"You are having a good mood today freak, you haven't glance and anyone and do the thing on anyone since you arrive. Did you murder some people?" Sally Donavan widen her eyes.
"Why can't you assume something good happened on me, Sergeant Donavan. And that is called deduction, not 'the thing'." Sherlock said without raising his head from the corpse.
Apparently Donavan wasn't satisfied with the answer since she still wore that suspicious look.
"John was coming home three days later for a whole month holiday." Lestrade answered it for Sherlock, knowing that Donavan won't just leave him if she doesn't get the answer.
"Oh." Donavan seems not impressed. "That explains everything." And she walked away, leaving the twenty year old 'consulting detective' alone.
Sherlock have been helping the NSY for three years, everybody seems to get used to it, or to be more precise, everybody got used to avoiding him. Since the first day Sherlock 'assist' Lestrade on his case, John has been on his side, John was the only one Sherlock would listen to, and he was the only thing near Sherlock that is closest to humanity. John comes to cases occasionally when he is not in the military training. Everyone knows them, Sherlock is in uni and John is in military, they knew each other since high school, they are flat mates. And everyone knows that Sherlock behaves much better when John comes around.
The phone rang, Sherlock stood up and picked up the phone.
"Sherlock Holmes."
And then, the whole Scottland Yard saw the young Sherlock Holmes dropped into his knees.
"Sherlock, Sherlock, are you alright?" Said Lestrade with the worried tone. But Sherlock didn't answer, he covered his face with his palm, he looked pale, like he was fainting.
"No no no no no no, this is not real." He dropped the phone, and started breathing heavily.
Lestrade picked up the phone Sherlock dropped, the second he realized what happened he covered his mouth.
"Sir what happened?" Donavan came too.
"John… Shot in the shoulder, too close to his heart… He couldn't make it to the hospital."
-~.~.~.~.~-
Sherlock was dragged to 221B afterward, though himself have no idea how he got there, and he doesn't want to be here. Every corner of the apartment reminds him of John, his chair, the photograph, the kitchen table. He was placed on his usual armchair, tea on his side. Mycroft stood there, beside John's favorite chair.
"Get. Away. From. His. Chair." And for the first time, the older Holmes obeyed his little brother, he walked opposite Sherlock.
"Leave me alone." Calmly, Sherlock said.
"My personal experience shows that you are not recommended to stay alone in this kind of situation, my brother."
"This is not a situation This is reality. John is dead, on the field. No one can save him and he will never come back again. Now get off out flat." His face didn't show any change, but regret saying that. The words came out from his mouth pains him, like thousands of sharp knifes stabbed him in his heart, repeatedly. He bite his lips.
"All lives end. All heart breaks. Caring is not an advantage Sherlock. You knew it."
"Here we go again, 'I told you', a series of dialogue by Mycroft Holmes." Sherlock said teasingly.
Mycroft sighed. "John left this for you. In case of his sudden death." He put the letter on the coffee table next to Sherlock, he turned around and made his exit.
Sherlock didn't say a word.
Silence.
The apartment was in silence.
Sherlock moved, he moved his right hand to take the letter. He stared at the letter for a long time. Seconds, minutes, hours, maybe even days past, he stared, but he didn't attempt to open the letter for once.
-~.~.~.~.~-
"How is he doing?"
"He didn't go to university. He didn't eat, or sleep for a few days, he didn't talk to anyone, he just stood there, playing violin, or more like, composing random notes. I would say he was heartbroken." She started sobbing, "Oh god… How could this happen to John, he was just twenty! Young and sweet… And Sherlock… what would he be without John?"
Lestrade patted Mrs. Hudson's back, letting her cry over his chest.
-~.~.~.~.~-
"Hey what's up? Sherlock? Haven't seen you and your pal for a while. Is he fine?" Sebastian Wilkes.
"He died four weeks ago, if that's what you define 'fine'." Sherlock didn't look up from his Chemistry book.
"Oh… I am sorry."
"No you are not." Sherlock tighten his jaws.
"I was just being nice okay, no need to be rude Sherlock."
He finally look up to Sebastian, "No. In fact, you are upset about your mother's affair. You found out weeks ago and your father doesn't know it yet doesn't he. You are thinking about whether you should tell your father or not. Also, your girlfriend dumped you yesterday, and you already got yourself a new one. Fast enough." Sherlock looked down, observing his shoes. "Your professor didn't give you a pass on your project, and you are going to fail this exam. That's why you are trying to use your father's power to 'convince' the professor, and the diploma comes in handy."
"Piss of." Sebastian's face turned all red, furious red. And he walked away, after a few steps, he turned around again, "You shouldn't be friends with anybody in the first place you know? Because you are a freak and you don't deserve one. You will die alone, alone is all you have, you won't have friends. You little bastard."
Sherlock ignored him, or he think he did.
-~.~.~.~.~-
"Sherlock are you sure you don't need a flat mate? I mean, It has been 5 years… You should move on." Said Mike Stamford, in the laboratory.
"No, and I don't need one, I won't share the flat with anyone. As long as I am alive I will be living in that apartment."
"Fine. I am just asking."
-~.~.~.~.~-
"Give me a name." Sherlock stepped on the cabbie's old gunshot wound, the cabbie gasped in pain.
"MORIARTY!" Then the door was kicked open, Lestrade came in, and yelled. "Everybody stays where you are."
"I believe he is all yours. Detective Inspector." And Sherlock released the cabbie, and made his exit.
-~.~.~.~.~-
"Still haven't have one single friend. I was right, six years ago, you don't have friends. That's why we hate you, so rude, and arrogant, telling someone's lifetime story by one glance. We really have no idea why that… what… John I believe? Can put up with you." Sebastian Wilkes smirked.
"Alone is what I have. Alone protects me. And I believe that is not the reason why you called me here, Mr. Wilkes." Sherlock said without a single change in his tone.
-~.~.~.~.~-
"It has been a turn up isn't it? The IT from the St. Barts. Didn't see that coming didn't you?'
Moriarty shows up, grinning.
Sherlock didn't response, or put down the Browning in his hands.
"Ooh... Don't be like that Sherlock, aren't you happy to see me?"
"How do you know I won't shoot you? Standing right in front of me?"
"I know you won't, you want to play this game don't you? Sherlock darling?"
"What do you want? Kill me?"
"Kill you? Don't be so obvious." Moriarty looked around, like he doesn't want any people to know that Sherlock Holmes being so obvious. "We will play a game! And I will burn you, I will burn the heart out of you." He grinned even harder.
"I have been recently informed that I don't have one."
"Ooh… We both know that's not quite true." He smirked.
"No. My heart burnt out seven years ago." And he shoots.
-~.~.~.~.~-
Everything happened so fast that Sherlock couldn't even recall, what had happened.
Sherlock chased the murderer in the streets, after a few blocks the murderer stopped. "Don't you dare turn me in. I will not go back to prison again."
"Try to cope, Mr. Brown." Sherlock said as he grabbed the murderer's arm, trying to unarm the man.
What he didn't expect was the knife from the man's companion. The knife went through his heart, the one he lost long ago. Pain filled in.
"Stand back and drop your weapon. Don't move!" He heard a man said, couldn't really determine which.
He fell on the floor.
Warm liquid flew all over him.
It hurts.
Pain in his heart.
He saw John.
Young, like he never aged in those fifteen years. John smiled like an angel.
"Sherlock. Relax, I came to pick you up. The pain is over now." John wiped the blood off Sherlock's face.
"I never read your letter."
John chuckled. "Knew you wouldn't."
"What did it say?" Sherlock said, the pain in his chest was fading.
"Live a long and prosper life, something like that."
"Life is hardly prosper without you."
"I don't see you obeying the 'live a long life' as well." Sherlock and John shared a faint smile.
"You left me alone for fifteen years."
"No, Sherlock, I never left you." John took Sherlock's hand, Sherlock followed.
And the light came with the darkness.