The lines between reality and wishful thinking were blurred. After the Fall, John had been numb; he didn't want what he saw to be true but he couldn't ignore the empirical evidence he had felt at the scene. He had answered all of Greg's questions with a detached monotone. It wasn't until he got home that it really sunk in.
Sherlock was dead.
John made it to Sherlock's and his room before collapsing on the bed, sobbing from his loss. He fell asleep crying, darkness pulling him under.
A few hours later John came back to himself he could swear he heard Sherlock murmuring apologies. He squeezed his eyes closed tighter not wanting to shatter the illusion. It stopped a few moments later with illusion Sherlock saying "I promise I will come back to you."
With those words the warm presence was gone and John quietly cried himself back to sleep.
xXx
A few weeks later John crashed into bed from a grueling day trying to prove Moriarty was real. As he drifted off to sleep holding Sherlock's pillow tight his heart ached because the bed was losing his smell.
A few hours later John drifted awake when he felt the warm presence and a hand ghosting over his head in a petting motion.
"Proving I wasn't a fraud doesn't matter to me."
"It's important to me." John murmured back sleepily.
The petting feeling stopped suddenly then resumed when John didn't move.
"I know but you have to take better care of yourself."
"Doesn't matter."
"Yes it does, you matter to me."
John shifted and the warm presence quickly disappeared. He opened his eyes, looking to where he had felt the presence but no one was there. John sighed and closed his eyes, the hole in his heart aching because for a moment the sheets smelled like Sherlock once again.
xXx
The hallucinations of Sherlock coming to him while he slept were becoming more vivid. During the last hallucination, before the ghost had left John could have sworn he felt a kiss pressed to his cheek, but when he had opened his eyes there was no one there like always.
This time John came back to consciousness with the feeling of long nimble fingers massaging his scalp. He had started to realize that these hallucinations didn't go away if he pretended to be asleep.
Keeping his breathing slow and shallow he listened to what the ghost of Sherlock was saying.
"I miss you John. I know I come and visit you all the time but I miss being able to properly hold you. To feel you hold me, to be able to kiss you and be kissed in return."
There was a pause when the hand slid down his neck and started to rub gentle circles, slowly working out the knots in John's back.
"I never said it before because I was afraid you didn't feel the same way, but not having you has made me admit how I truly feel. I love you John."
John stopped breathing and started to pull out of his half sleep because those words had been like a knife to the heart. The feeling of hands and the warm presence he associated with Sherlock's ghost disappeared and John woke up to an empty bed, his heart racing. The hallucinations had been painful but never had they been this excruciating.
xXx
John was walking around London when he stopped in sheer panic. His hallucinations of Sherlock were becoming more frequent but never had he experienced them when he was fully awake.
But there he was. Sherlock. He was dressed in some rigidity clothes and looked like he hadn't had a shower in weeks, but John recognized that strut any where. It was one of arrogant superiority that the person knew he was smarter than everyone around him and was willing to lord it over them. Not to mention the beard the man had did nothing to hide the very prominent and very familiar cheekbones.
John felt like he couldn't breathe despite the deep inhales he was taking, so he turned around and did the one thing he vowed not to do.
He marched straight into the nearest pub, right up to the bar and ordered a drink. When a brimming pint was set down in front of him, John picked it up and chugged it down, ordering another when he set down the empty stein.
It was an hour or two later and him barely able to stand that the pretty blonde bartender cut John off asking, "Do you have anyone to come get you?"
"No he's dead." John replied as he staggered out of the pub.
xXx
"I only continued after that because the hallucinations had seemed to stop." John ended the story, two sets of eyes on him.
He was in Ella's office with Sherlock, his therapist had requested a session with the genius there to observe his and John's relationship. Ella was looking at John with the neutral expression she always wore when he revealed parts of himself. Sherlock was sitting next to him sadness deeply rooted in his expression.
"John I'm so sorry." Sherlock apologized.
"No it's not your fault, just my own poor coping habits." John replied.
"No it is my fault...those weren't hallucinations." Sherlock stated, his voice quiet.
"Wait what?" John asked sharply.
"I couldn't help myself, while my investigation of Moriarty's web kept me in London I snuck into the flat while you were sleeping."
"What, why?"
"I thought you were asleep and thus oblivious to my presence. Had I known the damage I was causing I would have stayed away."
"I'm not mad I just wish you would have woken me and ended the suffering." John lamented.
"So do I." Sherlock agreed.