain himself. He just stared, blankly-unseeing.
The doctor blinked, just realizing what he said. "No...no. No, Sherlock. Oh god. I-I didn't mean that I want you dead... Never. I'm sorry." He placed his hand over his eyes. "I truly didnt mean it."
"Really, John? Because I think you've made it very clear what you mean. " Sherlock's voice was dripping with sarcasm.
"No. I havent made it clear. Im sorry. Really. Please."
"Good. Now can I explain myself?"
"Yes. Sorry. I am so, so sorry..."
"I heard you the first three times, John." He put out his cigarette and laid down on the couch, hands tucked under his chin. "John. Come sit." He bent his knees so there was room for his blogger.
"No thank you... Um, I'm fine." He coughed awkwardly, putting away his mug of tea.
"John. Come sit. I want you to."
John obliged, and shelock stretched his legs onto his lap. The doctor blushed.
"I was being threatened. By Moriarty. He had snipers on Lestrade, Ms. Hudson, and you."
"What...? But you hate Lestrade."
Sherlock laughed a hollow laugh."Thats what I thought too, until his life was threatened."
John nodded, but Sherlock was oblivious.
"But, he said... He said either I jump, letting the world know I was a fake, and unstable one at that, or you died."
There was silence.
"What?" Sherlock asked, opening his eyes.
"I didnt speak..."
"But your pulse changed. So, what?"
John sighed, absentmindely rubbing his thumb against Sherlock's leg. "Your worst fear was if people were to see you as weak or stupid. But thats exactly what you ensured..."
"You're wrong." His eyes were closed again.
"Excuse me?"
"Thats not my worst fear."
There was silence again.
"Come on John. Use your brain. As unused as it may be."
There's the Sherlock John knew.
"You didnt want to loose the few friends you have?" The doctor said tentatively.
"I didnt want to loose you, John."
Neither of them spoke. Sherlock stared at John, and John stared at Sherlock's feet.
"I didn't ... I didn't think you cared." John muttered blushing.
The detective sat up quickly, placing himself side by side with his friend. "John, did you ever think of what I told you when we were working our first case? I asked you, if you knew you were going to die, what would be your last words?"
There was a pause. As if John was trying to remember, but how could he forget? How could anyone forget the last words of their best friend?
"Good bye, John." The doctor swallowed.
"Yes." Sherlock's warm breath tickled his ear.
John felt his tear ducts swell. No. He thought. No, he cannot see me cry again. In a desperate effort to hide his tears, he buried his face into Sherlock's shirt, pulling him closer.
"I'm sorry Sherlock. I- I'm so, sorry." He wrapped his arms around his friend's waist.
"You did nothing wrong, John." Sherlock awkwardly stroked the back of John's kneck. "Don't apologize. Its annoying."
"Oh- right. Sorry." The doctor paused. "Dammit..."
They both exhaled laughs as Sherlock stretched back down.
"But seriously... I didnt mean what I said... Now that youre back, I dont think I would survive without you." John muttered.
"Please dont be mad at me." Sherlock said suddenly.
"I'm not mad."
"Yes you are."
"Not anymore." John looked down.
"Get me another cigarette then."
John stood. "Nice try." He began to walk to the kitchen, but Sherlock grabbed his hand.
"John?"
He blinked, looking down at his friend.
"Yes?"
"I missed you too."
The doctor stared intently for a second, grapsed Sherlock's hand gently, then sat on the ground, leaning against the couch. He sighed calmly, placing the taller man's cool hand against his face.
"You have a fever." Sherlock immediately said.
"No..." He paused. "I'm just tired."
"Then sleep."
"You too."
"Okay."
~:+:~
Thank you for reading, and please review telling me how I did. I would love suggestions and critiques from you readers. Oh, and more on Isabella in future chapters, you'll see, it gets interesting. Oh yes, and please, please, please let me know how I'm doing with thier characters and their relationship. I tend to get OOC a lot so that would be great. Thanks again for reading!
YOUR LOVING AUTHOR-
Penelope Sundrud
PS