It's been three years, nothing changed, and nothing will.
John had been falling apart since. He had wished for one miracle. One miracle that never came true. Never.
He would go on days without speaking, words are very unnecessary. Nobody would understand anyway.
John sighed as he entered his bedroom, the same as always. He sat down and turned his head to the window. "Look at the world, still moving." John thought in his mind. He closed his eyes knowing that he'll get another nightmare and then opened them thinking that he was used to it.
John laid down on his bed and closed his eyes one more time and waited for another nightmare to come as usual. He started falling asleep, the nightmares were coming closer. Good ol' nightmares, always about the past isn't it? It's repetitive, but the scary part about it is that your nightmares are about the bad times of your past. It's like, having the chance to travel through time, but only revisting your bad times as a choice. But having nightmares are easier because, well, it does it for you.
John was shaking, his eyes was going back and forth under his eyelids and there's no point in waking up because John's reality was as terrible as his nightmares.
Suddenly, John felt something stopping him from shaking. He slowly opened his eyes and saw bright grey eyes which reminded him of Sherlock and then opened his eyes widely.
There was silence.
John stood up and looked at Sherlock while having too many thoughts on his mind.
"John, I-"
"No, no, stop. This is all a drea-"
"No it isn't. Your dreams are usually about losing me but look, here I am."
"You're not alive. You can't be. No, no you can't. Even if this isn't a dream, all the suffering I've gone through won't change. And I'll use all the time I can to talk to you while I can. I stood there Sherlock, on your grave, I wished for miracle and waited. Waited for something to happen, something that I trusted, something...that never came. Three years, three years that seemed like three decades. Waiting. Now look at me, I'm facing you, in my imagination, a kind of nightmare I expected."
He gave a half-hearted smile that hurt. In three years, that was the first time he laughed.
Sherlock, he just stood there, realizing what he'd done and what he caused. He understood now. He just glanced at John and grinned a little. "Yes, this is a dream, but there's just one more thing..." Sherlock grabbed John's face and pulled it to his. John just went with it, with tears streaming down his face. It hurted him a lot. "Now go to sleep, and everything will be better." Sherlock faked a smile. John went back to bed and woke up with the sun shining. "I guess it was a dream after all." John sighed. Well, he said what he wanted to say, and Sherlock had nothing else to save.
Sherlock never returned to John, not even in his dreams, not even in his nightmares, not even in his arms.
John died alone not knowing there was no one expected to welcome him home.
Author's Note: Ah, I forgot to say, I like stories with no happy endings.