John grasped his bag of groceries as he unlocked the door titled 221 B slowly. He took in a deep breath and pushed it open.

He glanced around the hallway, loving how familiar it was but hating every moment of being in it. It made him think of Sherlock; his silver eyes, his black curly hair, how tall he was. It was the very thing that had kept John away from the flat for so long.

Sherlock is dead. He is no longer alive. I have to move on. John hadn't been at the flat since Sherlock's suicide.

"It's been more than six damn months!" John blurted in frustration.

"John?" Mrs. Hudson called from down the hall.

"Mrs. Hudson." John said, instantly calm as she came to him.

"I was wondering when I would see you again!" She said as she offered her arms for a hug.

"I just needed… some time." John said as he hugged her.

"I removed all the food from the kitchen. That's all I have touched. No cleaning at all. I haven't been able to go in myself without getting teary." She said as she pulled away from the hug.

"Alright. As for the rent-"

"There's no need to pay for it. It's been so long after all. Anyway you haven't even been living in it."

"Thank you." John sighed with relief. He didn't want to consult Harry or Mycroft. Mycroft has been terribly guilty of what he did, so he's been giving John money for a hotel since his pension was so small.

"I wonder how Sherlock done it." Mrs. Hudson's voice cracked slightly at the end of her sentence.

"Done what?" John replied curiously.

"If he was really a… a fake, then how could he ensure my late husband's execution?" She pulled out a tissue from her pocket and whipped her eyes.

John hesitated. "I don't believe he was a fake."

Mrs. Hudson looked at him as if he was a little boy that had fallen down and scraped his knee. "John he fooled us all."

"You're being brainwashed by the news." John said as he started up the stairs again.

"He even told you John. He was talking to you right before…" She cut herself off.

They remained quiet for a moment.

"I'll make us some tea." She said quietly.

John looked up the stairs and took a deep breath, then started towards the room. Mrs. Hudson walked away to make the tea.

When John came to the door, he fumbled at it for a moment. He was trying to decide whether he should go in or not. This flat was were Sherlock spent most of his time. John used to walk in and see him doing things that any other person would think was crazy. But John knew Sherlock. John loved what Sherlock did, even though it frustrated him at times.

John inhaled sharply as he pushed the door open and took in the smell of the room.

It's just like Sherlock. John thought as he stumbled against the door frame. He took in the room and how there were still things scattered on Sherlock's desk. John felt hate instantly spread through him as he spotted Moriarty's picture on the edge of the desk.

John turned his attention to Sherlock's violin that sat on his chair. He missed Sherlock's songs he composed. It didn't look right, covered in dust like that.

He walked slowly into the kitchen. The room was covered with filthy experiments he was working on, thankfully none of which had to do with human body parts.

John put down his groceries and walked to Sherlock's bedroom, of which he was never allowed in for any reason.

He found it considerably cleaner than the rest of the flat. It didn't have any dirty clothes.

John sat down at the end of the bed. He heard paper crumble beneath him, and reached down to under the mattress. He pulled out a crumbled piece of paper. John spread it out and looked at the page. It was covered in Sherlock's writing, so John read it.

John,

I know you'll never read this. If I really did tell you what was happening, it could put you in danger. I'll explain, although I'll get rid of this later…

John paused. He wasn't supposed to read this. John so badly wanted to read it, especially since Sherlock is dead. Did Sherlock plan on suici-… he shoved that thought away. Did I do something to make him… He burst into tears and curled into a ball on Sherlock's bed.

His mind wandered to memories of Sherlock. John breathed in Sherlock's fluffy blanket and wrapped it around himself.

He thought of when Sherlock was being stubborn and went to Buckingham Palace in nothing but his bed sheet. John giggled through his sobbing, remembering how often Sherlock did ridiculous things like that.

"John?" Mrs. Hudson called from downstairs.

John quickly stood up, wiped his eyes and limped back into the kitchen as quick as he could.

"Yes?" John called back as he put his groceries away.

She came into the room with the tea and looked around.

"Ah…" John said as he gestured to an open space on the small table. "You can place it there."

She put it down and poured tea into the two teacups and passed one to John. They sat on the chairs by the table and sipped at their tea.

"That skull…" Mrs. Hudson tsked at it. "I can't believe how he'd always talk to it about you. I wish he'd talk to me instead."

John looked up sharply. "What?"

Mrs. Hudson looked at him. "Well, whenever you weren't here and he finished a case, I would hear him talking about you. Once I came up and opened the door to see him staring at it and talking to it about you like he was a little girl with a crush." She giggled lightly to herself.

John stared at her blankly. He couldn't wrap his head around what she just said.

"Huh?"

She looked back at her tea. "The reason I said all those things about you two dating and such was because he seemed to like you, going by the way he talked to his skull. I've become such a big fan of the idea of you two ever since I've first seen you two together."

John looked at his tea now as he recalled when Mrs. Hudson suggested that they were a couple when they first moved in.

"John,"she looked at him carefully. "How did you feel towards him?"

"I see him as a friend. Just a friend." John lied.

Mrs. Hudson took his empty tea cup and walked back to the kitchen. "Well I'm going to go back to my room. If you need anything, tell me."

John watched as she left the room.

He stood up and walked straight into Sherlock's bedroom, grabbed the paper again and sat down on the bed.

John,

I know you'll never read this. If I really did tell you what was happening, it could put you in danger. I'll explain, although I'll get rid of this later.

Moriarty was evil. I did not create him. He knew me too well. He's the one that sponsored the taxi cab driver and he also helped the drug smugglers.

The day my suicide happened, I texted Moriarty to go to the top of St. Bart's. I "did not know" that that was where I would die.

He told me to commit suicide. I would die as a disgrace.

I said no, but he told me that all of my friends would die if I didn't jump. My first thought was you. Moriarty also planned for Lestrade and Mrs. Hudson.

I found a way to keep us all alive, but it was only going to work if I told Moriarty that I was like him. I did it, but then he said "As long as I'm alive". Then he pulled out a gun and shot himself.

I knew what I had to do. I had to jump. Beforehand I had told Molly that I might have to die, and so she helped nurse me to health inside. I knew how to jump so I could have a more likely chance of staying alive. We faked my death. I am alive.

I need to find and kill everyone that has worked with Moriarty. I don't know how long it will take.

I wish I can really tell you, but it's too dangerous. I don't want you hurt. I love you John. You are the best thing that's ever happened to me. I wish you were more than my friend. It makes me angry whenever you have girlfriends or dates.

Please no more dates. It pains me to see you out with girls. I'm watching you to make sure you're alright. Mycroft planted cameras for me in your hotel room. I have cameras in our flat as well, so if you return I will know.

I'm sorry John. I love you. I will return one day. Don't be too mad when I do.

I'll dispose of this now.

Sherlock Holmes.

John stared at the paper. Sherlock… is… alive? John wrapped the blanket around him. He knew he was in shock. Sherlock loves me?

John laid back and looked at the ceiling.

He sobbed, rolled himself into a ball and grasped his knees tightly.

He must have been crying for hours before he saw him.

Sherlock stood at the door looking down at John with sad silver eyes. It broke John to see him like this. John sat up and looked at him curiously.

"Sher-" John said with a voice crack and he cleared his throat. "Sherlock?"

Sherlock looked down at his hands and fumbled with them for a moment.

John sat up quickly and looked around the room for Sherlock. It was a dream. John stood up, and he knew that it must have all been a dream. Especially the part when he read the letter.

But he didn't notice a piece of paper fall to the ground as he left the room.

So here's my very first Johnlock fanfiction! I hope that it isn't ooc.

Please review, and if you like it, follow the story (or me? :D)! In your review, tell me if you'd like any lemon in it. Majority might affect if it has lemon or not. You don't have to decide now, but you can later, when the story is more... what's the word? written? haha :P well tell me any errors, don't be shy. Tell me something you like and/or dislike in your review?

Feel free to private message me too! :D

See you guys next chapter!