Sherlock, you're gone. I have tried to accept it but I am beginning to feel it is impossible. You will never recieve this. You're gone. But I can't believe it. I won't believe it. One last miracle, for me. The words I whisper as I cry. I can't believe anything. Your face is everywhere I turn, what if it's real? Sherlock. I can't hold back any longer.
I love you.
Don't be dead.
I will hold your hand again.
I know it.
Just, don't be dead.
I love you.
-JW

I'm so sorry, John. –SH

Who are you? How are you on his phone? –JW

I bet it's you, isn't it? You're sick Moriarty. I love him. –JW

It's me, John, truly. Please, forgive me. –SH

You're dead.. Prove it. Tell me things that no one else can -JW

The first thing I ever said to you was 'Afghanistan or Iraq'? And you handed your phone over, just like that. No questions asked. I've known from the start, you know. –SH

You prick. –JW

I love you. –JW

I know. The feeling is mutual. –SH

You were never one for expressing emotion, Holmes –JW

Come see me. -JW

You know where I am –JW

Of course. -SH

I really am sorry, John. –SH

You hurt me so much. I couldn't believe them, Sherlock. You were never a fraud; you were too good to be. -JW

I never intended to cause you any pain. I simply wanted to ensure your safety. -SH

I know. But it hurt.
Why didn't you tell me it was mutual? I know you knew. One kiss would've given me all the hope I needed. One "I love you".
The butterflies when you took my hand that night, Sherlock, they were out of control. As we ran through those streets, I never once wanted to let you go. -JW

I didn't quite know how to approach the subject.
Though people are easy to pick apart on the surface, all of the tangles of emotions simply wrap themselves around in my head and constrict my thoughts. -SH

Sherlock, I want to help you clear those thoughts. Emotions, darling. They are wonderful. I will teach you the wonders of emotions, one day. One day, when we meet again, I promise, that I will unwind the tangled mess constricting your thoughts. When we're together, it will be known. –JW

I dared not even try to resume contact before now. This phone, it's full of drafted messages, none of which I was confident enough to send - the unease was only partly because of the situation; I knew you were perfectly safe. I just didn't trust myself to react appropriately upon returning. -SH

What kind of messages? Sherlock, I must know.
How would you have reacted inappropriately? -JW

I regretfully must inform you that, since leaving so abruptly, my life has been far from the usual. I am afraid you would not approve of my current state. -SH

I would approve you in any state, Sherlock. –JW

I doubt the truth in that statement. -SH

The statement is truthful! I love you, Sherlock Holmes. I love you so much that no matter how messed up you may be, I will accept you. Under no circumstance will I shut you out of my life. -JW

Do I have your blessing to return? Just for a little while - I do not feel entirely ready to resume normality at present. -SH

You have my blessing to stay forever if you please. However long you may choose. I understand that you might not be ready, but I can help. –JW

I will be back within the hour. Your approval is greatly appreciated. -SH

I trust you know where I am? –JW

I have been keeping a tab on your whereabouts. –SH

So, Sherlock, where am I? –JW

You recently returned to your old flat on the other side of London. Inconvenient, at best - you continue to visit my grave routinely, which is a mighty journey for someone of your emotional state at the moment. -SH

Hardest thing I've ever done, packing up 221B. But I had to, the time had come. -JW

Wait, you've seen me? –JW

I may have joined you for your habitual lunchtime conversations with the gravestone on occasion. –SH

How much did you hear? –JW

Enough. The willpower I had to summon to prevent me replying, it drained me. –SH

I'm sorry you had to hear that. I never intended to cause you any strain. –JW

You were perfectly entitled to your own coping mechanisms, John. Please, don't think of my wellbeing. -SH

Sherlock, when will you see that your well-being is all that has ever mattered to me since the day we met? –JW

I am but a mere vessel in the world, full of facts and logic and method. That day at the hospital, my unforgivable actions, they were all in your favour. I matter not in terms of health, nor of emotional stability, only in my ability to perform. –SH

Don't talk like that. You mean everything to me. You matter in every way. You're in my every thought. You're perfect to me. Believe it, Sherlock. You are the love of my life. –JW

You were speaking the truth, then? I assumed your words were simply a product of my absence, though I refused to fully accept the probability. -SH

Of course I was speaking the truth. I, John Watson, am in love with you, Sherlock Holmes. I will not lose you. –JW

Please accept my most sincere apologies for my actions. If there is anything else I can possibly do to prove that then please, tell me now. -SH

Your apology is unnecessary, Sherlock. Just hearing from you has made me happier than I have ever been. -JW

If I had known that my correspondence would have provoked such happiness, I am sure I would have acted sooner. -SH

Sherlock, there is one thing I need from you. –JW

Anything. Please, just say it. -SH

Three words. I need to hear it from you, Sherlock. -JW

Would the words be better verbalised than typed out on this tiny screen? -SH

I need you here with me, Sherlock. I always have. But for now, this needs to suffice, or I may not make it to being able to see you. -JW

I believe your answer would have been slightly different had I mentioned I am stood on your porch. -SH

What? -JW

No. -JW

This is surreal. –JW

It's freezing outside. –SH

Come inside. Now. I need to see you. –JW

Am I not to be granted the courtesy of not having to pick the lock? -SH

I did not want to break this to you over a text. I cannot let you in, Sherlock. I am ill. -JW

How so, John? I assume any truly visible ailments would have been obvious to me. -SH

I assumed so too... -JW

They say love can make you blind, I never expected it to apply to you, Sherlock Holmes. -JW

Please, enlighten me? My brain is too addled to adequately delve into the various possibilities. -SH

I'm dying, Sherlock. Cancer. -JW

How much time do you have left, if I may be so bold as to ask? -SH

Not long, Sherlock. When I thought you were gone, I didn't want to be treated. I wanted to let it kill me, for an excuse to be with you. -JW

My fingers are trembling too harshly to concentrate on unlocking this door. -SH

I don't want to hurt you. -JW

It is me who owes you the meagre compensation of seeing me again. -SH

You don't owe me anything Sherlock. You've shown me love. I cannot ask anything else of you. -JW

I love you, John Hamish Watson. -SH

That's all I needed.
Sherlock, I am going. But you must stay. I'll always be with you, remember that.
I will tell you one last time, Sherlock. I love you. I always will.
Keep me close.
Kind regards,
Dr. John H. Watson. -JW

John, please, don't do this. -SH

I beg of you. Anything I have done in the past to bother you, I will rectify wholeheartedly. Please, just stay with me. -SH

I'll always stay with you Sherlock. -JW

You can't leave, not now. -SH

Sherlock, I'm sorry. -JW

I'll do anything, anything at all. Just please, stay here a little longer. -SH

It's beyond my power. -JW

There must be some way we can keep you stable for a little while longer. -SH

Please, let me try. -SH

Come inside, Sherlock. Kiss me. I need to feel your lips against mine, just once before I go. –JW

"I'm here," Sherlock whispered quietly, shutting the door to the unkept flat softly as he entered the room. "I'm sorry, John."

"Come closer," John whimpered in the dark room. "Please."

Sherlock took step after tentative step across the carpeted floor, his eyes straining to see in the dim light from behind the drapes. Kneeling beside the other man, his hand crept up to rest on John's knee, his thumb caressing the fabric of his trousers gently. "I'm-". He tried to speak, but the words were sticking painfully in his throat.

"When they told me I was dying," John stammered, "I wasn't even scared."
"I'm sorry," Sherlock choked.

"I love you, John. All of my life, I have lived with these incessant thoughts, always dancing around and making my head spin. You calmed them."

"I love you, Sherlock. That's all you need to know. I'll always be here. I love you," trembled John. He leaned his head into Sherlock's, so that their foreheads connected. He felt the shaking breath of the love of his life wisp across his face.

Slowly, and as carefully as he could muster with his whole body still shaking slightly, Sherlock let his lips brush gently against John's. This was all so surreal; his mind was whirring, faster and faster, desperately trying to make sense of the situation.

Tears streamed down the faces of the two men as their lips touched one more time.
"Promise me, Sherlock, that you will love me forever."
"I promise, John. Nothing could replace you."
Their lips touched again, and as they kissed, John Hamish Watson drew his final breath.

Sherlock withdrew his head, and the absent sound of John's rhythmic breathing was immediately apparent. Sinking further to the floor, the man dipped his head as tears began to roll over his face and onto the carpet below.

All was lost, now, and the room was quiet, save for the soft sound of the occasional shaky breath.

Sherlock could not believe it. He crawled under the covers of John's bed, wrapping himself in the smell of his deceased love. His silent tears became cries of pain.
"WHY?!" he screamed. The pain was unbearable. He could not be repaired.
He took the shotgun from John's bedside table and put it to his head, his sobs choked and pained.

His hand shook with the mere effort of lifting the thing, and his finger twitched over the trigger as he sat cross legged on the floor.
With a deep breath, he screwed his eyes tight shut, and his hand wavered for a second before the unmistakable sound of the gunshot rang out through the flat.

SherlockHolmes had not shot himself.
As he was about to pull the trigger, John's words echoed through his mind.
"Sherlock, I am going. But you must stay. I'll always be with you, remember that."

The bullet had lodged itself in the wall opposite.
Sherlock didn't even try to notice.
Pulling his knees up closer to his chest, he exhaled noisily, still shaking slightly. The weapon lay at his feet, temporarily forgotten.

Sleep did not come easy for Sherlock Holmes for the following months. Every time he closed his eyes, he would see John's face; feel his breath. He would be reduced to tears once again, knowing that no matter what he wished for, John Hamish Watson was never returning to his London flat.