It had been a while since John had lost his friend. If someone knew him even remotely, they knew about the fall and gave him sympathetic looks. He hated those goddamn looks. They haunted him. It was like reliving it every time. "Oh, poor you, I heard about Sherlock." Really? he would think. You heard about it? I watched it all happen. The nightmares came every night, so John tried to stop sleeping. He knew the dangers, but he did not care. He also stopped eating. John was deteriorating, and fast. I was getting tired of the bullshit. Yeah, of course, it is good to see that someone cares for you, I guess, but he is hurting himself. He needs to pull it together. Besides, I did this all for him, shouldn't he be happy? Oh that's right. His only friend is dead. Yeah, it is sad. Whatever. I decide he needs some encouragement. Somewhere across the street from me, I see John go into 221B and I am content. I can rest now. I scoot a little further down the street until I get to the alley. Ah, my new home. So…refreshing.
I relax for a while in my alley until the small device I have in my pocket goes off. There is motion by the front door. I look up to see John leaving the house. Where is he going this time? I follow him, wishing I had more time to sit and think about how this is going to work. I know this path well by now. John has walked it everyday since I died, but why twice today? Ah yes, it is my birthday. He brought more flowers and a small gift. It is long and rounded. What the hell does he think I will do with a gift now that I am dead? Such an idiot. He arrives at my grave and I duck behind another tombstone.
"Sherlock. Maybe you can hear me, maybe you can't, but I cannot live this way anymore. I miss you and I miss how you could blow my mind with a few sentences. I never told you, but you really were my best friend. I do not know why you did it. I refuse to believe the bullshit that you tried to feed everyone about how you lied. No. That didn't happen," said John. He set the flowers on the grave and looked to the present. He started unwrapping it, while I peeked out even further to try to see what it was. " Today is your birthday Sherlock. You deserve a gift. You would probably frown upon this, because you think that you are better off on your own, but it is going to happen anyway." Then John whispered something too quiet for me to hear, but I could read his lips. The rest of the paper fell away from the gift. It was a knife and it looked sharp. John started to raise the blade up to his throat.
"STOP!" I yelled. Shit, shit, shit. I promised I would not reveal myself. I still have my hood up, but I can tell that even though someone is watching, he is going to do it anyway. I pull back my hood as I run over. John looks at me, surprised that the spectator is this dedicated to saving his life. His eyes widen. He drops the knife and turns the rest of the way around. "Sh-Sherlock?" he stutters. The look on his face changes from one of confusion to anger. He cocks his arms and punches me in the face. "Shit John, don't be that-" I'm cut off as his mouth slams into mine. He is kissing me and I cannot believe it. The hints that I refused to read into publicly but dissected every moment of in the privacy of my room have all flooded back into my mind. It is true.
He stops kissing me and looks at me. He just stares. "John," I say, "can we go home now? I really miss my room." He keeps staring. "But John, we cannot let Mrs. Hudson know. She'll ruin everything. I must remain dead." I continue. He unfreezes at the word dead. "Okay, Sherlock. Let's go home." We start to walk back to 221B, hand in hand.
"John?"
"What?"
"Can you repeat what you whispered to my grave? A little louder, please?"
"I-I...I said I love you Sherlock."
"I love you too, John."