For those of you reeling from the feels of my first fic, "Questions and Answers at 221B," this is for you. While I can't promise that this fic is entirely angst-free, I do promise you that you won't bawl like a baby. This can be read as Johnlock friendship or bromance, take your pick.
DISCLAIMER: As always, I don't own John and Sherlock, they belong to Moffatiss, the BBC, & ACD. (And I don't own Doctor Who either. Virtual cookies for the first one to spot the line from series 6).
The Return
Chapter 1: Am I still dreaming?
"Sherlock! No!" I bolted awake, his name on my lips. Another night, ending only in nightmares. 'Come on Watson, snap out of it. You're stronger than this,' I told myself. Except this was not the first time I'd given myself this pep talk, the sweat pouring off of me was proof of this. That's not to mention the tears I could feel falling down my cheeks.
Idly wiping my face with the back of my hand, I looked over at the clock on my bedside table. 5:55. Oh. I managed to wake up before my alarm again. Well at least this time it's just five minutes early and not an hour. But goodness, I need to stop doing this. He's been...gone for three years now.
"John, get a hold of yourself."
Oh that's just peachy, now I'm hearing his voice in my head again. I thought I'd managed to stop doing that.
"Stop doing what John?"
"Okay, hearing voices is more than a bit not good."
"And talking to yourself is equally not good."
"Yes, Sherlock, unless you don't answer... your...self." 'Okay this can't be real,' I thought to myself as I first rubbed my eyes before reaching to turn on the lamp on my nightstand. Only a hand with long, slender fingers reached it first, and switched on the light.
"Hello John, I'm-"
"Back from the dead? This isn't possible. I must still be dreaming," I said as I closed my eyes before pinching my arm to make sure I was actually still asleep.
"Ouch! That hurt," I murmured, rubbing my arm before stopping, the meaning of my pain setting in.
"But if that hurt, then that means that I'm really awake. And if I'm awake, that means that I'm..."
"Not dreaming," my apparently NOT DEAD flatmate informed me.
"So...you're not dead," I deadpanned in the most bored voice possible.
"John, I'm sorry. So very sorry. If you let me, I can explain everything."
I held my hand up to him, signaling that I didn't, no, I couldn't listen to him now. Apparently, he got the message because he turned and left my room. A few moments later, I heard the door to the flat slam shut, marking his departure from 221-B.
To be continued...