Dear John: A Sherlock/John fanfiction

By: Lila Rose

*Disclaimer* I own nothing. Rights for Sherlock belong to Mark Gatiss, Steven Moffat, BBC, and Arthur Conan Doyle. Characters may not be mine, but this story is. Please ask before posting it anywhere else.

Dear John,

If you are reading this, then I must have died trying to beat Moriarty at his own game. Which I did, at great cost to everyone involved, including you. I know you haven't returned to our flat, or else you wouldn't be reading this. I admit, the way I said goodbye wasn't the best way, but it was the only way at the time. Jim said that he would give me a moment alone, and then proceeded to blow his brains out. The only way to save you was to perform a magic trick. A trick, John, that's all it was. "DO one thing for me, Sherlock, don't be dead." I believe those were your exact words. Do one thing for me, John. Return to 221b Baker Street.

Goodbye John,

SH.

That was Sherlock's official last goodbye, and it turned me into a weeping mess, and the daily visits to his grave weren't helping things either. In short, his suicide was quite possibly the worst thing that had happened to me, especially since I was lost without him. Best friend, secretly the man I loved, and partner in crime. I wished beyond the shadow of a doubt that he hadn't jumped, that he hadn't decided to make me watch, and that I hadn't been able to do anything about it.

It had been a long day, and we had still more running to do, so when Sherlock realized that I was limping more than usual, he reached out and grabbed my hand. Dark hair and icy blue eyes bore into my memory, pleading with me to keep running. Our lives depended on that little detail; the fact that I needed to keep running. The look in his eyes told me that if I stopped running, he would too, because he didn't want to leave me behind. I would have run miles for the smile when he took my hand.

A knock on the door jolted me out of my reverie, and I knew it was time to deliver my memorium. My final goodbye to the man I had fallen in love with, and had been loved by in return, and it was only words. One step closer to a goodbye, and yet words were not enough closure.

"John. We're ready for you to deliver your speech." Anderson's voice came from the other side of the door.

"Yeah, I'll be right there." Wiping the tears from my eyes, I finished getting ready to give the speech. Walking out of the room and up to the podium, even with my cane, was the worst walk in my life. "Today we remember a very good man. My best friend, Sherlock Holmes, is dead." With that, multiple chimes went off throughout the crowd, and people pulled out their phones. Mine vibrated, and I pulled it out, and stared at the screen in shock. It was a message from Sherlock, and it was sent just a second ago. I opened it, and the first word I read was, "WRONG!" The last words I saw after that, that I can remember clearly were "John, look up."

Walking towards me, just as pale, just as dark, just as much Sherlock as before his suicide, there he was. He smiled, and held out his arms, as if inviting an embrace. I don't remember much after that for a little while, but I do remember running to him, throwing my arms around him in a hug, and saying that I'd never let him go. By this time everyone was staring at us, and Sherlock just stared right back.

"John, let's give Anderson a little bit of a show, shall we? Really make him think that I'm a vampire." With that, he bent my neck at a very odd angle, and drove his teeth against my skin hard enough to draw a little blood. When he finally pulled away, my neck was red and purple, and bleeding a little. His mouth had a little blood around it, and as he slowly licked his lips, I could literally feel everyone at my back shudder. Anderson ran out of the room with a horrified look on his face, and Sherlock led me out of the room, slowly. Still holding on to each other for support, we managed to make it to 221b Baker Street, and I had regained enough coherence to make him cringe. I was in a rage.

"While I am incredibly, and incandescently, happy that you are still alive, when I came to look for you, hoping that the body that was lying on the ground wasn't you, you were NEVER here. How do you explain that? I went to your grave every day for the past year, crying and ranting, pleading that it wasn't true, and yet you crash your own funeral. I hope this makes you ha-." I didn't get to finish that sentence, as he came closer and kissed me. When he broke it, he kept his forehead pressed to mine, and whispered a sentence.

"John, don't you understand? Everything that has happened in the past months has been for your own good, and I needed to see how much we needed each other. This past year has been a torture for me. When I was living under the London Bridge, fighting against death in Peru, standing on the top of the Eiffel Tower in Paris, the only thing that kept me going was you." Sherlock was trying to keep me focused on something that was really important, but all I could think was that I'd had MY heart ripped out, almost like the same way Moriarty had described burning the heart out of my love.

"John? Where the BLOODY HELL is my brother?" Mycroft walked through the door swearing with a very upset Mrs. Hudson on his heels. When he saw the position that I was in; Broken-hearted Sherlock at my feet, me standing above him crying, Mycroft laughed. He actually laughed, and reminded me of our first meeting. "Should we be expecting the happy announcement by the end of the week? Sherlock, mummy has been very upset for the past year, and I think the possibility of a wedding would just cheer her right up! And before you ask, Sherlock; yes, the diet is going just fine." With that, he strode out of the room, pausing only once to look back at the weeping mess that was his little brother.

"Sherlock! You're home and safe once again. The past year has been the very worst, having to put up with Mr. I'm-Not-Heartbroken-I'm-Just-Drunk and the habits he picked up from you. Shots in the wall, curling up on the couch in his bathrobe, blocking out the world, helping the police with their cases. I think that last one he did hoping it would lead him to you." Mrs. Hudson rambled as she helped me get Sherlock onto the couch.

"Mrs. Hudson, can you get us some tea? Please?"

"Not your housekeeper, dear." She said it fondly, and reached out to stroke Sherlock's cheek. "Don't ever go where he can't follow again. It's hard having to take care of a man who has lost the one thing he lives for." Next moment we could hear her open the door, and she was bustling about her kitchen next door.

I looked at the man seated across from me, remembering how just yesterday that very spot had been empty of the man I loved, and on an impulse I leaped. I leaped from my chair to his lap, and I sat there like a little Koala, holding onto his neck. He nuzzled my shoulder and let out a sigh.

"As bad as everything seems now, John, it could have been worse. Moriarty threatened to burn the heart out of me. I have been reliably informed on many occasions that I didn't have a heart, and then I met you. The way he was going to burn my heart out was through you, by ending your life to try and make me love him." He kissed me, lightly at first, and then it deepened into a thirst for more.

"Tea's ready, dear. Oh my, I'll just leave you two alone." Mrs. Hudson had walked in, and though we sprang apart like two VERY guilty teenagers, it was obvious that she had seen more than either of us cared for her to see. Lestrade came through the door next, with Anderson and Donovan trailing after him.

"But how are you alive, Sherlock? I saw your dead body! I held John back when he tried to make it back to your body! How?" Lestrade was only slightly less stunned than the pair behind him. Anderson was red with fury, and Donovan was pale with shock. It wasn't fair to her that the one man who she had been slightly terrified of, just because he was a genius, and knew things about her, had come back. Poor, unfortunate soul. She didn't realize that she'd been played, because Anderson was still completely in love with his wife. Sherlock had seen this, and through his insights, so had I. This was somewhere only we knew, and I was happy to remember the very first time I had met him. He was so overconfident, and yet at the same, so ignorant. I had seen the look in his eyes when I had first tried to tell him I loved him. The animalistic hunger that burned from within shone out through the tempest that raged in his eyes. He had never had someone who had realized what it meant to truly be alone, and he was glad to finally have a friend who understood him, not judged him. My heart had shattered with his last words to me that day, and seeking the solace of another person didn't help. My heart had picked itself up, dusted itself off, and tried to piece itself back together. Seeing him, alive and well, had mended the cracks and missing pieces, and as we sat there laughing at the reactions on the faces of our coworkers, I realized just how much I really did love him. Unfortunately, he never really got around to telling me how much I had meant to him until right before he had jumped. Just two little words, words that had betrayed so much of what he actually felt, and I knew that it was never going to be a happy ending for me and Sherlock Holmes. Until today, that is.

"Anderson, Donovan, Lestrade, I want to cordially invite you to my annual Christmas-time party, and there will be a happy time for all. For one night, I intend to not work." Sherlock still had his head tucked against my shoulder, and my cheek was still pressed against his curls, but it was the most natural feeling in the world. Someone once told me that Sherlock won't say he's in love, ever. It was a miracle to get him to even have the emotions that ran as an undertow to his words. Those two words had ruined my heart for a long time, but now with him next to me, I can remember them without nightmares.

"This phone call, it's my note. Goodbye, John." Sherlock then dropped his phone, and followed it to the ground. Or so I had thought, losing my heart and head at the same time.

I was going to have to ask him about that, his little magic trick. I remember reaching out and taking his hand, praying for one last miracle, praying for him not to be dead. He would never have left me behind like that...

Reviews would be just darling Lovelies... Thank you for reading this.