This is pretty much my take on the story "The Adventure of the Empty House", the first episode of the upcoming third season where John discovers that Sherlock is alive!
Enjoy!
John received the text around five in the evening.
Please come John, your medical knowledge is needed.
-G. Lestrade
He'd been answering to these sorts of calls for about six months now. Of course, Greg had wanted him to help a while before-hand, to keep his mind off of Sherlock, but it didn't work. It had taken him nearly two years to be able to step foot on a crime scene without the memories pouring onto him.
What would Sherlock say about this?
Sherlock would have killed Anderson for that…
I wonder if Sherlock would have come to the same conclusion…
If only Greg knew how much these calls made him think of Sherlock, he wouldn't have done it.
John kissed Mary goodbye and texted Greg about where he was.
427 Park Lane
G. Lestrade
John hailed a taxi and hopped inside, away from the wind and rain.
"427 Park Lane, please." He said to the cabby, who then took them on their way. It wasn't until John began recognizing his surroundings did he question whether or not he wanted to be there. The cabby stopped in front of Speedy's café, right by 221B Baker Street.
It had been years since he'd been in the flat. Three years, to be exact. Mrs. Hudson still lived there, but the flat was never sold out. Perhaps it was because John paid her to keep it empty…he wasn't sure why, though. He stared at the familiar door, and it took everything in him not to go in, to run up the stairs and see Sherlock there, reading the newspaper or looking through a microscope. But that wouldn't happen again. That could never happen again.
"My best friend…is dead."
"John, I understand that you're upset, but it's been a year. It's time to start with the part of the grieving process where you come to terms with the fact that he's not coming back."
John could feel the tears pricking his eyes as they always did. "I…I don't know what you mean."
"What was he to you John? You are textbook for death of a spouse or lover, not friend."
John could hear the words now. That was the day he'd admitted he loved Sherlock…
He snapped out of his stupor and walked across the street where, oddly enough, there were no police cars. John made sure his gun was with him as he walked into the house that was numbered 427.
"Hello!" John called when he didn't see anyone. He sighed. Great, he'd walked into an empty house.
"John!" He heard a familiar voice call right as he was about to leave.
"Ah, Greg…where is the police cars?"
"This isn't a police case…not even my division, to be exact…but someone wanted me to come in…and you, too."
John sat and thought for a second as to who would want him and Greg to come in on a non-police site. Apparently John's face showed his struggle, because Greg offered him something he wasn't quite ready for.
"I'm sorry, John." Greg laid a hand upon his shoulder. Why was he apologizing?
"For what?"
"I just…I just wish I could explain this all to you."
Now he was suspicious… "Explain what to me?"
"You'll see." He removed his hand and walked up the steps. John quickly followed.
"Or you'll just tell me now." He said, not in the mood to play games.
"I can't believe you drug me into this…" John heard Greg say…who was he talking to? As John crept up the stairs he saw Greg walk through a door, but saw a rather tall man at the other end of the room, his back to me. Had that been who Greg was talking to? John stopped, wondering if the man would give him a better answer than Greg.
"Excuse me, but do you know why I'm here?" The man didn't move for a second, and John thought he was being ignored. "Fine. Just tell Greg that I've gone, and he's paying for the cab."
"Wait, John."
John froze.
A thousand daggers stabbed him in his soul.
Yet a thousand burdens lifted from his shoulders.
Was he insane?
Was he hallucinating again?
This seemed more real than the figments of his imagination.
John hadn't noticed he'd begun crying until he tried to speak.
"You-" he stopped himself and wiped away the tears. "You are a cruel person." John didn't look back, only started to walk again. A hand on his shoulder stopped him.
"John, turn around." The same deep voice echoed through the room, and it took everything in John's might to do as the voice said. He balled up his fist for control as he turned to face the familiar stranger.
His fist made contact before the man could speak, and he was on the floor.
"WHAT IN THE NAME OF HELL, SHERLOCK!" He was crying and screaming, holding nothing back. He dropped to his knees beside his old friend, his old love, grabbing onto his shirt, slamming his fists into his chest. "Why? How? I saw you…I saw you." He whispered. "I saw you die."
Sherlock grabbed John's hands in his own, trying to comfort him. "I had no idea you would be so affected, John."
"You were my…" John cut off his words, unsure what sort of confess his emotions would cause him to give.
John looked up at him, his hair shorter and his clothing much more casual, but his eyes…the blue…the bright blue that never failed to lift him up, were the same.
"How could you do that to…me?" He fought as urge to say us, everything in him wanting to punch him again and then kiss him.
"I had enemies. I had enemies that needed to think I was dead…or else they would have killed you." Sherlock's grip tightened on John's hands. He needed John to believe him…he couldn't lose him now.
"Moriarty? But he killed himself." John tried to stifle his tears.
"And that's why I had to die. I'm…John…I'm so sorry."
John couldn't believe what he was hearing. Three years. So much had happened.
But it had always been him.
Even when there was Marry, it was all a lie.
John ripped his hands away from Sherlock, much to the sudden heartbreak of the latter counterpart.
Sherlock was just as astonished when he felt those same hands cupping his face, and a pair of lips meeting his own. He didn't know what to do; he'd never kissed anyone…
But he put pressure in return on John's lips, which was all that was needed. John broke the kiss, staring at Sherlock.
"I've been waiting three years to do that."
Sherlock remained where he was, his face a deep red. "That's…thank you, John." John's face was a similar color of red. "I…I'm sorry…I've never kissed anyone before."
A flood of relief washed over John. He wasn't upset about the kiss; he was embarrassed he didn't know how…
"Why did you kiss me?"
"It was either that or punching you again." John smiled, but Sherlock remained sober.
"Punching would have hurt a lot less, John."
I've never written Johnlock before, but I quite like it!
Tell me what you think, lovelies!
Much love,
TDM