AN: This is my first fanfiction so read an enjoy and review if you'd like to see more :) -Kathleen x
John knew this was pretty heartless but he wasn't as upset over Sherlock's death as everyone thought he was. He hadn't cried at his funeral and still hasn't cried for three years since that fateful day Sherlock plummeted to his death. Although he almost cried twice in the first few weeks, once at his therapist and once confessing unsaid things at the simple black tombstone, Sherlock Holmes inscripted in gold lettering.
Even if John wasn't emotionally unstable, he had his moments when no one was around. Back at Baker Street he often sat in Sherlock's armchair or the couch where he so often sulked and thought of everything they had done together in the short years they had known each other. He often thought of when Mycroft had brought them to Buckingham Palace, when John arrived Sherlock had been sitting there in nothing but a sheet. They had quite a chuckle at that, later on Sherlock showing him the ashtray he had stolen under all their noses.
John smiled, and thought of The Woman, he didn't know why he was smiled maybe it was the thought of Sherlock annoying the piss out of Irene Adler in heaven (if it did exist). John got up and made tea thinking about the one time Sherlock had made him tea, how awful it tasted when they had been researching H.O.U.N.D and Sherlock said the sugar was drugged. It wasn't that long after when he had committed suicide, John couldn't remember if Sherlock looked blissful or relieved as he fell. But what he did remember most was how Sherlock really cried in that final conversation.
"Goodbye, John."
He cringed and felt a pang in his chest, dammit. He hadn't thought that far along in a long time, and this time it really hurt. Tears stung his eyes, his heart pounding, maybe it hurt more than he let on. But it wasn't gonna change anything, he was dead and never coming back. Arrogant arse, he was never gonna step through the door beckoning for John to follow him on another case. Or wallow in his misery when he was bored, or shoot the walls or make snarky remarks about John's jumpers or-
"John."
A tear dripped onto his cheek another followed until they were blurring his vision annd soaking his neck and jumper.
"No." He whispered and heard a few footsteps walking towards the armchair.
He squeezed his eyes shut, tears still leaking out. A cold hand was placed on his cheek and he gasped.
"John." Sherlock said again, his deep baritone voice slipping like silk around him, and he opened his eyes.
"No." John said a bit louder this time. "You're dead. I-I saw you jump. I saw your body, blood pooling-." He choked on his tears and the thought of blood pooling around Sherlock's black locks.
But the tears had stopped, all John felt now was anger. Staring right up into Sherlock's gray-blue eyes he said "Liar."
Sherlock's look was confused and slightly shocked. He moved the hand off his cheek and stood up straight.
"Not the reaction I was expecting John, honestly. You could have done anything, although I was betting on you punching me. This, though this is shocking." He said looking quite smug.
"Oh I'll shock you alright." John grumbled.
"Hmm?" Was the response.
And that"s just what John did, he stood up and walked to Sherlock"s room, opening up the top drawer to his desk he pulled out a taser. Sherlock had stolen it for an 'experiment' awhile ago and John had found it while going through his stuff.
John knew Sherlock would follow him so when he heard the footsteps stop behind him he turned around and pressed the trigger. The darts shot out sticking into Sherlock's body, jolting him with 50 thousand volts of electricity. Sherlock's body froze stiff and he fell into John's arms and he layed him on the bed, to wait out the effects of the taser. He plucked out the darts placing the whole thing on the bedside table.
"Told you." Was his fleeting remark.