"Don't be…dead."
The last word was caught momentarily in John Watson's throat. He sucked in his breath, fighting back tears.
"Just for me, just stop it. Stop this."
He exhaled and gave one last look at the grave mark. He saw his own reflection in the shiny black marble stone, his face contorted with emotion and pain. A tear rolled down his cheek as the clouds above him began to cluster and darken. John stumbled away from the grave. He needed to break free.
Outside the cemetery, his cab waited, waited to take him far away from rainy London.
John slammed the cab door shut just as the first raindrops began to fall.
"HeathrowAirport please" he stuttered. He glanced at the tombstone in the distance once more as the vehicle began to roll away. The name engraved on it seemed to glow against the dark sky, like a beacon guiding a ship during a storm in the black of the night.
The name:
Sherlock Holmes.
This is the last call for passengers departing for flight BA209 to Miami International Airport.
John Watson gripped his boarding pass with his left hand and his luggage in his right as he filed in line. He noticed a slight tremor in his left- one that had not appeared since his return from the war in Afghanistan. John rolled up his sleeve and sighed. He could almost see Sherlock's arm as his, covered with nicotine patches.
"No. No. For goodness sake John, stop thinking about it. About him…"
His voice trailed off. His vision blurred with tears.
"Sir, passport and boarding pass?"
John blinked. "Uh…" he stuttered. "Yes. Right, one moment" he fumbled for his pockets. His hand had just brushed his phone when it went off; a quick vibrate for an incoming text.
John blinked again. "Probably a wrong number since I changed my phone a few weeks ago." He thought to himself.
He clicked on his phone from sleep mode.
Baker Street. Come at once if convenient.
-SH
John blinked again. "This has to be some kind of practical joke." he muttered.
"Sir? Your passport?" the boarding attendant chimed, clearly annoyed by the holdup. But John could not hear her, it was like hot foam had blanketed his mind, blocking out every outside sound and sight. All he could see was the shimmering screen and the text.
"I could be wrong, but I think that's none of your business" he said out loud. The scene seemed so familiar. A déjà-vu from the past.
And then a voice, a memory echoed in his head. "If you do move into 221B, Baker Street, I'd be happy to pay you a meaningful sum of money on a regular basis to ease your way."
Of course. That was Mycroft's voice from his memories echoing the conversation. John shook his head. Obviously this text was a prank.
His phone buzzed again.
If inconvenient, come anyway.
-SH
"Okay, I get it. I'm going insane. I aaaaaammm going completeeeelyyy bonkeersss right now." He screamed. "God damn it all! This is not funny!" he sobbed and tears began to roll.
"Could it be that you've decided to trust Sherlock Holmes of all people?" Mycroft spoke again in his head.
"Who says I-"John blinked. "Of course I trust him. He's my best friend. Now shut up Mycroft Holmes!"
And with the last word, he snapped back to earth and into the stares of the surrounding passengers, some staring at him with their jaws wide open like he was a circus freak.
Buzz.
Could be dangerous.
-SH
John Watson snapped his phone back into sleep mode. People were still staring at him awkwardly. He picked up his luggage and bolted down the long hallways of HeathrowAirport and into the sunshine.
John burst through the door and rushed up the creaky wooden stairs of 221B. He caught himself at the last step, panting.
"What if this is just a sick joke?" he thought. He shook his head, hesitated, and pushed open the door.
Sherlock Holmes stood by the dusty window, sunlight framing his silhouette, illuminating his razor-sharp cheekbones and curly, dark hair.
"Hello John" he said in his warm baritone. It was like a warm wave crashing over him. John strode over to the old couch by Sherlock and collapsed onto it. A layer of dust was sent flying into the air, causing sunlight to dance upon the particles.
"I'm dreaming. I'm dreaming. Or I'm already dead." John sighed. He slid his hands over his eyes and racked a sob.
"Come now, John. I thought you were a doctor." Sherlock placed a warm hand on his shoulder.
"I have bad days." John Watson replied. He looked up into the smirking grin of his best friend and embraced him.
"I've missed you, Sherlock. You blithering idiot, how could you do this to me? To us? We're your friends…"
Even in an embrace, John could feel Sherlock roll his eyes.
"I've missed you too, old chap." He paused.
"Can I borrow your phone?"
"You have questions." Sherlock tapped his fingers together quizzically.
"How did you do it?" John asked.
"Do what?"
"Come back from the dead. I saw you. You were dead. I took your pulse too."
Sherlock smiled.
"I knew Moriarty would try to have me kill myself as he framed me for a fake. I devised a plan in order to feign my death if the situation came to be where you, Lestrade, and Mrs. Hudson would be in grave danger. In order to fake my suicide, I had Molly draw a large amount of my blood earlier on that day and had her prepare a drug that would stop my pulse. I arranged for a laundry truck to be parked outside and I contacted the largest underground network- the homeless network to cover my corpse and keep bystanders away, including you. I knew you would try to run to me, to see if I was truly dead, but I couldn't allow for that to happen. For this to work, I needed to die in order to save you. Do you remember where I told you to stand? The small building blocked your line of sight, as well as the gunman's. I arranged for the biker to knock you over in case you ran to see if I was truly dead, buying me more time to apply the blood before the drug took effect. Once I was rushed into the hospital, they extracted whatever substance was left in the pill and defibrillated me back to life. I left the hospital with Molly and been staying at her place since. Until the time was right, I would appear again."
Sherlock caught his breath.
"You see John, I had no choice, I had to fall in order for you to rise once again."
John sighed. "Brilliant. Really Sherlock, as expected. But risky."
Sherlock chuckled, "It was worth it. Saving your life."
"Sherlock, promise me." Tears welled up in John's eyes. "Don't ever abandon me like that ever again."
Sherlock laughed. "And I thought you weren't gay."
And together, they walked out of 221B and into the chilly, London sunset.