Plot: "Okay. Cigarette. Never again. Emotional distress makes you do stupid things, it appears. I thought that smoking would somehow make me closer to you. Like drinking tea in your mug. Like taking violin lessons. Like sleeping in your bed. With one of your shirts rolled into a ball under my pillow. Yes, I know. Pathetic. And yet..." John, on the 1st anniversary of Sherlock's death. My take on their reunion. Light slash.

Note: This OS was inspired by the song Suedehead by Morrissey ("Why do you come here, when you know it makes things hard for me?" etc) and by the things I still do nearly a year after my husband passed away. Oh, and I own nothing, obviously.

Please, keep in mind that I'm French, hence the English mistakes ;)

THE EMERGENCY CIGARETTE

I make the small roll of tobacco dance between my fingers. The emergency cigarette, Mrs Hudson and I used to call it. Oh, how hard you tried to lay hands on it! You would move heaven and earth, make a mess of the flat, fulminating and threatening me with a game of Cluedo. I smile bitterly at the memories and look back at the cigarette.

Well, this certainly is an emergency.

It's been a year today, a bloody year and I still can't handle it. Sure, it was a relief when Lestrade cleared your name with Mycroft's help. That was the least your brother could do, by the way. He gave Moriarty the ammunition to destroy you after all, and I... I'll never forgive him. I can't. Anyway, I never ceased to believe in you, never! But I was glad that the whole world could see you were not a fake. You should have seen Donovan's face when she first heard it!

My smile quickly fades away. I place the cigarette between my lips and spark it. When I think I always said 'no' whenever the guys in Afghanistan offered me one, look at me now!

Hmm, okay... What now? Inhaling. Alright...

COUGH COUGH!

God! I feel like someone's building a campfire deep in my throat!

COUGH COUGH!

How can people poison themselves with that crap? Where's that bloody Buckingham ashtray?!

Okay. Cigarette. Never again. I'll stick to tea. Less dangerous addiction. Emotional distress makes you do stupid things, it appears. I thought that smoking would somehow make me closer to you. Like drinking tea in your mug. Like taking violin lessons. Like sleeping in your bed. With one of your shirts rolled into a ball under my pillow. Yes, I know. Pathetic. And yet...

"So it was there..." Your voice takes me out of my torpor. "The skull... One of the most obvious places of the flat... Ha... Clever, John... You knew I would never look there..."

"Of course it was there!" I exclaim, a bit amused, not even looking at you. "It's always been there! You have emptied all the jars and bottles of the flat, moved all the books from the shelves, had a look under every piece of furniture... but it was right there, in that..." I glance at the skull, looking for words, "friend of yours... You didn't talk to him anymore so there was no chance for you to notice the cigarette, and you would have never thought that I would have hidden it in such an obvious place... It was the best hiding place I could think of!"

"I didn't need to talk to him anymore, because I had you, John."

Your voice is barely a whisper. I look at you and I am taken aback. That look on your face, I have never seen it before... Is this... genuine surprise? Well, whatever. You look tired too, and even thinner than usual. I get on my feet, leaning heavily on my cane and you stare at the damn object. As if you didn't know my limp was back!

"Yeah. You had me," I said, not even trying to hide my resentment. "But apparently, I wasn't enough."

"John..." You make that face which used to annoy me so much. A variation of your We both know what's really going on face. That face when realisation washes over you and your eyes move quickly from left to right and suddenly everything appears crystal clear to you. Never to me, obviously. But it doesn't annoy me today. I'm just too happy to see it again. "How often have you seen me?"

I frown. "What?"

"How often have you seen me since that day I jumped off St Bart's?"

Something's definitely wrong with you today.

"Sherlock, you... you never ask me that kind of questions... Why... What's your point?" I mumble.

You come closer to me and there's that thing burning in your eyes... it almost freaks me out.

"John." Oh, I recognize that tone. I haven't heard it in ages but I could never forget it. That's that bossy tone that says You're gonna do whatever I'm gonna ask you, John, even if it's taking my phone out of my vest pocket for me. "How often?"

I take a step backwards and my back hits something solid. I hadn't realised I was that close to the wall. My breath becomes heavy. My heartbeat accelerates. And I suddenly feel completely ridiculous. I shouldn't get into such a state. After all, you're just a...

"John, how often?" you repeat in your deep low voice and I lose control.

"Every fucking day, Sherlock!" I yell, trying to avoid your eyes. "I see you every fucking day! All the time! I get up in the morning and you're reading the newspapers on your armchair and ask me for tea, I walk down the streets and you walk beside me and you turn the collar of your coat up thinking it makes you look all cool, I watch NCIS on TV and you're sitting by my side on the sofa, making comments and ruining the suspense. You're here. There. Everywhere! All the time! And God, this is driving me crazy! Why do you think Ella sees me three times a week now, huh?! You've been gone for a year and my mind still can't accept it and keeps playing tricks on me!"

Out of breath, I finally look at you again. Oh for God's sake, why don't you just disappear? Why don't you just let me mourn in peace? It only makes things worse for me... and yet I'm so afraid not to ever see you again. I briefly close my eyes and open them up again. You're still here, close to me. Smiling.

Smiling.

"So that's why you didn't look surprised at all..." you answer my silent question. "I must admit I was a bit disappointed. I spent so much time trying to imagine what our reunion would be like. I'm not going to lie, I was secretly hoping that you would faint and then cry tears of joy telling me how dull your life had been without me, but I had certainly not expected this... Well, I'm still flattered that you use my mug and my armchair. But seriously though, what was the cigarette for, John? I thought you were going to choke to death. Just on the day I come back. That would have been a regrettable combination of circumstances..."

I'm trying to register the words that have just come out of your mouth and it's like time has suddenly stopped. That little hope that was buried deep in my heart suddenly takes so much space that even with my cane, my knees feel very weak.

No, I refuse to believe this. This is all in my head...

"You're talking nonsense. Just... just leave me alone... please..."

You let out an impatient sigh and take my face in your hands.

"John, I'm not some fruit of your imagination! It's me! It's really me! I'm not dead!"

Your hands... On my face... They feel so... No, this is impossible... I saw you... I saw you fall... I saw the blood... There's no way you... I... But your hands...

I instinctively close my eyes... and suddenly I'm back to that night near the railway. The blind banker case. The yellow Chinese symbols painted on the wall. Wiped off. And your hands... just like now... You kept on telling me to concentrate but how could I? All I could think of was that my heart was beating way too fast... just like now... that your face was just inches away from me... just like now... And I was desperately hoping that you would kiss me...

Just...

Like...

Now...

Oh.

God.

Your lips are against mine.

Your. Lips. Are. Against. Mine.

Incredibly warm and softer than a feather. The pressure is almost inexistent. This is the most chaste kiss I've ever been given, and yet the most intense. A strange sensation runs through my body. This can certainly not be real. This is a dream... Your mouth leaves mine and I already miss it. This was all a dream... This cant' be real...

I open my eyes, slowly, and once again, you're still there. Smiling. Though I can see a bit of apprehension in your eyes.

"Wha... what was that?" I manage to articulate.

"One minute more and you would have started to hesitate whether to hug me or to punch me. You punched me once and it's a rather painful memory. In doubt, I opted for a little diversion."

I grin. You're definitely real. The one more miracle I had asked for... How? I don't know. Why you let me grieve like this during a whole year? I don't know either. But it doesn't really matter right now. You're in front of me. Alive. And I come back to life too...

"John... I'm sorry... I'll explain everything... I promise... I didn't have a choice... I didn't mean to hurt you, you have to believe me... If I hadn't jumped, you would have been..."

You're looking at your feet and I've never seen you look so insecure. The Great Sherlock Holmes. The World's only consulting detective. Seriously Sherlock, what did you expect? That I would throw you out of the flat and never talk to you again?

"Sherlock," I say, gently grabbing your chin and forcing you to look at me.

Mesmerizing eyes of an indefinable colour. Real.

I brush your cheek with the back of my hand.

Hottest cheekbones on Earth. Real.

My hand wanders to your hair.

Mysterious dark curls that feel like silk under my fingers. Real.

My hand then now travels down your neck.

Longest neck I've ever seen. Tantalizing. Real.

My hand finally stops on your jugular vein and I can feel your pulse.

Heart beating incredibly fast. Real.

I smile.

"I think I need a little bit more diversion," I say maliciously.

All the apprehension that was left in your eyes seems to vanish as the flat fills with our laughter.

A love that was there from the very start, only asking to bloom. Real.

Thanks for reading and please, let me know what you think :)

Published on July.27 2013