John Watson was happier than he had been in a long time. The past two years was hell, marginally getting better when Mary showed up, but they were still painful.
Sherlock Holmes, the great consulting detective, the man who had faked his death so brilliantly, everyone believed him.
"So," John started. They were sitting in 221b, in armchairs across from each other. They had tea by their elbows and grins on their faces from a joke.
"How did you do it?"
"Do what?"
"You know, fake your death."
"Oh!" Sherlock laughed.
"Oh, John... I didn't."
Slowly Sherlock faded away until John couldn't see him anymore. 221b warped around him until John was left staring at padded walls.
He could voices from outside.
"He'll get better soon..."
"... He just needs to understand that Sherlock did die..."
Sup kids, I know I'm horrible for not updating, but hey new feel-ridden story! I was sorting out my Tumblr things from my phone to my laptop.
What are your Reichenbach theories?
Leave a comment and we can wonder together...
I don't do these, usually, but this time its important.
Can you all go over to Fanfiction Research 's profile. There's a survey that they are doing for a project and it would really help. I swear this is the only time i will ever do this.
Thanks to CaptainBrieOnToast and Lindsey7618AwesomeasPercabeth for reviewing everything.
I love you all.
Hope you all have a great day tomorrow!
Fez.