Three words.
There were three very simple words that Sherlock longed to hear from someone not his parents, three words that he thought he'd be forever denied.
Sure, Molly could say them. Sherlock was sure that Molly thought a lot about having a conversation along those lines.
No... Sherlock wanted to hear them from John.
There were times when he thought he was going to. Sherlock would hold his breath, wait... and be disappointed, time and time again.
He entertained the idea of saying them himself, but always lost his nerve. Whenever those honest and proud blue eyes looked at him, his breath caught in his throat and Sherlock would begin babbling about something related to a case. John, oblivious, would simply smile or roll his eyes.
When Sherlock was about to jump, he remembered wanting to have those words said more than anything he'd ever wanted before. He didn't care who said them. But instead, his ears rang with the anguish cry of his friend shouting his name as he fell to his "death".
And then the three words John said didn't come out at all like Sherlock had imagined-had dreamed-they would...but he supposed it would suffice. They meant the same thing, after all, didn't they?
"Don't. Be. Dead."
oooooooooo
what is wrong with me...im sorry...
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