Donovan's words race through John's mind at the same time as the image of Sherlock's dead body does. She was right. A body had shown up, and Sherlock had put it there. More than sad, John was angry. Sherlock had selfishly left him, even though there had to be a reason that wasn't selfish in the slightest. Everyone always assumed the worst of Sherlock Holmes, but John knew better. The moments they'd shared before Sherlock's death, they were secret, off record, and precious. John had briefly mentioned this to his therapist, and she urged him to write about these moments on a private blog for some closure.
Post 1: At The Diner
A day I'd assumed was just a day that Sherlock was taking me to eat because he was in a good mood, but he was taking me to prove I didn't need my cane. I guess I didn't, but the conversation that took place between us...I told him it would be fine if he had a boyfriend, because really, I wanted him to be fine if I had a boyfriend as well. Sherlock has a funny way about telling me he was okay with it, telling me he was married to his work...However, after we'd caught up with that cab and we'd started to head back to Baker street when he grabbed my hand and gave me a fleeting look and a secret smile. His smile's have this strange effect on my stomach that makes me want to puke and faint at the same time, but neither ever happens...Dear God I use a lot of elipses.
Post 2: After A Study In Pink
Sherlock and I were at the crime scene after I had killed the cabbie, and it was right at the moment we'd started to giggle that I knew that there was something special about him: something other than his amazing abilities of observation and perception. After we'd gotten back to the flat I sat next to him on the couch and he laid down, resting his head in my lap. There wasn't anything romantic about it, he laid like he always did, always thinking, but the fact that he trusted me, and tolerated me more than others, it set my heart in flames. It was the moment I knew that Sherlock felt the same appreciation for me that I did for him.
Post 6: A Visit To The Circus
Sherlock and I's relationship had slowed, or at least hadn't progressed from those friendly touches and carefree glances he'd send me, and the blushes that would enflame my cheeks, and I'd just gotten a job, with a very beautiful coworker as well. I mean obviously she wasn't my type, since Sherlock was, but it would be nice to at least go around with someone; rather, to have company other than Sherlock. When I told Sherlock, he had seemed to get irationally upset, pouting like he does and what not, but then, he offered to buy me tickets, like a realization had struck him. He apparently knew it was going to south with the doctor and I, but what I didn't know is he'd be along for the ride. The thing is, after all of that had happened, all the crazy events with the circus/smugglers thinking that I was Sherlock, trying to kill me and my date, the first thing Sherlock did when we got home was grab my hand and hold it for a moment. He was applying slightly more pressure than usual, but it wasn't quite a squeeze; I looked at him and noticed slight tension between his eyebrows and then he looked at me and asked me if I was alright. I was, more or less, but he'd ordered in my favorite take-out and let me watch the telly without complaining about everyone's stupidity. It was another step forward in our strange relationship. He was genuinely scared I'd been hurt, and it seemed like the first moment it dawned on him that I was actually in danger of being hurt, or killed.
Post 15: The Fight
I'd been stupid, and now I was paying for it. I was currently hospitalized with a minor fracture in my ankle: the doctor said I'd be out of commission for a week. Sherlock and I had been on a minor case and I'd chased a thug out of an upper apartment and down a fire escape. On the way down, the man had thrown a trash can up towards me and it knocked me over and I crashed on the stairs, slamming my ankle into the hard rusted metal. Along with a nasty gash, I heard a light crack just barely, then let out a cry of pain when Sherlock appeared from the apartment and saw me. I saw a flash in his eyes of complete rage and he ran past me and down to a lower level before jumping off to the ground while pulling out his cell phone. He'd called Lestrade and told him about the criminal then hung up and tackled the thug hitting him and kicking him. It was all quite brutal, but as soon as he was unconscious Sherlock rushed back up the fire escape and picked me up, first bridal style, and then he let me climb on his back so I felt less ridiculous. I could have walked, but Sherlock would have none of it, probably so I didn't worsen the fracture. As soon as we got home from the hospital, Sherlock didn't talk to me for a total of three hours, and it was rather agonizing. He just kept throwing knives at the smiley face on our wall. When he did talk to me, I realized it would have been better if he'd kept up the silence. "WHAT ON EARTH WERE YOU THINKING JOHN?!" he'd shouted at me, which had left me extremely startled. I sat in silence while he threw some things around the apartment and then knelt in front of me. He had that face, the one used mostly for threatening Anderson mostly, but he also used it during big cases when he was overwhelmingly angry. "You were lazy, careless. Being in the military should have better trained you to dodge projectiles, especially one the size of a child, John! Instead you fell, letting the thug escape you, had I not been there he would've gotten off free, and you would've had to limp your way to the hospital or down the stairs and you'd have worsened your injury and I would be left without an assistant. Without YOU John! And what if he'd turned and pulled a knife on you and you'd have been killed. WHAT. THEN" He shouted. My heart was racing and as I was about to apologize Sherlock stood. "No, don't. It means nothing to me" he said coldly before walking out of 221B Baker Street. I know now it was simply because he cared, but at the time I'd gotten mad back, and he and I didn't talk until I was completely healed, and even then it was small talk.
Post 22: He Was Bored
Sherlock gets bored often, and when he does he likes to experiment. It was a particularly boring week and Sherlock had decided that I should be his new test subject and he'd often leave things around the places I used in the flat most often. Good or bad things. In the kitchen he left a playing card necklace with a sky blue ribbon tied around it in my mug. The next day he left a glass eyeball with a small brown sticker on the pupil in one of my slippers. The gifts continued, with stranger objects in stranger places. One morning I even woke up with a piece of my favorite chocolate placed right at my mouth, and another, he'd placed a brown toad in a small plastic container in the shower next to my shampoo. After all of my reactions, I guess he came to whatever conclusion he was looking for, because then he left me alone for several days without little trinkets and presents. Or so I thought. The final gift came six days after the gifts had stopped. I woke up in the morning and I was not in my own bed, but in Sherlock's. His arms were wrapped protectively around my waist and my head was placed on his chest. My heart began beating quickly and my cheeks immediately flamed up. I didn't want to ruin the moment so I laid my head back down and instantly felt his arms tighten slightly. From that moment on, Sherlock and I had shared a room.
Post 27: Breaking
This blog, it's getting harder. The more days I write are just more days that Sherlock is gone, and never coming back. It's getting harder to write about the moments we shared, the moments that are precious to me. They were like secrets that were between he and I, and they're my own precious memories that I didn't have to share with anyone, and even though I have this blog set to private so that I'm the only one who can even see these posts, it feels like I'm betraying him in a way.
Post 39: Baskerville
Baskerville was one of the worst experiences of my life, the hallucination enhancing drugs, that awful fight with Sherlock, my failed UMQRA theory...but then we'd returned to London and Sherlock took a "vacation" from work, solely to spend time with me. It was hard on him, but he put up with it. He made me coffee again, this time without sugar, and he also made me breakfast in bed, which consisted of lukewarm oatmeal that was a bit too chewy and had too much added sugar, some toast that was a little too burnt to be tasty, and the coffee, which was actually perfect. I ate the breakfast even though it was rather awful and he sat with me while I ate it, rubbing my back. Then he said to me "John...I'm sorry about Baskerville. Scaring you like that, yelling at you in that restaurant, saying you weren't my friend...It was all very uncalled for." As I ate it became hard to swallow. I was becoming emotional at the affection I was getting from this odd and perfect man that I'd come to love. We laid together for three more hours before I decided I needed to take a shower. I walked into the bathroom and saw that my shampoo and other bathing things had been restocked. Sherlock must've gotten up early that morning to do all of this for me. As soon as I'd put my robe on and stepped into the hall, Sherlock was there and he wrapped his arms around me and hugged me. My breath once again caught in my throat and I wrapped my arms around his shoulders and placed my head on his chest, more closely to his shoulders though. He tenatively moved his head closer to the top of mine and he softly placed a kiss on my forehead. It was the first time he'd kissed me, and on a part of my body that let me know he was still nervous about the whole thing.
Post 49: The Fall
The day Sherlock died...we'd fought. I'd thought Mrs. Hudson was hurt and wanted him to come back with me; after all, she was like our mother in a way. He'd refused and I was so irrationally angry and just as I was storming out, Sherlock stood up and grabbed my wrist. I was going to hit him I was so angry when he pulled me into his arms and held me tight. I could feel his heart racing quicker than normal and I couldn't help but blush even though I was so angry. I wrote it off as a frustration blush. "I'm sorry John, I must stay for reasons you'll understand later" he'd told me. I ignored his apology, thinking he was still too uncaring about the entire situation. Before I walked out the door he kissed me. On the lips. He kissed me and because I was so angry I didn't kiss him back. I pulled away, looked at him sadly and walked off, but as the doors swung I heard him speak a phrase that almost made me return; as I walked away I heard Sherlock say that he loved me. Later in the day after I'd found out nothing was wrong with Mrs. Hudson I knew something was very wrong with Sherlock. I went back to the building to meet up with him and I got his call. I was struggling so hard not to cry through it, and I was trying so hard to convince him not to do it, but then he fell. Jumped. My heart stopped and I couldn't do anything to stop my panic. I fainted. It couldn't have been longer that a couple of minutes because when I woke up a crowd had gathered. There were police lines and an ambulance, and I walked over, pushing my way through. I told them he was my friend. Friend. But he was so much more than that; so much more than anything I could have ever hoped for. And he was dead. When I went to his grave I cried. I let him know just how angry I was and how devestated I was. I begged him to just not be dead. Begging doesn't always work.
John stood up and walked away from his computer. It had been far too hard, but he'd written down every important moment that he swore never to forget about he and Sherlock. Now it was over and he had no more to write. John turned on the telly and sat on the couch, staring at it blankly. On occasion Mrs. Hudson would come up and check on him, and he was about to tell her to leave when she walked in crying. However, she had a smile on her face.
"There's someone at the door for you" she said, wiping her tears. John was, of course, in no mood for company but he decided to see what the fus was. Maybe he won the lottery. He walked downstairs and froze. He almost fainted, but instead, tears sprang to his eyes as well.
"John, I feel as if I have some explaining and excessive apologizing to do" Sherlock said. John waited about .029 seconds before he threw himself at Sherlock and hugged him with the intensity of the most intense thing, he couldn't even think of what comparison he'd wanted to make. John kissed Sherlock and Sherlock kissed back. Mrs. Hudson continued to weep and when she decided they'd had enough kissing she broke them apart by squeezing inbetween them to hug Sherlock.
Later that evening as John and Sherlock laid in bed, curled in each other's arms, before John fell asleep he needed to say something.
"I love you, too, Sherlock Holmes."
"I know you do, John Watson."