AN: Just a quick little thing I threw together when I was bored a while back. Slight Johnlock. I could continue it but it's more of a oneshot, pretty short.
John's POV
Sitting at my desk, and working on a case is what I've been doing a lot since Sher- since, well.. You know..
It's just exceptionally harder today, as it's Sherlock's birthday. I'm surprised I even know the date, he was never one to care for birthdays. Or, celebrations in general.
As I read into this case, I start to lose my composure. It's just, so hard, as it reminds me of my first.. A study in pink part two, perhaps? Nonetheless, it's too much like him.
He never leaves my mind. He's always there, his face haunting me everywhere I look, and every place I go. His voice floating through the abyss of my mind and I just can't take it anymore!
I set the files down, I've had enough for now.. There's just too many memories within.
I grab a tissue and wipe my eyes, as I noticed that my face had become wet with tears. Oh, how I've wished and wished for years that he would come back for me, into my arms.
I no longer knew whether my feelings for him were heterosexual or not, but what I knew is that I longed for his company, his sass and snide remarks. And oh, what I'd give to wake up just past three in the morning to hear his gun go off not once, but many times, firing a smile into the wall.
But, all I hear is silence. No gun, no remarks, no Sherlock. It takes all I have not to lose it and just cry until no more tears come.
If only he would leave my mind for but five minutes, so I could concentrate on work. But, we shared this room, we shared this flat. From time to time, I'm certain I see him, sitting on his bed, on the chairs, looking through his mind palace. But alas, each time I call out, he disappears. His smell is all over the flat, fading but still there. His clothes, well, as hard as I try, I can't get them to smell like him again. Because he had that unique smell that was just, Sherlock.
Just now, I'm certain I can hear his knock. I know it's his, from the spot on the door, to how hard he knocks, to the part of his hand he uses. We'd spent every moment together, until that awful day. Why couldn't I have been faster and stopped him? It pains me greatly.
The knocking fails to stop, so I wipe my eyes one last time and go to check the door.
My eyes widen at the sight, and I scramble to rack my brain for the words that have disappeared. "S-Sher-lock?" I manage to pitifully stutter.
"Yes John, I'm back." He says, with that beautiful voice that makes me realize that no, I'm not imagining things. No, this isn't a dream. And yes, this is really happening. He's really back.
AN: Hope you enjoyed! And let me know if I should continue it or not. Sorry it's so short.