Alright, this is post-the fall, and pre-Season 3. I wrote this in some test-pad when I was bored a few years ago (I think) and kept it away. It was only a few days ago that I found it, so I thought, what the hell, just post it up here. So here you go! My first Sherlock fic...

5 times Sherlock didn't come when John needed him, and 1 time...

There were times when I had worn your coat you left in your wardrobe. Even after three years, there was still a hint of you there, but whether it's true or just in my mind I had no idea. I wore it to sleep, I wore it when I couldn't sleep, and I wore it when I didn't think I could go on.

The smell of you was still in the coat, the one that you always loved to wear when we were on the chase. The coat fitted you perfectly, so perfectly that I always thought that you had it specially made. Know you, you probably did, posh git. But I cannot deny that you always look dashing when you're in it. And when I wore it I would always think of you.

I always wore that coat when I want you here, when I need you with me.

You never came.

There were times when I got out of the flat, and tried to see things your way, deducing each and everything that I laid my eyes on. How you could just take one look at the woman across the street and sprout facts that are always true about her, I had no idea. You would just know everything by one glance, and I could never do that, no matter how much I tried.

I would go out and tried to deduce anything, anybody. I could never get pass 'male, black hair. Could be a lawyer, or a consulting detective.' You would roll your eyes at my weak attempts, and tell me everything that you know just to amuse yourself to my awed and bewildered face.

I always go out of the flat to deduce everything (and fails miserably) when I miss you, when I want you to deduce, instead of me.

You never came.

There were times when I had touched your violin. All those experiments you claimed to have were already binned, and Mrs. Hudson had donated all your test tubes and Petri dishes. I wanted them to stay, as a part of me always thought, wished that you would come back, and you would be upset to know that your things are missing.

The violin, though, both Mrs. Hudson and I had a silent agreement to never throw it away. It was your most prized possession, and looking at it made me think of you. I would imagine you playing it again, here at 221B Baker Street. There were times when I hated the violin, (or specifically hated the fact that you tortured your violin every other night) but now I am willing to go through anything just to hear you play.

I always touch your violin when I'm having nightmares, when I need you here so I can sleep peacefully, for once.

You never came.

There were times when I held my gun to my head when I thought of your fall. But don't worry, I'm not suicidal. I just got used to the adventures and excitement, the dangers that you brought into my life that now with you... away, the peace I had was more painful than ever.

But there were moments when I would think of pulling the trigger. Will it be a quick death like yours? Or will it be slow, like what I am experiencing now? Or it could be none of the above, where I failed to kill myself and Mycroft showed up to save me from my stupidity? I knew even without Mycroft telling me that you would be disappointed in me. So I kept it away, locked and out of sight. But not out of mind...

I always hold my gun to my head when I missed the thrill of being with you on a chase, when I need you to make my life worth living.

You never came.

There were times when I had visited your grave, bringing some flowers there. I always came alone for my pride will not have me crying in front of anybody else. Every time I just stood there at stare at your name. There were no 'beloved father', 'will be missed', of stuff like normal people have on their tombstones when they died. You died a fraud, it was a wonder people even come for your funeral. But in the end you were proven right, you were not a fraud.

I may be wrong sometimes, but I can never be wrong about that. I believed in you, Sherlock Holmes, and I still do.

You were, and are the best , greatest man the world could ever have. The world should realise that they had lost something, somebody special that day, but that's alright. Even if the world still believed that you are a fake, you are always true in my heart. No matter what everyone said. No matter what you said.

I always visit your grave when I needed you, when I needed a miracle.

You never came.

There were times when I went to your room, and slept on your bed. Your scent was still there for a month until it disappeared. It seemed that only when I was in your bed that I could sleep properly and not be awaken by nightmares. So I started to sleep in your room. Your bed was even bigger than mine, and yet you had never slept on it, preferring to treat it as one of your storage place. Bloody git.

When you returned and reclaimed you space, I realised that even when I know that you are still alive, safe and sound, my brain and my heart still could not register that. And thus my mind kept playing that scene when you fell and left my in a loop. I could not sleep without knowing that you are back, and will not leave me again.

I always go to your room, to the empty bed and afterwards, to a surprised you, when I could not sleep and needed assurance of your return.

You never came. But now I can come to you, and you were, and will always be there, so I guess that it's alright.

You accepted the fact that you had broken me, and I accepted the fact that you are not as heartless as you wished to be. As you had never turned me away, I continued to go to your bed at night, and laid down by your side, fingers clenching yours.

As long as you're with me, I don't care if you don't come. As long as you're here, and I can go to you, I don't care if you don't come.

I can go to you, and everything will be alright with the world again.

Okay, what do you think? :)

xxfelicialovescatsxx