I'm Home-SH
He's writing sad posts. Doesn't eat…barely talks…I'd say he's heart-broken, but he's John…of course he would be.
His gloves. They were neatly placed together on the coffee table…where Sherlock always threw them. His infamous deer stalker hat that he hated, neatly bowed next to the gloves. His science equipment. Only touched when it got slightly dusty. Otherwise his experiments were left…he was in the middle of one. His violin. Placed on his chair, with the bow rested against it, and his music sheets were still in the stand. His chair. The leather slightly moulded to Sherlock's huddled figure whenever he yelled at the t.v. The top was dipped inwards a bit from where he used it as a ladder or seat. Then there was his bedroom. John left the bed sheets as they were, all strewn cross the bed in different directions. His dressing gown was neatly hung on the hook where his coat used to be…nothing in that room ever changed...
"Woohoo." Mrs Hudson did her usual tap on the door before entering the cold flat. John sat motionless in his armchair…his walking stick resting against the arm.
"Come on dear. We need to get you outside." She quickly took the mug that sat on the coffee table, putting it in the kitchen before grabbing John's coat and bustling him into it. He didn't make a sound…no protest…he stayed silent…just like he did that day.
"I'll take you down to your therapist and then we can go and get a coffee. Does that sounds alright?" Yet again, John made no sound…he just picked up his stick and followed her out, screwing his hand together every so often.
The taxi ride was silent. I stared out of the vacant window and watched the London streets go by. The streets that he knew so well. was rambling on with one of her many stories yet again. I couldn't bring myself to listen…they all included Sherlock now. Ever since he…died, she always tells me these stories. Some I find fascinating…others not so much…they're more painful. This was one of those days where I wanted to just cry. I know it sounds stupid…I mean, I invaded Afghanistan yet this was what hurt me…because I'm alone now. Again.
"John dear? We're here." I still said nothing. I just grabbed my crutch and got out of the taxi before paying the driver a hefty fee…as always.
She was always trying to squeeze these answers out of me…it was more of an interview than therapy. I never answered…I just gave nods…sometimes not even that.
"There's something that I never told anyone…I only told him once...but he didn't understand what I was getting at." I composed myself before continuing.
"And what was that?" She got her pen and paper ready…stop it. Please.
"I love him." Her facial expression glazed over. She wasn't really showing any emotion.
"R-right…okay. Now we're getting somewhere." She tried a smile but it collapsed and failed miserably.
"I want to rewind it all...nobody said this was going to be easy, but then no-one ever told me it would be this hard…I want to go back to the start. But I know I can't." I choked and stuttered it out. My phone vibrated in my pocket and I took it out, expecting it to be another text from Mycroft…Sherlock. My heart pounded against my chest and my eyes grew wide.
Wrong-SH
Words escaped me. I asked for a miracle…but I didn't think I would be getting one. I fumbled around for words but none came to me. Words can't describe how or what I was feeling so what was the point in looking for them. I looked around to room for a desperate sign of his existence…I imagined it didn't I? My phone buzzed again. My heart skipped several beats and I felt a sickness brewing in my stomach.
I'm Home –SH
"Sherlock." Tears stung my eyes and gave no warning on falling. I got up and left. Leaving her there confused. I ran. I rung telling her everything and to meet me at the flat…she was just as flustered and confused as I was.
"This isn't happening. You're delusional." I was telling myself the whole way home the same thing…but I wanted to believe it…that's why I kept going.
"Sherlock?!" I shouted through the block of flats as I ran up the stairs. I'd forgotten my crutch.
"Sherlock." I breathed out, half-shouting half whispering as I burst through the flat door. He wasn't there.
"I knew it." I let tears fall again. My last shred of hope was disappearing…but I knew I got those texts. Unless some sick basted is playing a joke. I searched. I found nothing.
You left my room in a right state. –SH
My phone received yet another text.
"Sherlock!" I ran down the short corridor, but it seemed like it took me forever to reach his door. I had to stop. This couldn't be true, surely. I placed my hand on the door and pushed.
"You took your time." Sherlock briskly turned to face me. He had a smirk on his face…that dick.
"Sherlock." I fell against the wall and then sunk to the floor. This wasn't really happening.
"You…you were dead. You were lying on that pavement with blood coming out of your head Sherlock!" I wanted to shout it but I couldn't. I just cried.
"John…I'm sorry. Please forgive me." He picked me up from the floor and I just fell into his chest.
"You're back. You really are back." I breathed into his scarf. His scarf. It sat neatly around his neck. Then his coat. It was thrown over the bed.
"I need to tell you something." I looked up at his face. I had to study every piece of it to see if it really was him. It was. It really was.
"What? Haven't you already said enough?" I smiled. Any feeling of surprise or shock that I was overwhelmingly feeling vanished.
"I love you too." My eyes grew wide again and he smiled down at me…his infamous smile. I didn't hesitate. I kissed him. Nothing mattered anymore, no-one but him.
"I see you kept the hat?" He chuckled in a deep raspy voice.
"You still haven't gotten the milk." I smiled back at him.