Hi guys, so as of Tuesday I am a complete Sherlock nut and I just love it so much. So this took me a little over half an hour and I hope you guys enjoy it. ShellyMay
"You're always there. You're not real."
John moved stiffly up the stairs to 221b Baker Street. It had been a hard day at the surgery, losing more than one patient unexpectedly. He wiped a cold hand over his face in an attempt to wipe away the memories of the little boy with dark curls and sharp cheekbones who had bled out on his operating table and the call they'd gotten about the kind woman from the previous week who died from an unexpected aneurism caused by the stress of the accident that had placed her on his operating table.
Breathing out heavily he dug his keys out of his pocket and shuffled inside. Only after he let go of his cane did he realize he'd been holding so tightly the knuckles on his right hand were white and cramping. He shrugged out of his jacket and hung it up noticing a long grey trench coat already on the hook.
He walked over and sat in his arm chair ignoring the silent man across from him. He wasn't real. In the last three years no matter how often John saw Sherlock he was never there. He was dead. No matter how hard John wished he's stop it, just stop being dead and come back to him Sherlock was dead. John knew that himself. He checked the pulse of his best friend after watching him jump from the top of St. Bartholomew's. He still woke up regularly screaming after Sherlock.
"John… Are you okay?" The deep tenor was laced with fear. That couldn't be right. Sherlock Holmes did not feel emotions. They were a chemical defect he had mastered. Pale eye glinted in the slat of light that flooded the shadowed room cast from a street lamp.
"You aren't here. You're dead." John said his voice dull and monotone. His hands gripped his cane tightly where it stretched across his knees.
"I had to do it John. I had to make you believe that. It was the only way." The shadowed figure said leaning forward.
"The only way to what?" John asked still void of emotion.
Slowly the figure stood, tall and bony, carefully he stepped slowly around the small coffee table and knelt in front of his broken doctor. Placing his hands on top of John's he murmured "To save you John. Moriarty, well he threatened you, and Mrs Hudson and Lestrade. I had to it was the only way I'd be able to save you John."
"You aren't real. You never are. I never stop seeing you." John said. He breathed in deeply. Suddenly he was up and at the window cane left on the ground forgotten and Sherlock sitting on the floor staring after him. "Why do I never stop seeing you Sherlock!? Why are you always there? In the crowd, on the corner, on the tube, roof tops, alleyways, St. Bart's, here. Why can't you leave my mind alone?"
"Because I've always been here; checking up on you making sure you're okay, making sure you keep living. I'm sorry you couldn't know. It had to be that way. I can come back now and I'll never leave you again." Sherlock said before watching the army doctor. His only friend in the world crumple to the floor and fall apart.
Cautiously moving over Sherlock placed a hand on John's shoulder, he knelt once again to wrap an arm around shaking shoulders and run a hand through short sandy hair while John Watson sobbed into his chest.