Headlines: Set after Series2, Episode 3
"I suppose no one's brought you a paper?" I brandish the newsprint before me like a weapon. Or a shield. I point, annoyed to the headline.
"Crime Lord Dead. Holmes Forgiven." I stare at the gravestone as if expecting a response.
"Big Wig Mycroft Holmes collaborates younger brother's story. Population weeps at loss of genius. I guess you like that last bit."
As usual the stone remains silent.
"You complete idiot. You absolute, stupid fool. With all your brains couldn't you figure out they would forgive you in the end. And that stuff about you being a fake – trying to convince me? That was Bullshit." I practically spit out the word.
"It was necessary"
"How the fuck could it have been neces-"
I spin slowly on the spot and there he is, collar turned up against the wind, usually pale cheeks flushed with the cold. His hands are in his pockets. I fling the paper at him.
"You complete wanker!"
"I had to John"
"Why, please explain to me why? Hmm? Explain why I haven't slept in two months, explain why I have cried my way through every day for you"
"Because you're a sentimentalist." The paper never reached him, instead caught by the wind, now stuck on a tree trunk; Moriarty's face peering out at us.
I step towards him. My limp has gone again, so soon. The cane falls to the ground no longer needed.
"He had snipers on you John"
"So your 'suicide' was in fact a completely self-less act." I shake my head, trying to process him; his existence. "You've never done anything self-less in your life."
"They were going to kill you"
I don't miss the inflection in his words, but I am still mad. I step closer again, wishing now I hadn't abandoned the cane so I could use it to whack him round his beautiful head.
"I had to," He repeats, tentatively (Sherlock, really?), tentatively reaching one hand out towards my face. I swat him away.
"Don't you touch me!" I yell, but my hand has got caught in his and I can feel his skin on mine, and oh God! He's real. He's alive and a complete bastard, and real. I change my mind.
"Touch me" I am defeated.
He drops my hand instantly and uses both of his to grab my face, pulling me up until he is kissing me, clumsy and wet and oh-so-Sherlock.
"Am I doing this right?" He asks, pulling away for a breath.
I decide I am still mad enough at him to not boost his already over large ego. "With a little more practice, it'll do."
He smirks and kisses me again, not taken in for a second.