Disclaimer: All content belongs to BBC and more importantly, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. (Thank you for bestowing your loveliness upon us in literature and for creating so many slashy, Johnlock Shipping Fangirls (AND BOYS) Sir!) If I Owned this, They would have kissed already, folks. Hopefully this hasn't been tedious to read I always try to make my pre story text slightly humorus. If you didn't read, GOOD FOR YOU! YOU HAVE FINALLY REALIZED HOW UTTERLY USELESS IT IS TO READ EVERY DISCLAIMER YOU SEE! To tell you the truth, the only purpose they serve is in legality which matters not to most fanfiction readers and writers.
WARNING: Slash...dumb warning. Also my OC plays a minor part in this. Her name is Enid and she is John's cousin who lives in America. :P She really doesn't matter all that much.
ENJOY
SHERLOCK POV
It's difficult to describe. Think about that. Me. Sherlock Holmes. At a loss for words. I admire him, Moriarty I mean. He is brilliant, lovely, poetic, beautiful, intelligent. But I hate him. He ruined everything. And more than him I despise myself. I am a deplorable excuse for a human. Moriarty forced me into hiding but I let myself form relationships that made it hard to do so. I can't stand it. Every day I write a letter to John and don't send it. He is in emotional turmoil. It is not difficult to believe that he is in love with me. I fell for him all too hard. John is everything, the only thing, I have ever truly loved. John. Seeing him at my grave was too much. I'm shaking. I've started having muscle tremors. I'm insane. Tears. Why…why crying I don't do that what is happening? I ducked back behind the tree. John was crying too. I love him.
No I don't. I don't love anyone. I'm a machine. I have no feelings. I don't love John. My hand has a rather violent jerk upwards and I'm sure John heard me sniffle. But he didn't. If he did, he thought nothing of it.
Oh but I do love him. My stomach gives a terrible lurch. I crumble inwards. My shoulders cave in, my legs crossed and my head practically in my lap, my hands tugging at my hair. Couldn't a storm show up and out rain the one inside of me? Couldn't a car drive up and not see me in the now darkened atmosphere outside this bar and kill me? Or Moriarty. Why can't he have faked his death as well? Then he could kill me. No he wouldn't. He loves this. He loves when I become normal. When my brain goes from perfection to average. From mechanism to emotional. He loves…loved…is…was…I don't know anymore. Who died? Everybody died? Am I dead? No. No Moriarty is dead. John…John is alive. But he thinks I'm dead. John….
When I woke, a young woman was tending to me. She said she was a bartender. She looked slightly amused when I asked her what country I was in. The United States, was her answer. Winced at my headache. She helped me up and sat me in a booth in the bar she worked at. Apparently I was there last night too. The bar had two people there. They were unimportant. I felt myself tip over and lie down in the seat and then she put a cloth on my head and gave me ginger ale. I went for my wallet but she wouldn't take my money. Very nice lady. I ask her name. She won't tell me. I wonder why. She looks familiar. She looks like John but female. And younger. Much younger. Still at an age when her brain isn't marred by war, and psychopathic murderers, and distress. She smiles at me from where she is cleaning the counter when she notices I am examining her. She looks like him when she smiles too...
JOHN POV
Every Sunday. I get in a cab every Sunday and go to see him. He doesn't see me and technically I couldn't see him but I like to think I was paying him a visit. I will sit down by his grave and keep him up to date. New murder case solved. Lestrade did a good job Sherlock. And I will imagine his scathing retort. "When was the last time those words were applied to Lestrade?" And I will smirk slightly but scold him behind my hidden laughter. Anderson dusted for prints around the bedpost and found… and he will interrupt, "Anderson knows how to do that?" Sarcastically. And now I can't help but laugh, knowing he would have something right along those lines. Others in the cemetery will then look over at me angrily or with pity. Knowing I have lost my ruddy mind. I've bloody lost it. I'm a lunatic but I still love him. I will always love him and remember him and cherish him and… and love him. And I still go about the day as if he were here. I fix a whole kettle of tea, too much for me alone, and pour the remains into the sink at the end of the day. Fool forgot to drink his tea again. I make it for him every morning and every morning he forgets. And now I am breaking down. It happens every once and a while. I just crumple to the floor and my shoulders heave as I remember him and sob. I sit in his room just to smell what was his essence but even that now is unfamiliar. He is gone and pretending won't last me. But there is absolutely nothing I can do about it. Its over. I should have done something while I had the chance. Had Moriarty not killed himself, I would have done the honors. I would have murdered him brutally. Hands on, mutilating, defacing, murder. Because he ruined my life and took Sherlock's. It isn't fair. What did Sherlock ever do?
SHERLOCK POV
"I'm his cousin." She said when she sat down across from me with an amber coloured drink in a tall clear glass.
"…Who?" I stuttered quietly.
"John of course. He thinks you're dead."
"I am dead."
"No." She waved a finger at me. "You're pretending to be dead."
"For his safety. I have to remain dead."
She huffed and looked down into her drink. "He misses you."
And I lose it. I bang my fists down on the table. "I KNOW! Do you not think I miss him? I followed him for a year to make sure he was okay. HE WASN"T! He's losing it! Going just as insane as I!" She sat back in her chair and steepled her hands in a way similar to the way I used to do when I was thinking.
"Why did you stop following him?" She asked calmly.
"Lestrade said if I wanted to protect him I should stay away, and OH did I want him safe. If anything happened to him I would bloody tear apart the world and everyone in it."
"Something has happened to him." She said.
Frozen. Now I was frozen in place. "What's happened?"
"He's lost his only friend."
JOHN POV
My cousin Enid called me. I almost didn't answer. When I did she said she was coming to visit. I let out a sigh and agreed halfheartedly. She arrived very quickly the next day. The knock at the door was loud. I opened it.
That's not Enid. That's… "You…You're dead." Behind him stood Enid and Mycroft. Sherlock couldn't have looked more indifferent. His face was set with a slight smile. His shoulders were pushed back and head parallel. He looked the same as he used to. Nothing had changed, but everything had. "You…are…dead. You have been for three years."
"Fake." He stated simply. "Could I come in?"
I stared at him flabbergasted. "Fake. Could I come in?" I repeated. The corners of his mouth turned downward a bit. "THREE YEARS YOU BASTARD!" He winced. "How could you do that?! How could you just leave like that!" I put my hands on his shoulders and squeezed roughly. "How can you stand here and smile after all this time and expect me to…to what? To just go back to the way things were?" My voice cracked over the sobs I was holding back. He hung his head. He hung his head? But Sherlock didn't have guilt… A wet teardrop fell onto my bare foot. Sherlock was crying. Sherlock didn't do that. I gently pulled him into an embrace. Mycroft and Enid stood behind us, Mycroft looking straight ahead at the wall, Enid looking at me and smiling. Sherlock's arms went from his sides to around my waist. I pulled away to look at him with a painful smile. He grinned back. Enid motioned for Mycroft to leave along with her. He looked at her incredulously. She beckoned and walked away. He waved at us in confusion and followed. I pulled Sherlock in by his hand. He looked around. His skull, sitting where it had been. His robe, hanging on the coat hanger. His laptop on the coffee table. Mine beside it. He looked at me. I motioned towards the table where his place was set. "Don't forget to drink your tea."