Chapter 1
John fell to the ground, kneeling over Sherlock as he lay on the ground. The crowd gathered, pulling John from the body of his partner. He can't be dead, he just can't, John thought. Sherlock had done what John never expected: he actually jumped... John could not imagine a world without Sherlock. He had grown so close to the other man that he could not compose his thoughts. Before he knew it, John blacked out.
John woke up to screaming lights above him. He lay in a stretcher, secured with leather straps, those only used for violent patients. A brunette nurse walked in warily, walking towards the now-docile man with precaution.
"Are you done?" She said, her voice an unordinary high-pitched squeak.
"What are you talking about?" John replied, dazed and confused.
"Fighting. Earlier, you were thrashing about. Yelling." She had calmed down considerably at his lack of recognition.
"I don't recall... Why am I here?"
"Your boyfriend," her eyes widened, she replied with that same shaky voice she used before. "He is gone."
"He's not my b- Who? Gone?" For a moment, all he heard was the comment about their relationship, he was used to that. He needed the familiarity of the common mistake. Unfortunately, his mind heard the other part of what she said. He paused as his eyes started glazing over, "Oh my god."
"I am terribly sorry. We don't know what happened to him." The nurse was clearly ready for John to begin screaming like he had before.
"What do you mean? You don't know what happened to him?" John started yelling; the nurse slowly backed into the corner. "How do you not know?" John was sobbing now.
"Well, we- we went into his room, and he had disappeared. But he was dead. The police are trying to find out what happened."
"Lestrade."
"What? Sir, I don-"
"Please, just find him."
"Er- ok. I will." She rushed out. John would have felt worse about terrifying the young brunette but he hadn't the capacity.
Time passed and all John could do was watch the clock as it struck noon, 1, 2. He fell asleep with his eyes plastered to it, waiting for someone to come and explain.
"Sir," The nurse shook him with a finger, "Sir, I found that man you wanted." She pulled Lestrade by his arm into the hospital room.
"John, I'm sorry. I don't know what you could be going through." Lestrade tried to find the correct words for the situation; there were no correct words.
"What happened to him? The nurse said that he has gone. That means he is still alive. I know it."
"John, he isn't. I was in the room when he died. I know it is hard to deal with, but he is dead."
"Then where is his body? I want to see the body if he is dead. Until then, He is not dead. Why else would his body disappear? This is Sherlock that we are talking about."
"Yes, but even Sherlock cannot escape death."
John's eyes shifted down at his hands and he was quiet. He could not accept it; he refused the facts.
"No." John whispered so quietly Lestrade struggled to understand.
"Well, I don't know what to say, but I have to go and find... it." Lestrade was obviously referring to Sherlock's lifeless body, but he didn't want to upset John more than he already had.
"Goodbye."
As soon as the door shut, John let his tears flow; they did for two hours. The only peace John found was in his sleep.
His vision was blurry, his body felt sore, and he was completely confused as to where he was. He saw the outline of a table in the next room. As his vision cleared, he gasped. He felt his eyes burn, but not with sadness. He felt his pained body tense, and his thoughts wander. He could not move or speak.
"John, it's Molly. John." She shook him, but he was utterly speechless and never took his eyes off what lay on the table.
She shook him a harsh final time, and received the response she had been wanting, his eyes snapped up to meet hers.
"M- Molly," John stuttered.
"Yes, John."
"He- He- Why?" John's voice heightened to a whispering squeak.
"He spoke to me before. He asked me if I would still want to help him if he wasn't who he said he was. I said anything. This is what he wanted."
"But what? What is this? Is he-?"
"No, John. He is not." She replied.
He took a deep breath as he resisted the tears threatening to escape.
"Why did he lie to me?"
"He hasn't woken up yet. The drugs healing him have taken a toll, he has been sleeping since I took him out of the hospital. You are going to have to organize your relationship and address those problems yourself."
"Just tell me how?"
"Ask him yourself."
"How did I get here?"
"Mycroft." She retorted with a smile.
"So I am the last to know? He was my best friend!"
"You were in the hospital!" John was taken aback; Molly defended herself well. She wasn't the nervous schoolgirl when Sherlock was incapacitated.
"He will wake up soon. I got you here so you were the first one he saw. You are the only one he cares to see." Molly continued as the corners of John's mouth curled up just enough for Molly to notice. "Do you want something to eat?"
"No, thanks. I'll stay here." John was whispering again. Molly left him to wait by his partner's side. "Oh, and Molly?"
"Yes, John?"
"How do you know he wants to see me?" John knew the answer, but in light of the events of the day, he needed to hear it. He needed the feelings Sherlock and he silently shared confirmed.
"He says your name, often in fact. Sometimes he yells for you, but other times he only whispers." Molly's eyes lowered as she thought of Sherlock's affections toward John. She loved him but she also understood him, and understanding Sherlock meant pain.