Author's Note: This is an extremely short, angsty little drabble I wrote for a couple friends who were crying over The Reichenbach Fall and wanted more Sherlockian things to cry over. I basically took my idea of how Sherlock would react to John's breakdown at his grave and ran with it. I'll be coming out with a few more Sherlock fics in a few days, so I hope you guys enjoy this one!
It is then that Sherlock sees John bow his head, his posture slump from its normal military stance, a hand come up against his face. In the otherwise quiet cemetery, Sherlock can hear the jagged intake of breath, and while he can't make out the exact words, he hears the slight catches in John's speech. Faked death be damned, he wants nothing more than to run over and cradle John in his arms and explain everything, tell him it was going to be okay and that before he knew it they would be together again. But he can't, and he knows this. The rational part of his mind tells him so, the other part fills his eyes with tears for the second time in as many days, and Sherlock isn't sure how he's supposed to just stand by and witness the unraveling of the man he loves. He thinks he'd rather die. Again. But he knows he can't. His lover's heartache would not be for nothing, Sherlock knows there are things he must do to keep him safe, and to make them both safe.
He stays silent as he watches John collect himself, has to fight to keep still as John exits the cemetery, and for the first time in as long as he can remember, comes close to completely losing it. He slams his fist against a tree, his body shaking and tears leaving tracks on his pale skin. His breath comes in short, shaky gasps, and he damns his body for betraying his emotions. A few minutes pass and Sherlock regains his composure. As he steals away from the cemetery, he is more determined than ever to make every move count. He would be face to face with John Watson again, no matter what it took. This pain, these goodbyes, they were temporary, they were not in vain.