THE UNQUIET GRAVE
John walked slowly, his head stretched up as he looked up at the darkening sky, a few lone raindrops falling on his lips. He smiled faintly as he approached his destination – the gravestone of Sherlock Holmes.
Once he was a few feet away from the black stone, he stopped, lowering his head in a silent acknowledgement of his fallen friend. His mind filled with all the things he had wanted to say, all the words that never passed his lips, a he let a tear mingle with the slight rain falling on his face.
It had been just over a year since Sherlock had fallen to his death. One year and one day since John had watched helpless as his best friend took his own life. The mess of colour that had once stood at the foot of his grave was now little more than a small pile of wilted, brown petals and stems, covered by a single wreath that the mourning doctor had lain the day before. John had watched these flowers wilt. Each day he had come to see his friend as he would have done any other day and he had cried as he had done over the taller man's broken body.
As John lifted his head to the sky, he let his tears flow freely, pressing his lips together in a tight line and closing his eyes. After a long moment, he walked forward a little and, as he had done everyday before, he ran his fingertips over the top of the gravestone, whispering the three little words he'd never been able to say to the man's face before turning to go as he normally would. However, he found his path blocked by a tall, pale man.
Sherlock Holmes stood before him and John lost all ability to move or talk. He stood there in silence, echoed from his ghost of a friend. A long quietness descended as the graveyard grew dark. Finally, John spoke.
"Why…how…what are you…Sherlock are…" he trailed off, unable to finish any of the sentences he'd started. However, he didn't have to and his friend seemed to understand each of the unspoken questions.
"I couldn't bear it." Sherlock took a step closer so they were now only a foot apart. "Watching you mourn over me for so long. I couldn't stay away knowing how…broken you were."
"Then why did you have to go away?" The tears were prickling at John's eyes but he managed to keep them at bay. That was until Sherlock answered him.
"To keep you safe." Sherlock inched even closer. "To stop Moriarty from killing you. He was going to-" He swallowed the last word, choking on the idea of John being struck down. John allowed a single tear to fall down his cheek as Sherlock continued. "I have to go away again. I have to…to take care of a few more things but please, please don't mourn for me."
John could only nod as Sherlock started to walk away before stopping and turning back to his friend. "Can I…John, before I go, can I have something?"
"Anything." Sherlock walked the short distance back, until he and John were only a few inches from each other.
"Did you mean what you said?" John's brow furrowed in confusion and Sherlock clarified. "What you've been saying for the past year. Every time you touch my grave you say… Do you mean it?"
"Yes," John breathed and Sherlock sighed before closing the space between them and pressing a short, sweet kiss to the shorter man's lips. John's hands wove into Sherlock's hair as Sherlock pressed a hand to John's cheek. After and endless moment, they broke apart and Sherlock smiled. They stayed in that place for a long minute, neither wanting to move away. Then Sherlock started to pull John off him and took a step back.
"I have to go. But I'll be back." He pressed another short kiss to his lips before whispering, "I love you."
John opened his eyes to find the taller man completely gone. He smiled to himself and turned around, looking at the gravestone of his undead friend. Running his fingers along it's cool stone, he said the four words he'd hope to be able to say. "I love you too."