I own nothing and I make no profit whatsoever.

I need you, John Hamish Watson.

Chapter 1.

John's POV

'Come along John!' Sherlock was running fast ahead of me. 'Wait for me!' I yell.

'Hurry up we're losing him!' Sherlock's voice sounds right next to me but I see him disappearing in the street which seems to stretch endlessly in front of me.

'Sherlock, where are you?' I yell again. I can't catch my breath and my body is aching from the run.

Suddenly, the street disappears around me and I was standing in front of St. Bart's Hospital.

'John, look up.' A calm voice says in my ear. I look at the roof where I see my friend lean forward and fall. His arms and legs kicking like he is looking for something to grab.

'Sherlock! NO! SHERLOCK!'

I jolt awake. My heart is racing. I stare into the total darkness of my room. It takes me a few seconds to realize I was sitting upright in my bed. In my house. It was just a dream. Just a dream. I try to take deep breathes to calm myself down.

'Are you alright, honey?' A sleepy voice comes from next to me in the bed.

'Yes of course, dear.' I whisper. 'Go back to sleep.'

I lean back into the pillows. So strange. I hadn't had a dream about my old friend Sherlock Holmes in ages. How along ago did he die? More than two years now. Of course I had many of these dreams the first months after his suicide. Almost every night I woke up yelling his name, thinking for one second that maybe his dead really was only a bad dream… But of course then the inevitable realization crashed down on me without mercy and I had to except all over again that my best friend had really killed himself. Every night I cried. For three months I lost myself in grief.

And then the anger came. There had been anger right after his death, during the funeral, but this was a different anger. I looked back at our time together and realized he had been a terrible friend. He had lied to me. He had used me as doormat. He had not appreciated everything I did for him. He had not respect my privacy at all. He interfered with any attempts I made at having a normal life. And he had not nearly loved me as much as I loved him…. At the time, my anger seemed justified and it helped me to tell myself my life was better without him. I cut everyone and everything Sherlock-related out of my life. I stopped blogging. I moved out of Baker Street. I changed my job. And I never spoke to Lestrade, Molly, Mycroft or even Mrs. Hudson again.

And then I met Marry. Dear, sweet, wonderful Marry.

Somehow, she fell in love me. In the first months of our relationship I told her about Sherlock. The talking helped me so much. Telling her everything reminded me of all the good times he and I had. Slowly, the memory of him became a good one again. I even visited Mrs. Hudson and passed by the Yard. Even if it was only once, it made me feel better. I had given the whole history a place. Life was good again.

I proposed to Marry and she said yes. We got married five months ago. It was a great day and yet, I missed him more that day than any time before since I met my wife. I wanted my best friend to be there. The morning of our wedding I cried. Marry understood. She always understands. I don't think I have ever met a more caring, loving, devoted woman in my life. Every one of my friends told me I was a fool if I did not marry her. So I did. Of course I love her. I love her so much. But somehow there has been this nagging feeling…. Like she is more a good friend than a woman I passionately love and desire…. But I have ignored that feeling and so far it worked out very well. She is happy. I am happy. Life is good.

I haven't thought about Sherlock for months. Why this dream? Why now?

The next morning I arrive at the hospital earlier than usual. I wasn't able to get back to sleep so I got up early and went for a run to clear my head. In the park, I had seen Sherlock again. Of course I had. It came with the dreams. I had seen Sherlock everywhere the first months after his death. Once I was almost hit by a car because I stood still in the middle of the road being sure I saw my friend on the other side of the street. A total stranger saved my life by pulling me out of the way. I hardly thanked him in my urge to cross the street and see if it was really Sherlock. It wasn't of course. Stupid me.

'Good morning doctor Watson.'

'Hi Jeannie, how are things this morning?'

The nurse behind the reception desk smiles at me. 'Thinks are good, doctor. Busy though.'

'What else is new?' I grin at her and take the charts of my first patients.

The day was indeed busy. I started at 8 and at 5.30 I was getting ready to leave when one of the nurses comes into the room where I had just seen my last patient.

'Doctor Watson, are you leaving?' She asks.

'Yes Susan.' I respond. 'It has been a long day and I am really tired.'

She looks worried. 'Doctor, can you please see one more patient? He is insisting to see you.'

I sigh. 'Why Susan? Can't one of my colleagues see him?'

'He claims you were his doctor before.'

'Fine.' I give in. 'Send him in while I clean up here.'

'Thank you John.' Susan disappears and I turn my back to the door to throw away my old gloves and get new ones. I hear the door opening.

'Just one second please.' I say without turning around.

'I am in no hurry.' A deep voice says…. A familiar voice….! I know that voice!

I turn around and there, in the room… ten feet away from me… stands Sherlock!

I can't breathe. I can't think. I want to say something but my voice seems to have abandoned me. My legs feel shaky and I want to grab the table next to me to hold myself up…

Then everything turns black.

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