** Was deleted and then re-posted, sorry for any confusion**
Written for the lovely and beautiful, Ilona, who makes me smile and who caused my Sherlock obsession. Love you, sweetie. (:
Happy Valentine's Day!
I own nothing.
John walks down the street to his favourite little cafe; something that has become routine since the incident. John feels his face fall as he steps up to the counter. He glances around at the hearts and glitter decorating the small cafe as the barista takes his order, and he grimaces; it must be nearing Valentines day.
John has let the days and months slip by since Sherlock's leave. Assuming that Valentine's day is soon, Sherlock's been gone about a year and a bit. Just after New Years, but before mid January. John sighs heavily.
As John takes his drink from the barista, she bids him farewell with a "Happy Valentine's day, John."
Oh, so it is Valentine's day. That makes everything worse. Last year at this time he was cooped up in his room, and the year before, he and Sherlock had been on a big case and John had had to cancel his date with Sarah. And now Sherlock was gone.
John sighs again before walking towards a vacant table by the front windows. As he drinks his tea he watches out the front windows and sees a tall dark haired man standing across the streets. Before John can get a good look, a long line of traffic passes by. When the cars clear, the man is gone.
John shakes it off and blames his imagination. He's always imagining Sherlock hanging around. If it weren't for Mycroft, who was as heartbroken over the whole event as John, he would believe that Sherlock has been hanging around. Watching over him. It's a nice thought.
John knows better though. He knows that he has just been imagining the dark haired man hanging around. He knows it's how he's coping with the loss.
He sits long after his tea is gone, thinking. Thinking about everything. Everything under the stars. Which leads to thoughts of the solar system and Sherlock. Everything leads back to Sherlock.
John heads back to his small apartment, much like the one he had before he met his other half. His life is a lot like it was before. Boring. Dull. Lifeless. Loveless. That's the hardest, the heartbreak. Every time John "sees" Sherlock, his heart breaks all over again.
John grabs his keys and unlocks his door. As he steps over the threshold he hears a crinkling under his feet. The man looks down and sees a small folded piece of paper sticking out from under his shoe. He bends down to pick it up.
I'm sorry I lied.
- SH
"Wait, what?" John feels the world sinking away around him, a whooshing sound in his ears. Is this a sick joke?
"Turn around John." Says a deep, familiar voice.
John whips around to see a tall, dark haired, and very beautiful Sherlock standing before him.
John's mouth gapes open and he sags against the door frame. "I-I don't understand."
"May I come in?" Sherlock asks as he moves past John and into the small apartment, not even bothering for an answer. John nods mutely.
Sherlock spins slowly on his heel, taking in John's home with the eyes of a professional. "I had to tie up loose ends," Sherlock's eyes fall on the sandy haired man, who now stands in the middle of the room, "before I could tell you, John. I had to protect you. I couldn't watch my best friend die."
"So you let me watch you die?! How do you think I felt, Sherlock? How I feel?!"
"He," That word was said with so much disgust; both knew who Sherlock was talking about, "was going to have you killed." The dark haired man moved closer across the small room.
John reached out to touch the collar of the other man's jacket, "How are you alive? I'm imagining this, aren't I. I'm a lunatic." There was humor in John's voice.
"I'm here John, and I'm not going anywhere." Sherlock took the final step towards John, placing himself directly in front of the shorter man. He looks down, John up. Sherlock leans down and connects their lips. The blonde breathes deeply through his nose before holding more tightly to Sherlock's coat. They pull apart slowly.
"Real."