Here is chapter one! Enjoy! This story is what happens after Sherlock's plunge… ENJOY!
John felt stuck. Very stuck. After Sherlock's death, John's nightmares of the war have dissipated a bit, but they have been replaced with Sherlock. Each dream was different in how Sherlock died, but it all started the same:
John and Sherlock were arguing in 221B Baker Street, over some stupid thing Sherlock had done. Sherlock storms out, and John follows, screaming at the top of his lungs for Sherlock to never come back, to leave him forever. John throws the mug he has in his hands at Sherlock, missing his head by so much. Sherlock whips around and grabs John's face before screeching over and over how John never meant anything to him… Oh wait. This was the most recent dream.
John shudders as he bows his head, tears threatening to pour from his puffy eyes again into his lap. John was sitting in Sherlock's chair, cross-legged and hunched (very unlike himself) and sniffling. John closes his eyes and allows his mind to travel back to three months prior, when Sherlock jumped.
He remembers wishing that Sherlock, being Sherlock, had coal-black wings that would open up at the last minute and he would soar, soar higher than the tallest buildings of London, and then it'd be over. No, instead John found himself fighting the paramedics at the hospital to get a good look at him, to make sure he really wasn't dead, to make sure his best friend was alive. Then he stopped yelling, when his war-heightened ears heard the familiar sound of a flatline, and he pushed the nurses away and found his flatmate, paler than milk and glassy eyed. John doesn't remember all what happens next, except that Mycroft and Lestrade had to pull him off of the dark-haired male.
John hiccupped as he pulled his dressing gown around his shoulders tightly. John was ready for pain and grief, but he was never even close to prepared for this.
John realized that he had been pitying himself again and got up to get a cuppa tea. As the water boiled, he looked onto the table, which had been cleared of the test tubes and Petri dishes and other things Sherlock used for his cases. John then looked to the clock on the wall, which read 2:45 in the afternoon.
After his tea, he didn't feel like staying up for the rest of the day. It was his day off from surgery, and he would be needed tomorrow extra early, so he retired to his room.
That night he drempt Sherlock was in the bed with him once again, holding him close, saying "Sorry" over and over, punctuating each word with kisses up John's neck. John smiled and chuckled,
"I forgive you, Sherlock. As long as you're still with me, I'm happy, no matter the idiotic things you do, there is always a reason," Then John got sad and turned to face the man. Sherlock had disappeared, and the bedroom window was wide open. John went to close the window.
"But... Why did you jump?" He said aloud as a single tear fell down his cheek.
I am sorry... so so sorry... *cries*