John Watson leaned against the cool wall of a building as he rested. Harry had made him take a holiday, FORCED him to. He supposed that he deserved it...
"Get away from London, John. It'll be good for you."
He knew she was concerned, but all he'd heard in her reasoning's was "Get away from London. Get away from the memories. Get away from that graveyard. Get away from Sherlock Holmes."
So he'd gone. And yes, it let him fill his head with images other than his best friend's bloody corpse. And yes, it was beautiful. And yes, he was... almost enjoying it. He was out on a walk round his hotel, seeing the TRUE parts of the city, not the tourist attractions. Everything was gorgeous and old and wonderful... But here were these bloody stairs. He leaned back against the wall, stretching. Damn his leg. Damn his cane. Course his limp had come back after... Well. It was back. That's all that mattered.
'Right John. You can do this. All it is is fucking STAIRS. You used to run. You used to jump from one building to another! Don't be pathetic. That's what you are. You invaded Afghanistan! You can climb STAIRS, for God's sake.'
He nodded to himself, acknowledging the voice in his head. He could do this. It wasn't that hard. Just one step at a time. Ignore the pain. You've felt worse. So, step by step, he started climbing, pausing every once in a while. He pretended he was pausing to look around at the beauty around him, which he did... But it was more the pain.
Reaching the top, he rested a calloused hand on the building beside him, letting his fingers roll across the bumps and ridges. He didn't want to admit how exhausting that'd been for him. John looked around, taking in his surroundings. He'd stumbled upon a tiny square, where there was a small fountain in the middle. People milled aimlessly about, and John observed them as he limped over to an unoccupied bench. They all looked so happy. Oblivious to pain. Oblivious to sorrow.
His gaze hovered over a man that was standing by the fountain. John didn't know why, but the man just caught his attention. Tall, pale, ginger colored hair that shone in the sun… The man was breathtaking. John watched him as he kicked around a football with a few young boys. Oh, how John wished he could do just that.
As he thought this, the football ricocheted off the fountain, and rolled straight into John's feet. He smiled a bit, picking it up, and when he looked up, the breathtaking man was standing in front of him. Fuck. John found himself lost in a pair of ocean blue green eyes. He could swim in those eyes. In fact, that's what he was doing now. Swimming. Fucking swimming in this man's eyes.
"H…Here's your ball."
Oh yes, very impressive, John. The man beamed, and nodded, taking the ball from John's hands, his long fingers brushing his.
"Thanks mate. Would you like to join in?"
John gave the stranger a small smile, and tapped his leg with his cane.
"Wish I could."
The stranger gave John a strange look, almost sad, and nodded.
"That's fine. It's all fine."
John wondered on that strange choice of words as he watched the man jog back over to the boys. Why those words? They made… Almost no sense. The man looked over at John, and gave him a small smile, a smile that jolted John down to his toes.
"Oh… Oh God…"
John choked out, and then he was suddenly standing, and wait, how did he get halfway across the square, and his cane was still on the bench, and everything was a blur, and he couldn't think, but everything just screamed Sherlock.
And then John was there, right next to that oh so familiar looking man, and then man looked down at him in surprise, then his face morphed into an emotion that was nothing but proud. And John knew. John knew it was him.
The man smiled, and reached out a hand to rest on John's shoulder, to steady him, because he could FEEL himself swaying.
"Oh John."
The man smiled, shaking his head.
"My John. My beautiful, wonderful, genius blogger."
And John's head was spinning, because yes, it was Sherlock. Of course it was. And then he was angry, so angry, but so relieved, and his cheeks were suddenly wet, and he was gripping the man's hand so tight… And then John did something any normal person would do when presented with the fact that the person they loved, and who had been dead for who knows how long, suddenly is there in front of them, and is calling them things like 'beautiful' and 'wonderful' and a 'genius'.
He fainted.
But not before being pulled to his love's chest, and not before bursting into sobs, and not before chanting 'Sherlock, Sherlock, Sherlock' over and over.
And definitely not before those beautiful pink lips were placed on his.
Nor did he faint before he heard that beautiful baritone in his ear, lips brushing his skin.
"I love you."
In fact, yes, that was what made him faint. That was biggest shock of all…
God, he needed to thank Harry for this holiday.