Fateful Cuffs
It is the year 2013 and John is hailing a taxi from his old apartment at 221b Baker St. He soon arrives at the cemetery and makes his way to Sherlock's grave. It is the first anniversary of Sherlock's death. John places a small, neatly wrapped box on the headstone. After he carefully put the box down he pulled out his mobile and texted Ms Hudson.
Visiting his grave. Be back soon. –JW
Inside the box was a pair of small cuff links shaped like the silly hat he always hated. John lets out a small hollow laugh. His eyebrows furrowed and teeth clenched trying to contain his emotions. Ignoring the pull of his heart he turned around and made his way back to the taxi. Halfway there he realised he had forgotten his phone and ran back to get it.
As he approached the grave once again he saw a tall man in a trench coat in front of the grave. The figure slowly bent down and took the box from the grave and slipped it into his pocket. John cried out at the man only to see him run away. He quickly chased after him picking up his phone in the process. John, in the time after his only friend had passed, was many times less fit than before and couldn't catch up. Devastated he retreated back to his taxi and solemnly headed home.
Chores the next day were more tedious than before. He woke up and made himself a coffee only to realise half way through that there was no milk.
"DAMN." He screamed as he furiously slammed shut the fridge door. He walked over to the grocery store and bought his milk. On the way back he could no longer stand the happy content smiles of couples and strangers on the streets so he quickly swerved into an alleyway. And when he did he saw the same tall figure watching him from the shadows. He made haste and ran after the man dropping the milk in his hurry. As he slowly caught up, panting, he managed to make out the special cuffs on the man's sleeves.
"Those aren't yours." He screams, with enough passion to make his throat itch.
"Oh but they are." He hears the man mutter under his breath.
John promptly tackles him and gets a good look at the face of the man shameful enough to take the present he had crafted for his best friend.
"Sherlock?" He stammered "Is that really you?
"John. It's me Sherlock. Thank you for the gift." He said flashing an awkward smile.
John's face twisted as he began to lose composure.
"DAMN YOU. I THOUGHT YOU WERE DEAD. I ALMOSTED KILLED MYSELF BECAUSE YOU-"
"I know John. I know." Sherlock replied "I'm sorry."
"I was there." He continued "When you tried to hang yourself with my scarf. I was outside the window hoping you wouldn't. And you almost would have had the scarf not torn and broke. I couldn't do anything, for your protection."
"I missed you" John said hoarsely.
"Too bad you spilt the milk. Let's go back home."
They got up and walked out of the alleyway leaving the plastic bag with the milk. As they walked past the grinning couples slowly Sherlock reached for John's hand. John flinched at the touch but later tightened his grasp on Sherlock as a small smile crept onto his face.
"I'm glad you're happy. You haven't been for a while." Sherlock beamed as his eyes lit up.