Author's Note: This is my first attempt at posting fanfiction since I don't think I'm really all that great at writing, and it is a first attempt at writing anything for Sherlock. I know it's rather short. It literally popped into my head at 4:30 in the morning the other day, and I just had to get it down. Let me know what you guys think! Criticism is welcomed so long as it's constructive.
Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock because if I did I probably wouldn't be doing this, now would I?
xXx
He watched as the broken doctor slowly walked away from the grave. His heart gave a painful wrench at the sight of the only person who ever mattered slipping further away from him. His fingers brushed against the could marble headstone where the other man's hand had ben just moments before, taking in the barest hit of warmth. He knew it was his mind playing tricks, but her would let it. It was the closest to physical contact that he'd had in ages. It was all he would allow himself.
He knew what the other man was going through, knew what his "death" was doing to him. He knew about the pain and despair he went through each and every day. It was obvious. Even Anderson would be able to figure it out.
Sometimes, if he was lucky, he'd be able to catch glimpses of the army doctor in their- no, ihis/i- apartment. He'd watch as the older man went through the motions of his every day life. He noticed that the man would still make a second cup of tea. Just the way he drank it.
He wished he could take the pain away but not yet. Not now. It wasn't time. There were still some things he had to take care of before he could return to his old life, before he could return home, and before he could return to his John.