A Game of Deception
"All lives end. All hearts are broken. Caring is not an advantage."
Mycroft Holmes
Author´s note
This is actually my first story, so please bear with me. I had this idea after I watched The Reichenbach Fall. I was so curious (I still am) to know how Sherlock survived. But I also found what would happen to John really interesting, and so came the idea of this story. I do not own the characters of Sherlock Holmes, John Watson or any other character that belongs to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and these versions of the characters belong to Mark Gatiss and Steven Moffat. If there are any mistakes in my story, I apologize in advance.
Chapter 1
It was Christmas Eve and John sat in his chair, looking at the chair opposite him. Mrs. Hudson had convinced him to decorate the apartment so now the brightly coloured lights hung in the windows and a small Christmas tree stood in the corner. Mrs. Hudson was in the kitchen, cooking something for them. When the dinner was ready, they both sat in the kitchen and felt the emptiness in the apartment without Sherlock playing on his violin or making a deduction about what was hidden underneath the wrapping paper of his Christmas presents. It was the second Christmas since Sherlock´s death. In late March, it would be three years. John could still remember clearly their last conversation at the roof of St. Bart´s, his lifeless body lying on the grey pavement, his dark curls soaked in blood, his eyes staring emptily at him.
"Are you not hungry, dear?", Mrs. Hudson´s kind voice snapped John back into reality. He said quickly: "Erm, sorry. It´s delicious.". She smiled sympathetically at him and turned back to her plate. After dinner, John sat alone in the living room, staring into empty space. At around eleven, John decided to go to the cemetery.
John opened the slightly rusty gate and walked into the dark cemetery. The snow was falling lightly on the ground and covered the tombstones. The ground cracked underneath John´s steps as he walked over to a lonely, grey tombstone. John knelt down in front of the stone and brushed the snow off the letters: Sherlock Holmes. For a while, he just sat there. Why you, he thought, why you of all people? John heard a noise behind him and turned quickly around. Molly Hooper froze in her steps and smiled awkwardly.
"Oh! I´m sorry, I was over at your place but you weren´t there. Then Mrs. Hudson told me that you had gone to the cemetery and... well, here you are.", she said. John stood up and hugged her. She wore a black coat over her dress and winter boots, her light brown hair hung loose down her back and she held a bouquet of red roses in her hands. She walked over to Sherlock´s grave and placed the roses carefully in front of it. John could see that she was desperately trying to stop the tears from running from her green eyes. He had known about Molly´s feelings for Sherlock, though it seemed that Sherlock himself hadn´t known about them. He walked over to her and put his arm around her. There they stood until Molly released herself and started to walk away. She turned around and said: "Merry Christmas, John.". He gave her a kind smile.
"Merry Christmas, Molly.". She walked away and John stood before Sherlock´s grave for a while longer. The sound of the rusty gate closing echoed through the cemetery. John took one last look at his friend´s grave.
"Merry Christmas, Sherlock.", he whispered before he swiftly turned around and began walking away, not even noticing the dark figure that hid in the shadows and watched his every movement.