Title: As We Stand On Your Grave

Pairing: John Watson and Sherlock Holmes

Fandom: Sherlock BBC

Rating: T

Notes: Post Reichenbach. Birthday gift for my girlthing, happy 20th dear~

Reviews are love~

Didn't sleep a wink. Shut off the alarm. Get out of bed. Grab towel and go take a shower. Dry off. Get dressed, save shoes for last. Eat breakfast. Pick up shoes and walk out to living room to put them on. Sherlock's sitting in his chair.

Hmm.

"Well, this is clich ." He looks at me, asking me to elaborate with his eyes. Those stupid eyes. "Today? Of all days, you had to come back today?"

"What is wrong with today?" The bloody nerve. I huff and sit down in my chair with my shoes in hand. While I'm bent over lacing them up, I give him the coldest glare I can muster.

"It's only been seven months, why did you have to pop back up? And today? Three year anniversary? Really? You're tw- I'm twisted. I'm so fucking twisted." I finish lacing up my shoes and stand up, deliberately ignoring him.

"Months? John, have you been hallucinating me?" I don't even dignify the question with an answer. Walking down the stairs, I grab my jacket off the rack and walk to the door. He's right behind me. "John." Hand on the knob. "John." He sounds irritated.

"Go away."

He grabs my shoulder and spins me. Odd, he's not usually this forceful.

"You've been hallucinating me. How long?"

"Why ask a question when you already know the answer?" About sixteen months after he jumped. I was numb, trying to move along as best I could in the world, everything was so dull. I was pouring the water into my mug when a hand rested on mine. I set the kettle down and looked up. He said, "You forgot the sugar. You like to put the sugar in before the water, remember?"

So cruel.

"Twenty months ago I noticed your behavior had changed. I never thought you'd be reduced to imagining me, John-" Oh for crying out loud. I turned back around and flung open the door. My face was growing hot, I think I stopped breathing, oh, yeah, I should probably inhale. I opened the door to the car, I managed to get a new one last year, sat down and slammed it shut. The sound of the other door shutting echoed in the small vehicle. I kept my eyes straight forward to the car parked in front of me. He didn't say a word when I slowly turned to look at him.

"Really?" He shrugged and buckled in. A bit redundant. "I'm not talking to you anymore. If I ignore you, you'll go away You will go away."

"Is that how it normally works?" He's going to make this so bloody difficult. I just know it.

We-NO- I drove to a nearby flower shop and purchased a bouquet of pink Belladonna Lilies, white Lilies of the Valley, some Baby's Breath and random greens thrown in. I got back into the car, tossed the arrangement on his lap-NO-the passenger's seat, and drove on.

"I hate pink. I hate Lilies. You know that." Exactly why I got them. "Flowers are pointless. Pointless, John, they have no point. Why do you get them?" Because you think they're pointless. I do what I can to piss you off in your absence, it's the least I can do to get back at you. " ." Stupid. "I'm sorry about the Surgery. Your hand. I hadn't seen the scar yet. It's bigger than you described in your blog." Damn him. "I think you should go back. It was your life and you were damn good at it." It's too late. My hand was too badly damaged in the accident. I can't go back. "I wish I could have helped, John. I had to keep my distance for your safety." I rolled my eyes. "And Mrs. Hudson and Lastrade." For Christ's sake. "John." Give it up already. "Am I still here?" Point taken.

I parked the car and walked into the cemetery, flowers in hand, Sherlock on heel. I stepped up to his grave stone and kneeled down. The stone was already eroding from bird droppings. Lovely. I'll talk to someone about getting a new one tomorrow.

He's not talking, but I can feel his eyes on the back of my head burning into my skull.

"Sherlock." I don't know what to say anymore. Everything I've wanted to say to his face, I've said right here time and time again in the past three years. What else is there to say? "Nothing. I've got nothing left. I've said everything I need to say. A part of me still believes you're alive, but honestly, I'm just too tired to fight anymore. I've gone mad, Sherlock. I've been hallucinating you for over a year now, I can't- that's not a good thing, Sherlly. Not at all. Not one bit." My hand moves on its own, reaching up to touch the engraved name on the stone. My fingers trace over every letter. "I have to move on now, Sherlock. I can't keep living like this. If you were going to come back, you'd have done it by now. You're gone. You don't exist anymore. I'll never stop believing in you, love, but it's time for me to let you go." I stand. I'm holding back the tears again. I can't believe I'm saying these things. I can't believe I've convinced myself to finally let go. Finally. it's over, it has to be, I can't do this anymore. "I love you. I'll always love you. I'm so sorry." They fall. I feel like I've let him down. What have I become?

I reached out to rest the flowers on the stone when he places his hand on my arm to stop me. I don't want to look at him. I just want him to go away. "Please." I don't even recognize my own voice.

"One more, John. Just one more time." He pulls the phone out of my pocket and hands it to me. This has happened before, he'll hand me something, but really, I got it myself and just imagined him doing it. I hated not being able to control that. But I suppose one more time wouldn't hurt.

Goodbye, Sherlock. I love you. -JW

SEND

-dunnnn-

The sound rings in my ears, the low, creepy piano message alert. This has never happened before.

Sherlock pulled his phone out of his pocket and read the text. He taps away at the screen, eventually looking up at me and tucking his phone away, waiting quietly.

-beep beep beep-

No. Nonononono. This isn't happening. .

I look at my phone's screen.

1 NEW MESSAGE

Funny, I don't recall saying I was going anywhere. -SH

The phone drops to the ground. He steps up to me, casting a familiar shadow over my body. No. No. No. No. Don't you dare. Don't you dare look up. Don't you- He hasn't changed a bit yet in this moment he's more beautiful than I could ever remember. His eyes were never so beautiful. His lips never so full. His cheeks never so perfect. His hair never so soft. His skin never so warm- oh, when did I start touching him? Ah- When did our lips-

He's alive. Sherlock is alive. I've been talking to him since I walked into the living room this morning. He wasn't a hallucination, he was real. Is real. Right here. Standing on his grave. Kissing me. He's kissing me. He's alive. He's kissing me and alive. Sherlock Holmes is kissing me and alive and standing on his grave that I've been visiting and talking to and crying grossly on for the past three years never once bothering to return any of my texts or calls to tell me he's alright or that everything is okay and he's been watching me from a distance this whole time KNOWING about what he's put me through, KNOWING about the accident in Surgery that ruined my career and KNOWING that I've nearly offed myself twice because my life has been nothing but hell. I was a military doctor, got fucked there, I watched my best friend/unrequited love jump from a building after telling me he was a fake and then I lost the only thing keeping me sane and able to move on in life, my job as a doctor and the joys of saving lives with my own stupid bloody hands, and now, dead Sherlock FUCKING Holmes is standing with me on his grave, alive and kissing me!

Everything went red.

I pushed him away and began beating him with the bouquet of flowers repeatedly, throwing a kick in with every few hits. Over and over and over and over. The petals fell like feathers from a busted pillow.

"All this time! You sodding fuck, for three years, for three misserable years you stupid prick! How could you! How could you do this to me! I hate you!" I don't know why I stopped beating him, I don't know why I threw the bouquet of stems to the ground and I certainly don't know why I was embracing him and crying pathetically into his shoulder now, but I know that he was willing to take anything, any reaction I gave him with open arms. He let me hit him, he let me yell at him, he didn't ask for forgiveness, he didn't say anything. He just held me as tight as he could while I cried and dug my nails as hard as I could into his back.

"Shhh shh shh, it's alright now. Everything's alright now, John. I have you."

"Plea-eassse-" He smoothed over my hair and drew his hand up and down gently on my back.

"I'm not leaving, John, I promise. And I love you too. I do. I won't ever let you g-""

John jolted and shot up with fear absolutely etched into his face. He looked down at the spot next to him on the bed: empty.

"Nonononono-" He threw himself out of the bed and limped down the stairs. The living room smelt of eggs and toast. "Sher-Sherlock! Sh-" John limped heavily into the kitchen. It's five in the morning and Sherlock is half naked making breakfast. He turns and sees John distraught and limping much worse than he's seen him limp before, he steps away from the stove and wraps one arm around John's waist to balance him, the other hand wrapped around John's fingers and pulled it up to his heart. Sherlock kissed John's forehead and shushed him sweetly as he guided him to sit down at the kitchen table, of course still covered with all of his equipment and experiments.

"Look at me and breath. It was just a dream, John." John closed his eyes and attempted to regain control of his breathing and heart rate.

"Not a dream, a memory. You can't just disappear on me like that! You can't do that Sherlock! You had me scared half to death again, we talked about this!" Sherlock sighed and kissed John's cheek.

"I wanted to make us breakfast so we could watch the sunrise together. I know you've been wanting to do that for some time, I got the painfully obvious hint in your blog last week so here it is. We don't have any cases to work on today and you clearly don't have to teach on the weekend, it's a good day to do this. I was going to wake you up, you don't normally wake up this early." John took a deep breath and exhaled. Sherlock smiled, it was small but it was genuine. "I'm sorry. I really am, I didn't mean to scare you. You should take it easy, I've never seen your limp that prominent before." John waved his hand and shook his head.

"No, no, I just woke up in a panic attack and was still mostly asleep. I'm fine."

"Are you sure? Because we can do this sunrise thing another day if you'd like." John smiled reassuringly and leaned forward, letting Sherlock meet him half way for a sleepy kiss.

"I'm fine. I'd love to do this today, that was very sweet of you, love." Sherlock kissed him again for good measure.

"I love you, John."

"I love you too, Sherlock."