Chapter 1: "Come wake me up" by Rascal Flatts

John

John sat in the pub, staring down at his pint, trying to drink away the pain of losing Sherlock, his best friend and the man he loved, the man who would never know how much John cared for him and longed for his presence.

Most nights, John could drink Sherlock right off his mind, but tonight was different. Tonight was the two year anniversary of that godforsaken day. The day he lost his best friend, and the only person he would ever truly love.

He finished his drink and left the pub, a little wobbly on his feet, and walked to the cemetery. He had gone there every day since Sherlock's death, it made him feel that sherlock was still there with him, that he never truly left.

"Hi. Me again," he started. He looked down at the stone and sighed, the familiar empty feeling in the pit of his stomach made him feel sick. He took a shaky breath and continued. "I miss you, Sherlock, so much." He sat down across from the grave. He stared it down for a while, afraid to speak. "It's been getting harder, you know. Everyday, I try to move on, but everything is so dull compared to how it used to be. You said you weren't a hero, but you were to me, Sherlock." It was now that tears started to spill down John's cheeks, but he ignored them. "You took me when I was a broken, lonely man, and put me back together again. You made me feel important, made me feel excitement and adrenaline that I thought I would never feel again after getting shot." John sniffled, then continued. "Sometimes I want to join you, Sherlock. Sometimes I wonder what the point is in life. I loved you Sherlock, and I still do, but it makes everything so much harder. I love you, so bloody much. You put meaning and excitement back in my life, only to tear it away from me again, and I hated you for that. But then, I think of your eyes, your laugh, your beautiful curls, your Cupid's-bow lips, and your amazing ability to read someone's past as though it were a book, just sitting in the open, and all the hate and anger is replaced with love. Love, and longing, and sorrow, and hurt. So please, Sherlock, for me, don't be dead."

He sat there for a moment, staring at the black marble as though it were Sherlock himself. He started to get up, but was stopped short when a hand gripped his shoulder in a firm, but caring way, and the oh so familiar baritone voice said "I'm so, so sorry, John."

Sherlock

Sherlock rolled his window down and lit his last cigarette. Sebastian Moran was dead, and it was finally time to go back home.

He glanced out of his window as familiar lights passed the tinted glass, and he couldn't help but smile as the driver turned onto Baker Street. He jumped out of the car he had been trapped in since Amsterdam and ran up the stairs in sets of two. It had been two years, and he wanted nothing more than to see John again. H burst through the door to the flat to find it empty.

"John?" he called out. No answer. "John!" he called again. Still nothing. He ran throughout the flat looking for his blogger, but found nobody. He thought of where the doctor could have gone to, and then it hit him. He ran outside and hailed a cab, and told the driver to take him to the cemetery.

When they got there, Sherlock paid the cabby and walked the short distance to his grave, wanting nothing more than to run up to the familiar figure crouching down by it, but he stopped short when he heard some of what the doctor was saying.
"... I want to join you, Sherlock. Sometimes I wonder what the point in life is."

No… no, John.

"I loved you Sherlock, and I still do, but it makes everything so much harder. I love you, so bloody much."

I love you too, John.

"You put meaning and excitement back in my life, only to tear it away from me again, and I hated you for that."

Sherlock's heart broke when he heard those words. He hates me.

"But then, I think of your eyes, your laugh, your beautiful curls, your Cupid's-bow lips, and your amazing ability to read someone's past as though it were a book, just sitting in the open, and all the hate and anger is replaced with love.

Sherlock smiled when he heard that part. He doesn't hate me.

"Love, and longing, and sorrow, and hurt. So please, Sherlock, for me, don't be dead."

Sherlock stayed in his place a few feet behind John for only a moment, replaying part of John's monologue through his head.

I love you, so bloody much.

John started to get up and Sherlock made his move. He put his hand on John's shoulder, making the soldier stop dead in his tracks. "I'm so, so sorry, John."

XXX

John stood up and turned around, coming face to face with the consulting detective he thought he had lost forever. He didn't know what to say, so he just stood there, keeping his eyes locked on Sherlock's.
"Sh-Sherlock?" he questioned.
The detective just smiled a small smile and nodded his head. "Yes, John. It's me."
John looked down. He didn't quite know what to do. All at once he wanted to cry, scream, swear, punch Sherlock square in the face, push him away and hold him close and never let him go. But when he looked Sherlock in the eyes, his arms flew out and wrapped around the detective, hugging him tight. He was a bit surprised when he felt the detective's arms wrap around him as well, tentatively at first, but then gaining strength and hold him as firm as he was holding Sherlock.
"I'm so sorry John."
"You bloody well should be," the doctor sobbed out. "Two bloody years, Sherlock!"
"I know, but I had to. Moriarty had snipers aimed at you, Lestrade and Mrs. Hudson that would shoot you if they didn't see me fall. I didn't want to hurt you, John. I'm so sorry."
"Why were you gone so long?" the doctor choked out. He didn't protest when he felt a hand run up and down his back soothingly.
"I had to take down Moriarty's web."
"Did anyone know?"
"John-"
"Did anyone know?" he asked firmly.
Sherlock was quiet for a moment. "Yes. Molly and Mycroft. They helped me with it."
"Why not me?" He heard the doctor question quietly, not trusting his voice. It broke Sherlock's heart to hear him so hurt.
"It had to be believable. I really am sorry John."
John didn't answer right away. "How much of that little speech did you hear?"
"All of it."
"Oh." Sherlock could almost feel the heat radiating from John's cheeks. He took John's ching gently in his own, and tilted the doctor's head up.
"I love you too, John." And with that being said, he slowly lowered his lips and gently pressed them to John's.

John was still for a moment, still trying to comprehend everything that had happened in the last two minutes, but before Sherlock could pull away, his lips started to work with the detective's less experienced ones. He put his hand on the back of Sherlock's neck while Sherlock cupped his face and pulled him closer.

They kissed until they had to pull back for air, but continued to look each other in the eye. Sherlock leaned in again and kissed the tears off John's beautiful face before placing a tender kiss on John's forehead. He then pulled John's head onto his chest and John willingly rested it there, enjoying the sound of his love's heartbeat and the feel of Sherlock's hand stroking the back of his head calmingly, one hand still wrapped around his back. Sherlock's embrace then lowered so that his arms were around John's waist as the doctor's arms wrapped around his own.

Sherlock leaned down and placed a kiss on the top of John's head before nuzzling his nose in his hair, taking in the intoxicating scent of John that he had missed so much. "I love you," he whispered, "and I hope that I can keep the promise that I will never have to leave you like that again."
John smiled, understanding what he meant. "I love you too. And you better keep that promise. Don't leave me again, please, Sherlock. I don't think I could handle losing you again," he responded, his voice muffled by the fabric of the scarf.
Sherlock was silent for a moment. Should he promise that? What if this situation arose again? Finally he found a way to word the promise that he so much wanted to keep. "I promise, John, that if your life is not in jeopardy, I will not leave you again. I know that that isn't the promise you wanted, but it's all I can promise you. Please, don't ask anything more from me, because I would and will gladly die if it means you stay safe."
He could feel John smile even through his many layers. "I would do the same for you, Sherlock. Let's go home." Sherlock nodded and John called for a cab.

He had gotten back to his heart, now it was time to get back home.

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