Sherlock drabble.
Johnlock reunion after the Fall.
Roses are red
His scarf was blue
If he doesn't turn up soon
I might have to jump, too
-JW
John walked into the flat at 221B Baker Street. He took off his coat and put it on a sofa, not bothering to even say hello to Mrs. Hudson. Nothing mattered anymore, really. He was gone. The man who brought him back to life was gone. He had seen Sherlock die.
He wasn't quite sure why did it bother him so much. He had seen a lot of people die. Some of his friends died, too. If he dared to call Sherlock his friend, then it shouldn't be that big of a difference than all the soldiers in Afghanistan, right? He was an army doctor. He had seen a lot of blood. Then why did Sherlock's matter? He couldn't answer that question.
He looked around the flat. The kitchen table was just as he left it. Covered in experiments he'd never finish. He had cleaned a bit, thought, just so he could eat there, but he didn't do that very often. Mostly because he couldn't make himself to look into the refrigerator. God knows what body part did his former flatmate leave in it. The thought of that made him smile, even just a little bit. His smile disappeared when he heard a knock. He frowned; who could that be? Even Lestrade stopped visiting him. No one could stand being in the same room with Mr. John Misery Watson, but John understood. Not even he could cope with himself. So if it was Lestrade knocking, he'd spare him from a talk. The knocking continued, but John just ignored it. He had gotten quite good at ignoring people in the past few months. The knocking stopped and John relaxed in his chair. Probably nothing, maybe he even imagined that. But he was sure he didn't imagine the door shriek as it opened.
"Hello?"John called, his eyes widening a bit. Who was that? He dared to look at the door. A tall, but slouched figure was standing in front of the door, his back turned to John. John sighed. He was definitely imagining this. No one was that tall, no one had that figure except...
"Oh dear Lord."John stood up, his actions lightning fast. His hand covered his mouth, his brown eyes widened even more in shock. "Sh-sherlock?"He stuttered out. The figure at the door turned around. Beside the slouch and a face even paler than before, it was him. His flatmate. His friend. Sherlock. John just stood there, paralyzed by the sight of a man he had thought was dead.
"I've heard what you said to Lestrade a couple of weeks ago."Sherlock started, his baritone quiet, but understandable. "I've heard that you wanted to jump off the St Barts."
"H-how did you...?"
"It doesn't matter. Tell me did you really mean it."Sherlock's voice turned into the one John knew very well. Impatient, harsh, insulting.
"I-I- Sherlock, but, how-"John stammered. How was he alive?
"How am I alive?"Sherlock asked, like he read John's thoughts. A blank look on his face turned into a smile. A real smile, not a you're-an-idiot smile. John had rarely seen it. "Oh, John. You still underestimate me. You asked me to not be dead. And I'm not."
That. That had done it. John ran towards Sherlock, wrapping his hands around Sherlock's chest (because he couldn't reach any higher).
"Sherlock!"John said, tears which he kept inside his eyes finally getting out, so fast it ruined Sherlock's shirt almost instantly.
"So you really thought I was dead?"Sherlock said, laughing. John felt the laughter before he heard it, a rumble coming from his chest. Sherlock hugged John back, the best as he could, because John was holding onto him in a rather odd way."Nah. Death is boring."