Disclaimer: I own nothing.
A/N: Brought on by angst in the wake of the season 2 finale. May possibly be expanded into a series of oneshots. MAJOR SPOILERS for "The Reichenbach Fall."
"What happened, John?"
John sits in the chair and listens to the question all the while wondering why exactly he thought going back to therapy would be helpful. He runs the words over in his mind, but isn't quite sure how to answer. Because he doesn't know what happened. He doesn't know why Sherlock decided to jump off the rooftop of St. Bart's after a phone call that made very little sense to him. He doesn't know. But he answers anyway.
"Sherlock…my best friend, Sherlock Holmes…is dead."
He wants to blame so many people. Mycroft for giving Moriarty Sherlock's story, Donovan and Anderson for giving in to their doubts about him, Moriarty for making it come to this. But somehow, even though he is angry with them, he is most angry with Sherlock despite what he told Mrs. Hudson.
He's not entirely sure what the main reason is behind the anger. Definitely a large part of it is that Sherlock left him…alone again. Maybe it's because by jumping off a roof, Sherlock let Moriarty win. Maybe it's because he took away the battlefield. Or maybe it's just because…after everything…Sherlock can't give him one more miracle.
"Don't be dead. Would you, just for me, just stop it? Stop this."
He begged him. Begged a dead man to come back to life. Sometimes, when he looks back on that moment, he wonders if he was speaking to Sherlock or to the God he hasn't believed in for a long while. Not that it changes anything. No matter what was the case, Sherlock is still gone, and he is still alone.
He can't go back to Baker Street. The thought of living in that flat without the sound of violin music or gunshots at all hours, the stench of chemicals or smoke, the sight of Sherlock deep in thought at the table or his computer…that thought is unbearable.
"The stuff that you wanted to say…but didn't say it…say it now."
Except he can't say it. Can't say anything. Because how can he tell his therapist, a virtual stranger, the things that he only ever wanted to say to Sherlock? How can he tell this woman that he burns inside from calling the man he loves a machine? How can he tell her about the pain he feels for never expressing that love through words? How can he tell anyone that he will never be the same again, that he is completely and utterly lost without the best man he has ever known? He can't.
"Please! Will you do this for me? This phone call…it's my note. That's what people do, don't they? Leave a note?"
Damn that man. That beautiful, broken man. Sherlock Holmes was his best friend, and he will always believe in him, no matter what anyone else thinks, but damn that man for sending him away, for making him watch him die…for lying to him.
John visits Sherlock's grave every day. He talks to it, yells at it, and sometimes cries on it. Every time he asks for just one more miracle. And every time he is greeted with the silence of the dead. Perhaps some miracles are just impossible.
And yet, as he leaves the therapist's office today, his phone buzzes. The number is blocked, but the message both makes his face pale and his heart awaken in his chest. Impossible…
Some miracles take time, John. –SH
How much time, Sherlock? How much time? His head spins as he tries to comprehend the words on the screen and the reality that comes with them.
Wait and see. -SH
If nothing else, John Watson has always trusted Sherlock Holmes. And so he will wait as long as it takes.
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Also, just as a quick note, the text from Sherlock was actually something a friend of mine came up with and we both decided to write about it. So if you see it in something by FicletMistress, it's not stolen, it's shared :)