WARNING this is a Johnlock fanfiction. If you are in any way uncomfortable with this, please don't read.
John knew Sherlock couldn't be dead. He just couldn't be. He was Sherlock, he was immortal, but sadly the world didn't think so, because he stood in front of his friend's gravestone.
John walked away after staring at the grave for a few seconds, but he was so wrapped up in his own thoughts that he didn't notice the shadowy figure who stood watching him from a far.
3 years later...
John was plagued by nightmares every night. The nightmare consisted of everything from Afghanistan to the mental image that seemed to be etched on John's eyelids of Sherlock falling before hitting the pavement with a dull thwack.
John and Sherlock had only been flatmates, and best friends. Nothing more, but John had been in love with him. He had always repressed those kinds of feelings because Sherlock was 'married to his work'. Besides, no one as perfect as the great Sherlock Holmes could possible feel like that about the scarred ex-soldier.
After three years of waiting, John was starting to lose hope that Sherlock was alive. Another thing that always made it into his nightmares was the fact that he hadn't checked the pulse at Sherlock's neck. He knew he should have, but the people pulled him away from the body too quickly. And after that Sherlock had been whisked away, John hadn't seen him since then. The funeral was closed casket. John's last image of his friend was of him lying broken and bleeding on the ground.
John was suddenly pulled out of his re-occurring nightmare by the sound of the violin being played soft and sweet in the living room. He thought that he was still half asleep, that the violin was just the echo of his friend's delicate playing.
Suddenly, John realized that he wasn't asleep and that he could actually hear the violin playing.
John jumped up and raced to the living room and there was a familiar tall figure standing in front of the window nursing those sweet sounds out of the beautiful piece of wood.
"Sherlock." John said dumbstruck.
"John. I didn't mean to wake you." Sherlock said casually, placing the violin down on the black armchair.
"What? You were dead. I checked your pulse. You were dead." John mumbled, he still didn't fully believe that Sherlock was actually there. Actually back in 221B baker street.
"Ah, yes. You might want an explanation..."
"That'd be nice." John admitted.
"Well sit down then." Sherlock gestured impatiently towards the couch. Same old Sherlock.
"Well?" John urged, sitting down on the couch.
"I figured that Moriarty was going to make me commit 'suicide' so I planned ahead with Molly. She gave me a drug that slows ones heart so much that there is hardly a pulse. I then paid a few people to keep you away from my body once I'd fallen. Simple as that." Sherlock said.
"But you were bleeding, and how did you survive?" John asked.
"I put the blood there as you were on the ground after being hit by the bicycle. And as to how I survived the fall; it's quite simple really. I learned a judo move that allows you to fall quite a distant without gaining fatal injuries. Although severe injuries, well I had quite a few of those."
"But... Why now? Why after three years did you come back?" John asked, suddenly furious.
"I had to dismantle Moriarty's web. That lead me to quite a few other crime webs, I quickly dismantled them as well."
"Fine. Whatever. It's nice to see you again, but that doesn't mean I'm not mad." John replied before stalking back to his room and shutting the door as loudly as possible without waking Mrs. Hudson.
The next morning, John had convinced himself that Sherlock was a dream. That none of that had happened and it was all in his imagination, but when he went downstairs (already having taken a shower and gotten dressed) he found the kettle hot and the newspaper already on the coffee table.
"Tea?" A familiar voice asked from the kitchen.
"You're really here, aren't you?" John asked as he rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, and sat down on the couch.
"Tea?" Sherlock repeated.
"Please." John replied, "You know I really want to punch you in the face right now."
"I know." Was Sherlock's reply, and John could almost see his smug grin.
"Here." Sherlock said, handing the mug to John. Their fingers brushed just slightly as the mug was passed and that gave John all the proof he needed to believe that his imagination wasn't running wild.
He placed the tea on the coffee table before standing so he was face to face with Sherlock. He studied his flatmate's face. There were a couple of scraps along his cheek and a bruise on his temple, but he didn't look too bad. That is until John punched him in the face.
Sherlock had been expecting a hug (or a kiss, but he's never admit that), and even though John had said that he wanted to punch the detective in the face, he was still completely flustered for a moment.
John left. He took his coat, stomped down the stairs and ventured out into the cold autumn day.
Sherlock touched his cheek gently. He knew it would begin to bruise soon, but he didn't care. John, his beautiful flatmate, his only friend, hated him. He was terrible at emotions. He could read most people emotions just fine, but he couldn't feel them himself. Whenever Sherlock encountered anything that was remotely close to a feeling he would crush it, but over the past three years, he couldn't crush every single feeling he had towards John. He had missed him. He had craved his company, but most of all he had discovered a secret passion towards the short stocky ex-soldier that he had once called his only friend. Now he craved John in a completely new way, a completely different way, in a way he didn't understand yet.
John huffed and watched as his breathe hung in a cloud in front of his face for a few seconds. It was cold, he should have worn a sweater, but he was trying to get away from Sherlock. He needed to think. He couldn't think with Sherlock around, knowing he could deduce anything he was thinking.
For a few moment he wasn't sure whether to hug kiss or punch Sherlock. So, he choose the latter, knowing it would lead to less complications, but he was wrong. He was so wrong, but he just didn't know it yet.
He walked for about a mile before he started getting too cold. It was surprising cold for early autumn, and soon John was forced to go back to the flat so that he could warm himself properly.
Sherlock was waiting for him. He was sitting in the armchair facing the door, staring intently at it. "So, how have you been?" Sherlock asked as soon as John stepped onto the threshold of the flat.
"Besides the fact that for the last three years I believed you were dead, just fine." John answered angrily, hanging up his coat, and sitting on the couch.
"I wanted to come back you know." Sherlock said, staring off blankly at the smily face that was still on the living room's wall.
"Why didn't you?" John asked, because despite his anger, his curiosity won.
"Too dangerous. I didn't know if Moriarty would still have snipers on you, so until I completely destroyed his crime web, I couldn't contact any of the people I cared about."
There was pain in his eyes, John realized suddenly, his eyes weren't the cold steely gray-blue they were before.
"Have you been seeing anyone?" Sherlock asked abruptly, surprising even himself.
"Yeah... I, yeah." John answered awkwardly.
"Who?" The steel had returned to Sherlock's eyes, as if he had wiped them clean of emotion.
"Jessica. Her name is Jessica." John replied wringing his hands together.
"Where did you meet her?"
"She's Lestrade's niece... He introduced us about a month ago."
"Right." Sherlock said, and picking up his violin, proceeded to his bedroom.
John caught a glimpse of the angry red mark on the side of his flatmates cheek, and he felt a little guilty having put it there.
John and Sherlock went to Scotland yard the next morning. Lestrade almost fainted at the sight of the willowy detective. Sally and Anderson merely pursed their lips and muttered something about good things never lasting.
"Hello Detective Inspector." Sherlock said, "I'm checking in to see if you have any cases."
"I might have a few."
Soon enough the detective and the doctor were running around London again, chasing bad guys and solving crimes. Everything was back to normal.
Jessica as it turned out was an incredibly beautiful, but shy girl about two years younger than John. She was obviously an author. The notebook and pencil she kept in her small purse was to jot down ideas if they suddenly popped into her brain. She was rather clever as well, she could keep up with Sherlock well enough. If anything she and John were a perfect couple, but Sherlock couldn't help but feel jealous. From the way John looked at the petite ginger girl, Sherlock knew the relationship was serious(to him), but it was obvious to Sherlock that Jessica didn't fully reciprocate John's feelings. She wasn't ready for a serious relationship.
"Hello." Sherlock said, blinking away the string of thoughts that rushed through his head when he first saw the girl.
"Hello." Her voice was small and melodic.
"You must be Jessica. I've heard so much." Well actually he hadn't, John got very awkward when on the subject of Jessica for some reason. So it probably would've been better to say 'I've deduced so much.'
John cleared his throat behind the girl and ushered her out of the flat, touching the small of her back lightly. Sherlock felt a twinge of jealous flare in his mind.
John came back soon after, slamming the door behind him, and angrily putting the kettle on. Sherlock sat calmly with a book in his lap.
"She break-up with you?" Sherlock asked as casually as he could muster, although he heard the hope in his own voice.
"How?" John asked, momentarily forgetting his anger.
"She wasn't ready for a serious relationship. That much was obvious by her choice of footwear. And now you come back from you're date angry. It's not rocket science John."
"So you knew? You knew and you didn't tell me?" John demanded, anger flooding his mind again.
"You said I need to be kinder with people's feelings when in a malfunctioning relationship."
"Fine, that's just great." John said.
"I... We need to talk, John."Sherlock said.
"What about? The fact that you seem insistent on ruining my life even after you had died?"
"No. Something else," John sat on the couch and Sherlock continued, "I'm not good with emotions or sentiment. I usually lock them away. There are some cases where the lock is broken, and some feelings escape. Like Baskerville for example. Usually feelings make me act out aggressively, but there is this new feeling that I've been having for the past three years. It's a dull pain in the center of my chest, like someone sat there, and no matter what I tried that weight wouldn't go away. Then I came back, then I saw you and all of a sudden I was able to breathe out the breath I hadn't realized I had been holding for the past three years. And slowly as we've grown closer again, the ache in my chest left me."
"Ok, I'm lost." John said.
"I missed you, John. More than I ever thought I would, more than I ever thought I could. I've left many people behind without second thought, but you. I needed to come back to you. There is something extraordinary about you. The way you got close to the heart I didn't even realize I had. You see John, I love you." Sherlock knew he had just put his entire heart on his sleeve but he didn't care.
John's mouth gaped at the consulting detective, he didn't know what to say to his friend's declaration of love, so instead he stood up. Walked to the chair where his friend sat and pressed a light kiss to his lips. He turned and left without another word. Or at least he tried to, but Sherlock caught up to John in three strides, and turned his around roughly.
Sherlock then pressed his lips against John's. The difference between the two kisses was extreme. The first kiss was tender and patient, whereas the second one was rough and urgent. Sherlock moved his lips, trying to coax a reaction out of the doctor. Finally snapping out of his surprised state, John kissed back.
Alright well I hoped you enjoyed this. If you did please leave a review... Yeah there might be an Epilogue... but who knows (wink,wink)