If Johnlock were to be realized, how?
John stood over the grave. It was made of dark stone and bore just two words. Sherlock Holmes. He took a step back and a breath in. How had he let him slip away? How had he let his best friend leave him like that. This wasn't how things should have ended, was all he ever seemed to think. There were so many things he'd never said to Sherlock. It was just his emotional detachment rubbing off on me, he used to tell himself. But now he'd realized that wasn't right. He just hadn't been brave enough, but he would be now.
"Um ... mmm." He started. "You ... you told me once that you weren't a hero. Umm ... there were times I didn't even think you were human, but let me tell you this: you were the best man, and the most human ... human being that I've ever known and no-one will ever convince me that you told me a lie, and so ... There." He blew out a breath, whimpering slightly. He looked over his shoulder, then placed his fingertips on the headstone
"I was so alone, and I owe you so much." John took a tearful breath, and then started to walk away, only to turn back, once he reached the foot of the grave
"No, please, there's just one more thing, mate, one more thing: one more miracle, Sherlock, for me." He spoke tearfully to the grave. "Don't ... be ... dead. Would you do ...? Just for me, just stop it." He paused and gestured down towards the grave. "Stop this." He started to walk away once more, but instead turned back, this time coming right up to the headstone. He gently rested his head against the cold grey rock, and gripped it with his hands, as another tear rolled down his cheek. "Sherlock," he said, and took in a sharp breath. "I know I've never said this before, but I'm going to say it now, and know that I mean it." He paused and glanced up for a second, before resting his head once more, and closing his worn eyes. "I love you." His chest rose in a sob, and he just knelt there like that.
After a short amount of time had passed, though, he stood back up, wiped away the tears from his cheeks, and straightened his shirt collar and started to mumble to himself. "Look at me, talking to a grave. Bloody hell." He glanced over his shoulder once more before actually leaving this time. But he would be back.
A/N: This will just be a place where I post small ideas in fic form of how Johnlock could be/ could have been realized. (Not to criticize Moftiss, I of course love their writing and how they're handling the show.) I feel like I'm nearly imploding waiting for season 4, though, and need to get something out of my overflowing brain. I hope you're feeling great, and as always any reviews would be appreciated. Bye!
(Also, thanks to this post for John's original speech transcript ;) - . )
( P.S.I believe in the TJLC and have a feeling season 4 is going to be dark, but beautiful as well. Really goodbye this time!)