Plot: Takes place after Reichenbach Falls (Sherlock BBC). Sherlock is closer than John thinks, John tries to cling to a little hope. But when someone is trying to take John for themselves, is Sherlock able to stay in the dark? It may be someone Sherlock knows, and it might be someone who already put John's life on the line. MIGHT BE A LITTLE OOC, Angst, Romance, and much more.

Pairings: Irene X Sherlock, Moriarty x John, Sherlock x John [In later chapters]

Note: My first story, I posted this on Tumblr just yesterday ( 02/20/12 ) and everyone pretty much cried xD (Hands a box of tissues) ENJOY

"So you really are dead…" John's voice cracked, raising a shaking hand roughly through his hair. He was back at the flat, just a few days after witnessing his best friend's death. He sat down with his suitcase, already having packed his belongings ahead of time, telling Mrs. Hudson that he can no longer stay in the flat, which she understood completely. But he promised to spend the night here and to visit every once in a while.

John glanced over at the seat that Sherlock would sit in thinking hard over a case that was requested by his clients, or just having a chat with John, drinking tea, everything he did was somehow related to that chair in anyway possible. "Everything here reminds me of him. Hard to believe that he just…so quickly…" He couldn't say the words. He couldn't come to believe his best friend just left his life in only a matter of minutes. But as it was happening, it seemed to last forever. The scene burned itself into the back of his eyes, Sherlock standing on the roof of the building, the 'confession' from Sherlock that painfully sunk itself into his heart, the hand reaching out towards him, the cry from Sherlock for John to keep his eyes fixed on him, how could he not? All he ever saw was Sherlock. The words that were spoken is what caused his heart to swell with pain and anger, almost crushing his ribs, 'Goodbye John', the heart-wrenching cry out towards his friend, the fall, the blood, the sorrow words that ghosted past his mouth, was he even speaking? He couldn't remember, because the only thing he remembered was Sherlock's unbeating pulse... John took a deep breath and exhaled, forcefully shoving the memory into the back of his mind, but no matter how much he tried to will it away, it would hit him ten-fold later on.

John took another deep breath and exhaled. Someone knocked from the open door, John glanced over his shoulder. Drenched from head to toe in black clothing, was Mrs. Hudson. John knew it was time already. "John, the cab is here." She said blankly. Mrs. Hudson has lost the happy chirp to her voice, although Sherlock stressed her about the bullets in her walls, body parts in the fridge, the mess of the entire flat. John smiled, but only for a second, until he focused his eyes back on Mrs. Hudson.

"Alright." He replied. Mrs. Hudson started to descend down the stairs, as John closed his suitcase and got up. He followed after Mrs. Hudson, not before making sure he was presentable for his best friend's funeral. Funeral, silly things they are. Who would want to celebrate someone's death? John don't be silly, I am not dead. Sherlock's voice echoed throughout his head. He froze, just about to open the cab door. "John, are you alright?" Mrs. Hudson questioned from inside the cab.

'No, I am not okay. I am going to mourn for the loss of my best friend, who I had to watch die. As you can see, I am FAR from okay. I am alone and lost. Just how I was before I met 'Him''. Oh, how he just wished to say that, but he realized Sherlock's death affected everyone around him. "Yes, I was just remembering something important." He replied, his voice laced with lies. Mrs. Hudson could see lost look in her soldier's eyes as it just radiated from him. He had a haunted look in his eyes and it leaked from his eyes onto his face, he also looked paler. He even limped from time to time.

The ride to the graveyard was painfully slow. Mrs. Hudson tried to make talk along the way. That surprisingly, helped John, even if it was a teensy bit. "I really am going to miss you boys."

Silence.

"That probably wasn't my best choice of words, but I will remember all the good times. Remember the Christmas photo I took of you and Sherlock? You guys were so adorable, he even wore the antlers!"

Silence.

"Just remember the good times John, knock the pain away." She sounded desperate, but not because of the funeral, but because of John. He was shaking. He wanted to tell Mrs. Hudson to shut it, but couldn't form any nicer words. Anything else about Sherlock, and he would snap.

"Seeing you boys smile, hearing you boys laugh and have a great time, I am going to miss the noise. All it will be is silen—"

"MRS. HUDSON. WILL YOU SHUT UP!" John yelled at her, "IT IS NOT HELPING. YOU ARE NOT THE ONE WHO HAD TO WATCH HIM DIE, TO HEAR HIS LAST WORDS, TO SEE HIS DEAD CORPSE. YOU THINK IT'S AS EASY AS JUST PUSHING ALL OVER THAT AWAY? IT KEEPS ME UP AT NIGHT; IT'S WORSENING EVERY MINUTE OF MY LIFE!" It was getting harder and harder to breathe; his eyes teared up, he stared at Mrs. Hudson's shocked face. "I'm sorry." She said, and looked out her window. "I am as well; I didn't mean to lash out on you, Mrs. Hudson. Don't blame yourself for trying to cheer me up, and don't force yourself to be happy." He said, adding a small smile. She turned to look at him, and smiled softly in return. "It's alright, John."

The cab stopped, Mrs. Hudson paid the cab driver and got out of the car. John said thanks and followed after her. He then was about to turn around to tip the cabbie. He froze his movements. Something about the Cabbie looked familiar, but he only got a look at the cabbie for a split second before the cabbie booked it and sped off. John only saw that man for a split second, as the cabbie booked it. He stood there, unmoving, until Mrs. Hudson grabbed him by the elbow, tugging him softly towards the grave. She finally got him moving and led him along, assuming he was dreading to go.

The funeral was long, painful, and drowned with sobs from people all over. John just stared at the casket. Trying to see through it, half of him was hoping it would open and Sherlock would pop out, healthy and living.

As the funeral was closing, people said their goodbyes towards Sherlock and wished the best of luck towards John and Mrs. Hudson.

Mycroft was there, he spoke to John for a bit, before bidding his farewell. "It's strange on how people are broken from someone's death, and yet, they still go to their last ceremony of their lifetime. John, he is not as what you think he is." John could see the look of panic and rushed look in Mycroft's eyes. But said goodbye anyways and parted their ways.

Mrs. Hudson and John stood at his grave. John looked at the name written in white over the black marble. Mrs. Hudson started to cry and dab at her eyes with a handkerchief that was provided by Mycroft. "You were like a son I never had, and I treated you like one…" Mrs. Hudson went on and on until she patted John's shoulder and walked away sobbing, bidding her farewells and saying something about preparing dinner, most likely the last one they will ever have together.

John looked behind his shoulder, making sure no one was around.

Okay, time to say it.

"You told me once…that you are the hero. Um, there were times I didn't even think you were human. But, let me tell you this. You were…the best man…the most human... Human being; that I have ever known. And no one will ever convince me that you told a lie. So…" John walked over towards the tombstone, touched the tip of it with his fingers. "I was…so alone. And I owe you so much..." He stated. He turned around and started to head back, but turned around on his heel and looked back at the grave. "One more thing, one more miracle, Sherlock…for me. Don't. Be…Dead. Would you do that," He was breathing hard at this point "Just for me, just stop it, stop this." He gestured towards where Sherlock lied under the ground. John's eyes started to tear up, he brought a hand up to catch any tears that would fall. 'Pull yourself together soldier, be brave, and be strong. Be…Sherlock.' John looked up, emotions struggling to present themselves; he nodded towards his inner voice. He then turned, and left; limping.

Mrs. Hudson was waiting in the cab; John got in. He felt refreshed, but not happy. Mrs. Hudson excused herself to take a nap on the way home. The sun was setting, John stared outside of the window, seeing Sherlock's eyes stare back. He looked away and rested his head on the window, letting sleep consume him.

Mrs. Hudson woke John up, saying that they were at the flat, John's last night here. For a while .John paid the cabbie, got out of the cab, and started to drag up the stairs. Mrs. Hudson took his arm and up to the flat to lie down. She set him up on the couch, taking off his jacket and his shoes, and wished him a good night.

"That was the most ridiculous thing that I have ever done" I said, breathless. "And you invaded Afghanistan." Sherlock replied. I giggled while he chuckled, I felt warm inside.

"Shame on you, John! Mrs. Hudson should leave, London would fall!" Sherlock patted her shoulder. Mrs. Hudson looked up and patted his hand with her own, laughing. I smiled. We seemed quite like a family.

"Joining me?" He asked, as I was shoved into the police car side, huffing. The officers handcuffed my right hand to his left hand. "Yeah, apparently punching the superintendent in the nose is against the law." I heard him huff in approval. "We are going to be doing a more daring escape..." He said as he reached forward and turned up the radio on the dashboard, causing a screech of noise to blast into the officer's ears, letting us go. He grabbed for one of the officers guns and pointed it at everyone, telling them to get down. When they didn't obey, he fired 2 shots into the air. They obeyed reluctantly. Of course I had to be the hostage. "What are we going to do now?" I asked as we were backing up from the scene, the gun pointing towards my head. "Doing what Moriarty wants, become criminals." He then started to run, dragging me along. "Grab my hand!" He yelled, wrapping the chain around his wrist and took my hand. "Now people are definitely going to talk!" I said, feeling the rush of adrenaline wash through me.

"Are you wearing any pants?" I asked "No." He said blankly. "Okay." I replied awkwardly; looking away. I sneaked a glance back at him, to find him looking at me. We started to laugh; there was a warm mushy feeling to the atmosphere. "I am seriously fighting the impulse to steal an ashtray." I said, giggling. Sherlock also giggled. "What are we doing here, Sherlock, No seriously, what?" I said, laughing between my words. "Hmm. I don't know." He said. "Here to see the Queen?" I joked. "Oh. Apparently yes." He stated. I looked towards his direction to see Mycroft, his older brother, just walking in. We burst out laughing. "Just once, can you two behave like grown-ups?" He said, disappointed. "We solve crimes, I blog about it, and he forgets his pants. So I wouldn't hold onto too much hope." I replied; smirking.

"What?" I asked, we were in the cab, leaving Buckingham Palace. He then pulls out an ashtray they he took from Buckingham Palace.

Time seemed to freeze, the cab driver I saw was a man with dark brown curls, a cabbie hat tipped down in the front so I could not see his eyes or face, his skin was milky white, and he held a frown on his face.

He slowly tilted his head towards my direction, his hand reached beside him as he shifted the knob from parked, to drive. Slammed on the accelerator, and sped off.

Sherlock!

I awoke, face soaked in sweat. I got up in alert, checking my surroundings. It was last at night, and I was in the flat. I remembered that I was alone. This is how it would be from now one, alone. My vision blurred and something wet rolled down my face. Tears. I couldn't hold them back, and my body felt too heavy with guilt and anguish to wake them away with my arms. So I lied back down, letting the tears take their toll on me. The distant sound of a violin playing made the tears come down faster. I was soon sobbing and rolled over, back facing the flat, and my face in the cushion.

He was gone, and there was no way to get him back. I let my eyes close, letting sleep once again, drown me in its relief.

I am alone.

Outside, the cab still parked outside off 221B, a man of dark brown curls, slim figure, milky white skin, and cheek bones that could cut you, slouched on the roof of his cabbie. A female figure stood next to him. "He is falling apart." She stated dully. "It appears so. But I trusted his health and well-being towards my brother. He is going to be fine." The man replied. "The question is, for how long?" She read from her phone. The man didn't reply, instead he picked up his violin and played it once more for the sobbing man inside the flat. John. "He will be fine, I will be back. Everything will be okay, Irene." The man said while playing. "Sherlock, it's not easy to forget someone you love. You made his life a happy one, and now you are making it a miserable one." Irene said darkly. "And vice versa." Sherlock replied, Irene looked up at him, shocked. Sherlock just closed his eyes and smiled. John.

And the man continued to play a soft melody for the only one person who is always on his mind, even when he worked, for the only person who taught him how to interact with others, to the only person who made him kinder. He owes this person so much, and yet, he is forced to hurt him more than ever.

TBC

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