Me dealing with post-Reichenbach feelings.

With a series of drabbles.

Warnings: Angst, Sadness, eventually incorrectness, due to me being no native speaker.

…...

John had just emerged the supermarket when he saw Sherlock.

The Consulting detective was standing on the oppositePavement, those calculating grey eyes staring directly at John. For one moment, it seemed as if the world had completely stopped and John could nothing do but returning the gaze of those eyes.

Then a by-passer brushed his shoulder and he suddenly snapped back into reality, his body coming to life again and he was hurrying, running, ignoring furious drivers and the sound of klaxons behind him, dodging the driving cars, just crossing the street in the fastest way possible, his eyes never leaving Sherlocks calm face.

He reached the pavement and his sudden sprint came to halt, just a few steps away from Sherlock.

One, two hesitantly steps forward he was face-to-face with him, his eyes drinking everything in, the slightly pale tan, high cheekbones, black, curled hair, the blue scarf and the dark coat.

„Sherlock?", he whispered. The detective did not respond, just merely continued to look at John.

His hand was trembling as he reached out. His fingers merely touched Sherlocks cheek and he did feel...

nothing.

With wide eyes he saw how the fingers passed into the skin as if it was air. The figure wavered slightly like it was under water, the outlines crippling and starting to dissolve.

„No", John breathed. „No, don't... don't..."

Sherlock smiled a sad smile, became transparent and then disappeared, leaving the doctor behind.