A/N: I wrote this on a whim so it's probably full of mistakes if you notice any let me know :)
This is my first fic so I appreciate your criticism.
Oh, and yes obviously I don't know what happens in S4 this is just a silly idea.
Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock or the characters.
"Sherlock is a girl's name."
That wasn't what he meant to say. Why didn't he say it? What if those really were his last moments with John?
Those were the words he had decided to say, but they weren't the words in his heart. Why didn't he say it? Why was it so hard? Three little words to tell John exactly what he meant to him, how much his friendship meant to him.
"I will tell him. I will march off this plane and tell him."
...
John stood next to the runway staring at the runway, his hand intertwined with Mary's. Sherlock had been gone for four minutes. Four measely minutes. It wasn't long. Compared to a lifetime, four minutes was a crumb, an irrelevent amount of time. But it already felt like it had been a lifetime. Like a piece of himself was torn out the second Sherlock Holmes walked into his life. Sherlock was his best friend. His best friend who was being sent to his death. His best friend who shot, and killed a man to protect Mary from her past. His best friend who, as much as he would deny it, was a hero.
"John look." John had been so absorbed in his thoughts he hadn't been paying attention to the sky anymore. If he had been paying attention, he would have the little, black dot on the horizon sooner.\
...
The same word kept running through Sherlock's head on loop as the plane skidded toward a stop on the runway. The same thought as Sherlock slid his bag out of the over-head compartment. The same thought as Sherlock walked toward the opening door of the plane's cabin. John. John. This was it. Sherlock was going to tell him. And for the first time in, quite possibly his entire life, Sherlock Holmes was nervous. He got to the front of the plane, butterflies warping in his stomach. He stepped out onto the steps. There stood John at the bottom. Waiting for him. Sherlock took a deep breath and stepped down the stairs, until he was face to face with John. "John I..." John cocked his head to the side "You what?"
He couldn't do it.
Call him a chicken, but he couldn't.
"John, I believe we have a criminal to catch."
...
John knew. Sherlock hadn't said the words, but he knew. Emotions were hard for Sherlock, and he knew that. He knew that maybe someday when the time and place was right Sherlock would say the words.
Or maybe he never would.
Fin.