As much as I wish I did, I don't own the BBC Sherlock, or any of the characters.
Set three years after Sherlock s "death"
I'm really sorry about any errors I made while doing this,I don't have spell or grammar check on my computer xD but I hope you like it all the same!
John just takes each day at a time, exsisting, but not living. No not anymore, his reason for living is gone, and now he has no one... nothing. Not even Mrs Huddson take help John with the pain he's feeling, the only person who ever could is gone... gone for good. Or so he thinks.
"John you can't spend all your time in this flat. You have to go out." said a gentle voice, John barely looked up, he barely even moved.
"I've been doing the same thing for two and a half years now. Whats changed?" He's voice is quiet, but rough. He hardly ever uses it now, hardly ever speaks to anyone, why would he? No one understands what he feels. No one.
"I know its been hard for you John" Mrs Hudson says, her voice sympathetic, John hates this, he can hear pity. Why pity him?
"But, you have to move on at some point..." she carry's on talking, but John doesn't listen. He doesn't need to listen to know what she's going to say, something about how its not what Sherlock would have wanted. But Sherlock's not here to stop John, not here to help him. To save him.
The nightmares reply every night, and John can't escape. He's tried. But there's nothing he can do, he is almost like a child again, being able to do nothing.
John walks away and leaves mrs Huddson talk, he doesn't know where he's going but he decides to go out. He walks through the streets of London, taking to notice to where he's going. Not caring where he ends up. He just walks.
Soon he ends up in a grave yard, it looks familiar to him, and he stands before a grave. He remembers now, his dream like sate broken as he looks down at the name. Sherlock Holmes. John can't fight anymore, the tears in his eyes just fall down his cheeks freely. He doesn't know what to do he says to no one.
"Sherlock" his voice breaks as he talks.
"I think I know why it hurts to much, I never got the change to tell you." he says, "I love you Sherlock."
I love you John
Johns head shoots up, but there's no one around. He imagined it, he does that a lot. Thinks he seems him, runs... but then there's no one there.
He kneels down at the headstone and curls up. Slowly drifting of to sleep. Feeling the need to be with Sherlock
The months pass, and John creeps away from everyone else slowly day by day, sometimes even refusing to get out of bed. But even though people worry, they just sit back and watch.
Sherlock wouldn't, John thinks. He'd make me get out of bed, he make me go to work. But without him, whats the point?
John's tired all the time, he's so so tired. He ignores the fact Mrs Hudson has started to get to ill to do anything, he doesn't show any signs of compation when she's rushed to hospital three days later. He doesn't know what to do.
But inside he's praying, she's can't leave him. Not her as well. He's scared, scared if he shows he cares, when she's gone it'll hurt more. He knows deep down its not like that, but he can't stop.
If Sherlock was here, Sherlock would make everything right again... But he's not and John's on his own.
He's sitting in a hospital waiting room, when a doctor comes out, he hair is short and dirty blonde, he's short. And his facing is aging... It has a grave look about it, and John knows. Before he speaks. He knows.
"I'm sorry. We did everything we could."
And there, John Watson. I once army doctor, who thought he could face everything life throw at him. Was now alone, a broken man.
The house is left to John. She didn't want him to have no where to go, she knew she was dying. Terminal. Ill for months the doctors said, but John could barely listen.
He's alone for real this time.
Three years after Sherlock's Death
With no one to tell him to move, John doesn't. With no one to tell him to eat, John doesn't.
He keeps a dairy though. A little book, but he doesn't write about his day. All he writes are four simple words, words he wished he could have said before it was to late.
I love you Sherlock
He thinks about Mrs Hudson, he misses her, he cries for her. But Sherlock will always have the most part of his broken, grieving heart.
He's sitting on the sofa one day, staring at the violin that hasn't moved since the last time Sherlock's hands where on it. He wants to pick it up, to feel Sherlock's essence through it, but once its moved it means he's gone. No one touched his violin. Nothing of Sherlock's has been moved. John made sure it's all exactly how he left it.
Something makes John move, a sudden feeling, he couldn't explain. It pulls him in to Sherlock's room. A room he hadn't entered in three years, to scared to disturb anything.
He walks in now, he doesn't care. There's something in here he needs.
There, on Sherlock's bedside table, a dairy he had kept. John's heart beat quickens. He picks it up, the only thing that has moved since Sherlock's death.
He opens it to the last day, hoping to find something to make him feel as though Sherlock is still with him.
He begins to read.
I don't want to do this, but I can't see John die. I couldn't live if I had to see John die. He'll understand, in the end I'm sure. But I can't watch John die. Not Doctor Watson. Not MY doctor. My John. My love. I have to keep him safe. No matter what the cost. Even if it means losing him, I have to keep him alive.
John stars blankly at the page, not quiet sure what he meant. How could Sherlock lose John, when Sherlock's the one who died?
Unless...
"John."
He hears a voice, a voice he hasn't heard is three years.
John looks up. Not believing what he's hearing or seeing.
Sherlock.
"No." is all John can say. He's heart beating 100 beats per second.
"I'm here John." Sherlock's tender voice sent a shudder through John, but he sat shaking his head.
"You're dead." His eyes feel with tears. "You left me, alone. You left me ALONE!" John couldn't help the anger he was feeling.
The man he thought had been his friend... his best friend. Had lied to him, and made him believe he was dead, and put him through three years worth of pain. For nothing.
"I can explain John."
Explain? How could he explain this? But Sherlock. He was alive.
"John..." He heard Sherlock whisper. "Please... let me."
John looked up at the taller man, taking him in, he looked like himself, yet so different. He looked older, paler and tired. "Go on" He stuttered.
"I couldn't tell you, if Moriarty's people had thought I'd lived. Especially after he'd died. They would have killed you. I couldn't let that happen." John could here the pain in Sherlock's voice as he talked about the night of his "death".
What John had read in Sherlock's Dairy all started to make sense now. He's eyes where being opened and he was seeing everything clearly. Something Sherlock had always been able to do.
"Then why now? Why wait so long?"
"I had to wait until I was sure that no one would come after you, because of me. Please understand John. I did this to protect you, because I lo-" He cut himself off. "Because I care about you."
John heard Sherlock's slip up, and suddenly remember the day at the grave yard.
I love you John
John stood, locking eyes with Sherlock. The dairy falling to the floor. Sherlock flinched away, sure John was going to hit him.
"I know I hurt you John, if I could have done this any other way. I would have. I.."
"I know Sherlock. I love you too."
Sherlock's eyes widened. His body glowed. Everything about him was perfect thought John.
The slowly moved together. Their bodies fitting together in perfect unison. Their mouths pressed against each other, as they kissed.
It started slow, gentle... but soon it became rough. Full of desperation. And years worth of longing.
They fell on to the bed, together holding each other tight as their kiss broke part. They lay there staring in to each others eyes.
and soon fell asleep in each other arms. John had his Sherlock back. And Sherlock had his John.