A story by SherlockianChild.

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SherlockianChild

Chapter 1

"You... you told me once that you weren't a hero. Um," said John, talking to a grave entitled 'Sherlock Holmes'. "There were times that I didn't even think you were human. But let me tell you this, you were the best man, the most human... human being that I have ever known, and no one will ever convince me that you told me a lie. And so... there," John said, looking behind his shoulder before going up to the grave and patting it awkwardly. Still having his arm on the tombstone, John continued, "I was so alone and I owe you so much." John turned around to leave but quickly spun around and said, "Please, there's just one more thing. One more thing. One more miracle, Sherlock, for me. Don't be... dead. Would you do that, just for me? Just stop, just stop this." John choked out the last three sentences before he covered his hands on his face, head low, and began to sob.

Immediately, the figure disappeared and so did the surroundings where the figure had been. A man was on his bed and was breathing heavily. A nightmare? The man, from what I can deduce, is Sherlock Holmes. Sherlock had been sleeping peacefully before his dreams began to torment him. Sherlock had his palms on the mattress, making his upper stand. Sherlock continued to pant but covered his face with his palms. Sherlock's chestnut curls stuck onto his forehead from sweating. After a few moments and some work, Sherlock managed to control his breathing. He noticed his hair was damp and groaned, getting out from his bed.

Sherlock's PJs stuck onto his skin so he decided to take a shower. Sherlock made his way to the bathroom, new clothes in hand, and turned on the shower faucet. Water began to sprinkle down and when Sherlock was satisfied, stripped from his clothes and made his way inside. The warm water consumed his cold body so it relaxed the detective. After shampooing his hair and rinsing it out, Sherlock lingered in the shower, resting his head onto the tiled wall. The shower continued to rain down on him but he took no notice of it. His sea green eyes were cloudy as if his mind wasn't with him or if he was on drugs.

Sherlock whispered softly, "John…"

Sherlock was thinking of his dream, nightmare, whatever you'd like to call it. It has been three years. Three years since he's faked his death and led everyone to believe he was dead. Well… except for Molly and Mycroft, that is. Mycroft was fooled at first, yes, but then he figured out his brother's scheme and offered to hide Sherlock over these three years. Sherlock would've refused if it wasn't for the fact that everyone he cared about was in deep danger. He hated the fact that he had to lie to John, especially John apart from everyone else. For the last three years, Sherlock's been hiding from Moriarty's men. Not just hiding, hunting, he's been hunting them with the help of Mycroft. Sherlock's pretty sure he's gotten rid of all of them except for a few, maybe five are left. Sherlock wanted to desperately come back home but he couldn't. He still has to get rid of the enemy. Sherlock sighed as he slowly turned the faucet off.

Sherlock wrapped himself in a white towel and used another towel to dry himself off. Sherlock kept the white towel wrapped around his waist and stalked off into the bedroom where he tossed the towel he used to dry himself onto a nearby chair. Sherlock's room had nothing but a bed, a desk, a chair, a lamp, a closet, and a laptop sitting on the desk. It was a pretty dull room but then again, Sherlock rarely slept. His mind was always racing, connecting evidence together, and thinking how he should make his next move. Sherlock rarely slept because of this reason. But when he did sleep, Sherlock would always dream the same thing…John. John's last words to him burned into his skull and he could never forget it no matter how much he wished to. Those words that were filled with desire and sadness pained Sherlock deeply. He never knew that John would be greatly affected by Sherlock's death. He never knew just how much John truly cared for him until that day at the cemetery.

Sherlock wanted to march up to John and tell him it was all a lie but he couldn't. He'd risk John getting into tremendous danger. John would be risked with death. Sherlock frowned a little. He hadn't seen John in six months. That's right, six months. Just because Sherlock couldn't tell John that he was alive, didn't mean he never visited him. Sherlock had disguised himself multiple times and visited John just to see what he was up to or how he was managing. The last time Sherlock saw John, which was six months ago, John was out having dinner with some woman. Sherlock deduced that John had been seeing her before he saw John six months ago. The woman had dark brown hair and blue eyes. She was pale but a bit darker than John and somewhat taller than him too, maybe by an inch or two. Sherlock thought nothing of the woman at first since he figured that it wouldn't last. John's relationships never lasted.

Sherlock heard a beeping sound and made his way towards the laptop where he just received a message from Mycroft. Sherlock frowned. He wished Mycroft never found out he was alive. He's been pestering him ever since. Sherlock opened the message. It was plain and simple but Sherlock looked taken aback by it.

It read:

Hello, brother dear,

Did you think he would wait for you forever? I don't want to say that I told you so but I told you so.

- MH

Sherlock furrowed his brows, confused by the message. Sherlock read the message over and over again before he noticed there was an attachment. Sherlock clicked on the attachment and waited for it to open. The attachment was a picture. The picture was John, wrapping his arms around a woman. The woman, Sherlock identified, was the same woman Sherlock saw six months ago. Immediately, Sherlock deduced the picture. The woman had her arms around John's wrapped hands. John's face was taken sideways because he had just kissed the woman's cheek. The woman was grinning brightly, exposing her white teeth. Teacher, primarily in the seventh year, has a degree in psychology, and she had a white cat. Sherlock paid more attention to John; he was living with this woman because he also had traces of cat fur on him as well.

Suddenly, something caught Sherlock's attention. The woman had a ring on her left hand on her fourth finger. It was a blue diamond ring with a silver band. She was engaged…to John. Sherlock's eyes fell off the picture and read the text Mycroft had sent him again. He finally understood what Mycroft had meant. John had moved on and is getting married with this woman. Sherlock didn't know how he should feel about this. In fact, he didn't feel anything at all. All he felt was this numbness and his heart suddenly throbbed in pain. Sherlock didn't know what to make of this so he clutched his heart, his nails digging into his skin.

Sherlock realized he was in nothing but a towel so he made his way towards the closet and changed. Sherlock heard another chiming noise. Sherlock came back, putting on his white button-down shirt, and checked his computer. There was nothing. Sherlock walked towards his bed and grabbed his cell phone. It was another text message from Mycroft. Sherlock sighed and opened the message.

It read:

Have you decided yet?

- MH