A/N: Best to be read along with Mozart's Canon in D.
Disclaimer: I own not a single hair on any single character's head.
"Is it true?"
John looks out the window of the therapist's office. "Yes."
"Tell me what is true, John." She's persistent isn't she?
"He's dead."
"Who?"
"Sherlock Holmes."
The words rip at John's heart.
"Did he say anything before he died?"
"Yes."
"What did he say, John?"
"He said he was a fake."
"Was he?"
"Yes."
"There were times when I thought you were alive, when I thought maybe you could have faked your death. There are moments when I wanted to find you and kill you for putting me through that. Now I just can't think about it anymore. I don't think about it. You're dead, and I know that now. It's been far too long to believe anymore. I will see you then, Sherlock. I'll see you again."
"He's a fake." John watches the rain pour against the window of the office. "He told me himself he was, right before he jumped. Just didn't want to believe it myself, I guess."
"But you believe it now?"
"I have to."
She writes a few notes down in her folder. "What makes you believe he was a fake?"
"No one could know everything he did. It was inhuman."
"I recall that at one point, John, you told me that he could do just that."
"You were such a beautiful human being, even if you were a git sometimes. You were bloody brilliant. Of course, that may just have been you acting. I can't believe you'd do those things. I didn't know you, though, so how could I know why you did it? You are a fake, plain and simple."
"I guess we're done for today, then." She stands along with John, reaching a hand out to shake.
"Great. I'll see you next week, hmm?"
"Actually, John, I don't think you'll need me anymore."
"I—I'm sorry?"
She sighs. "John, you've admitted multiple times exactly what you think. You've accepted truth, and you've shown a major improvement. Now, to my standards, you are ready to be released of my sessions."
John paces around the flat, a bit weary. His work at the surgery has been weighing on him so much lately; Sarah decided to give him more of a workload since the New Year began. He mumbles about appointments and prescriptions and lack of sleep as he starts making tea.
"Black. Two sugars."
The baritone voice startles him, making him spill the hot water all over his arms. "Damn!" he shouts. Quickly, he grabs a dish towel from the cupboard and spins to confront the disembodied voice. "Who…" There is no one in the flat, not that he can see. So he rounds the corner, searching the stairway, the front room. "It couldn't have been…"
John is sure the voice was in his head—there was no way that was Sherlock. However, the doctor is shaken, even a bit unsteady as he has to sit down to collect himself. It had been so real, he thinks, so close.
"You really killed me, you know. For a while I was sort of broken—I wanted to believe you so bad. I wanted to believe in you. Ha. I was just believing in a fairytale. God, when I saw you jump…eh…I thought that was the end. But I had hope, you know? You took that away."
Deciding that an early bedtime would be nice, the doctor trudges up to his room. He lets out a small humph as he realizes he still has to clear out the boxes, and proceeds to search his closet.
"John."
He whips around, his eyes taking in everything behind him—his dresser, the doorway, the hall. There's nothing there, nothing to make a noise, and yet…
"Who are you?" John's words echo loudly in the flat. Nothing.
He slowly turns back to his wardrobe, picks out his nightwear, and leaves to take his shower.
"But I shouldn't have had hope anyway, should I? Oh, God, I was so naïve. I wanted you to be real. I wanted you to save me, didn't I? You were so larger-than-life, so full of a certain danger and unpredictable-ness that I thought I needed. Hell, maybe I did need it."
"John, we're leaving."
"Right, well. This will be the last time, then? The last time I talk to you. Oh, what a relief. Well. Ah, ehem. I will try to forget you, like you said." John touched his hand to the top of the tombstone for only a second before doing an about-face and walking towards Ms. Hudson and the cab.