This is for my dear Paula, who is a genuinely perfect human being and introduced me to so many things that I cannot thank her enough for and I only hope this is what you deserve, darling.

And thank you so very much to the wonderful Sam, who astounds me with her ability to beta anything and everything so very wonderfully at such wonderfully short notice.

One More Miracle

The name's Sherlock Holmes, and the address is 221B Baker Street. Afternoon.

It was the best fucking thing that had ever happened to you, but you can't tell anybody that. It grew from there. First, you were flatmates. Second, business partners, and then eventually, friends. Or maybe it was something more. You wanted it to be, but at the same time you didn't, because it just didn't feel quite right. But at least you were friends.

You went from John to John and Sherlock and then you were JohnandSherlock, one person, together forever, and never, ever apart.

But who said that forever meant anything?

Forever is a lie created by lovers who don't know what else to call their love. Forever is just a word. There is no such thing as forever.

-:-

It started quietly, with just whispers that Sherlock is lying and they were by people who didn't know him, they didn't understand.

But within days it had escalated and suddenly everybody but you thought Sherlock was a fraud but they didn't know him, they didn't understand and that's what you just kept telling yourself over and over and over again.

But it still happened.

-:-

Bart's Hospital rooftop.

A lot of people die in hospitals.

Sherlock Holmes was one of them.

Turn around, John. I'm up here.

He told you he was a fraud, he told you that it was all a magic trick but you still didn't believe him. You don't know why.

No, no, no.

Goodbye, John.

And then he's falling, falling, and there's nothing you can do because it's all too late and what if he is a fraud but you don't think about it because it can't be true and it hurts too much, it hurts.

You watched him fall, and you think what if and what if and what if. But there are no more what ifs now because it's all over.

-:-

Suddenly everything is funeral arrangements and wills and media and people pretending they care when they don't, they don't because nobody ever cared as much as you did.

You stand over his grave and tell him with all your heart that no-one will ever convince you that he told you a lie and it's true, but your faith is slipping, and all you want is a miracle. But miracles are like forevers. They're just lies created by lovers who don't know what else to do.

Lies by lovers.

Were you ever lovers? Sherlock was the best fucking thing that's ever happened to you but did you love him? You're not sure, really.

But you're still clinching to that one more miracle because even though you don't know if you're lovers or not that doesn't change the fact that you love him. You're just not quite sure how.

But there's still that one more miracle. There will always be one more miracle.

One more miracle, Sherlock.

For me.