A/N: The muse in my head kept kicking me until I got this story out. This IS a multi-chapter WIP. (I write during downtime during the week and I will edit & post the next chapter sometime between Friday-Sunday each week, so it might take a couple of weeks to be complete, depending on how long my muse decides to let the story go on.)

Anyway, as the summary says, this is my angsty little version of John & Sherlock's reunion following "The Reichenbach Fall". I was listening to "Iris" by the Goo Goo Dolls as inspiration for this chapter. (Find the song on YouTube and give it a listen while reading!) This was originally rated K+ for mild British swearing, but because I'm paranoid, will be rated T for Chapters 2 on because of mentions of drug use and and eventual Johnlock lurve. ;) Please R&R! I love to hear that people appreciate Sherlock & the brillant actors, writers, etc on the series as much as I do.

This version of Sherlock & all characters therein belong to the BBC. I'm just borrowing them because I need my Sherlock fix, darn it, and I can't wait until at least January!

Ch. 1

John Watson awoke with a start. Another nightmare, he thought. No matter how hard he tried he couldn't get the image of Sherlock Holmes, the world's only consulting detective and his best friend, lying dead on the pavement after jumping from the rooftop of St. Bart's Hospital. John never understood why Sherlock took his own life. Moriarty was dead, and Sherlock never seemed to care what people thought about him nor if he offended people with his deductions. John always thought Sherlock was rather amazing, and didn't believe for a second when Sherlock told John that he had researched the good doctor before their meeting. John almost did – Sherlock was quite the actor when he wanted to extract information from people – except for one detail. Harry. Sherlock had incorrectly deduced that Harry was John's brother. Sherlock's ego wouldn't have allowed him to deduce incorrectly on purpose, especially if he had been trying to impress John.

He got out of bed and went down the stairs into the kitchen. It had been a month since he had returned to 221B Baker Street, and six months since Sherlock's death. John chose not to think of Sherlock's death as a suicide, even though that was the official CoD. It still shocked John how bare the flat looked with Sherlock's belongings and scientific equipment not littering the entire flat. Mrs. Hudson had boxed up everything that was Sherlock's and put it away in storage, with the exception of the items in Sherlock's bedroom. John had insisted that Sherlock's room remained untouched. "He wouldn't like it," he had insisted. Mrs. Hudson looked at John sadly and finally agreed, silently hoping that one day John would finally let go.

John went through the motions of his day, sifting through paperwork at the clinic, typing up case notes, filing patient files. He had misdiagnosed one or two patients (okay, four) upon returning to the clinic after Sherlock's death, so Sarah had banished him to the filing room. To keep you busy, she had said, but John took it more as so you don't bloody well kill someone. On his good days, he preferred the quiet of the filing room; that way people wouldn't keep asking him if he was ok. On his bad days, he was left alone with his thoughts and often broke down.

His shift came and went and John, as per usual when he was having a bad day, found himself heading toward the cemetery where Sherlock was buried. He found that 'talking' to Sherlock was soothing; he figured that it was the only way he could get his feelings out without resorting to alcohol or violence. John never was much of a drinker, especially after he saw what alcohol did to Harry. As for violence, he wanted to punch Mycroft in the face every time he saw him going about his business like his only sibling had never died. John had been steadily ignoring Mycroft's texts, phone calls, and emails, and had even slammed the door in the government official's face the one time he actually visited the flat. Of course everyone was worried about John, but he wasn't going to cause harm to himself. His therapist tried to prescribe him anti-depressants, but John had previously been on them upon returning home from Afghanistan and didn't like the artificially happy state they put him in. Still, everyone kept an eye out. Mrs. Hudson, despite being 'not his housekeeper', found an excuse to clean whenever he was home alone, and when she was out of town, Lestrade often invited himself over to watch the football games, and Mycroft kept tabs in his own special way, by bugging the flat and watching John through the traffic cams. The cemetery was the only place John felt truly peaceful, felt like that was the only place he could be alone with Sherlock.

He sat down on the grave in front of Sherlock's grave and sat quietly for a few minutes, collecting his thoughts. Then he started filling Sherlock in on what had been going on since his last visit. "Harry's stopped drinking again. I think she's trying to be strong for me, rather than the other way around. Molly's got herself a new boyfriend, nice bloke. She seems happy and he doesn't seem psychotic. Lestrade wishes you were around to help with this latest case. You'd find this one at LEAST an eight." He choked up. "I miss you so much, Sherlock. I never would have thought that I could miss another person so much, especially one as annoying as you." He gave a wry chuckle then sighed. "I wish I could tell you how I truly felt about you, how much you really meant to me." He sniffled and stood up, placing his hand on Sherlock's headstone.

"You can."

John whirled around. His eyes widened, then everything went black.