Ever since Sherlock Holmes had "come back to life," things have been tense between him and John.
John had grown increasingly annoyed that Sherlock was following him around everywhere he went. To work, to the grocery store, everywhere. He had even tried to leave the flat past midnight to get some peace of mind but somehow Sherlock always knew and continued to accompany him wherever he went.
He had tried to talk about it with Sherlock, but the conversations always ended the same way:
"I thought we were friends, John."
An uncomfortable silence usually followed.
Another thing that was difficult for John to get used to was Sherlock's eating habits. Whenever John asked Sherlock why he never ate anymore, Sherlock simply said, "Death does things to you, John. Dreadful things." John often felt that he should pursue this topic more, but Sherlock was staying the same weight, despite the fact that John hadn't seen him eat or drink anything since coming back. He figured Sherlock must have found some science-y way to stay healthy without eating.
There were some very confusing conversations between them. One time, John found that the cup of tea he had set down was now empty.
"Sherlock, did you drink my tea?" he asked.
"No thanks, I never take sugar with my tea."
"Sherlock!"
"Hello."
John later found out that it had been Mrs. Hudson's cat.
One day as they were walking to the hospital where John worked, Sherlock ran smack into a tree. He said 'ow' but seemed relatively unfazed. However, John was concerned that there was a cut on Sherlock's face and he seemed to be growing smaller. John pulled his emergency band-aid out of his pocket and put it on the cut on Sherlock's face. He seemed to grow back to normal size after that.
The air conditioning in the hospital had broken and it was hot inside. John took his coat off.
"Sherlock?"
"Hm?"
"Air conditioning's broken. Don't you want to take your coat off?"
"Yes."
John waited but Sherlock just stood there. John suspected he had simply gone to his mind palace. Grumbling, he took off Sherlock's coat and hung it on the rack next to his. As he did so, he heard a muffled 'ow.'
John frowned and poked the coat. Again, he heard an 'ow' come from it.
He turned to Sherlock. "Is there something in your coat?"
"It's nothing, John."
"I heard a noise."
"It's nothing, John."
"Are you sure?"
"It's nothing John."
"Alright, alright."
The very next day, Moriarty showed up at their front door. He pointed a gun at Sherlock.
"You thought I was dead, but I tricked you." Then he shot Sherlock.
John gasped. Sherlock was still standing in the same place, with the same expression on his face. There was a hole right where his heart was. Slowly, he grew smaller and smaller until he was about the size of a cat. Then the gunshot wound grew until they could see that inside was a small metal box.
"Sherlock?" said John.
"Yes?" said the box.
"You didn't tell me you were a box."
"So you've figured it out then?"
"Figured what out?"
"I was never really alive, John. I didn't fake my death. I faked my alive-ness, which is much more impressive than just faking a suicide."
Moriarty was hurt by this and started to cry.
John was confused. "How did you fake your alive-ness? You've been here the whole time."
"I wasn't really here. What you've been seeing is an inflatable doll of me. I recorded myself saying all the words in the English language and programmed a response to every possible thing anyone could say to me. Everything is here in this box."
"That's insulting, Sherlock. I think I would know if my friend turned into an inflatable doll.
"But you didn't. It took years of research and lab work but I finally invented a drug that made everyone believe I am real. It was in the balloon part of me and everyone within a 200-meter radius saw me as Sherlock, not an inflatable.
"But how did you move?!" John was outraged that Sherlock had tricked him.
"Well, obviously I can't move by myself. One day, I drugged your tea so you would be unconscious and took you to the hospital where you work and performed brain surgery on you that would make you carry me around wherever you went."
"That's why you've been following
"Precisely."
"That's why your jacket said 'ow'!"
"Yes. I programmed it to say that every time someone bumped into me."
Moriarty looked at the box from the floor where he had been crying. "I don't think that's fair! I don't want to play this game anymore." Then he shot the box.
John screamed "No!" He checked the box for a pulse, found none, and began performing CPR.
"John," he heard the box say in a quiet voice, "I'm not real. CPR isn't-"
"I DON'T CARE, SHERLOCK! YOU'RE MY ONLY FRIEND!"
Moriarty began to cry again.
"Goodbye, John." The box began to smoke and it broke beneath John's hands.
There was a knock on the door. It swung open and Sherlock stood there. "Did you miss me?" he asked John.
John screamed in rage and grabbed Moriaty's gun, shooting Sherlock in the face.
"Ow," said Sherlock and he walked away, never to be seen again.