So, so you think you can tell
Heaven from hell...
John Watson sighed as Pink Floyd's Wish You Were Here started to play. Today was the day - the anniversary. Not the first anniversary, not even the second. But it didn't mean it hurt any less.
Three years. Three years, and the memory of Sherlock was still as painful as it had been the day after it happened.
No, that wasn't true. For the last couple of months, things had been looking up. He'd gone out and had a few beers with his mates, he'd been looking in the papers for a job. He'd even met a girl.
John sighed again. Mary was sweet. But... She wasn't Sherlock.
And did they get you to trade
Your heroes for ghosts...
Yes, he couldn't deny it. The reason he had been feeling better lately was because he had been expecting something. He didn't know what exactly - or at least, that was what he told himself. But a secret part of his brain knew that he had been hoping that after three years, Sherlock would come home.
How, how I wish you were here...
John missed Sherlock. More than he had ever dreamed he could miss anyone. For months, it had seemed that at any moment Sherlock Holmes would come striding up the stairs to 221B Baker Street, bursting through the door covered in blood, with an explanatory statement of "Well, that was tedious."
John smiled slightly at the memory, and then blinked back tears. He had lived without Sherlock for three years. He could last for another - how long?
The final strains of Wish You Were Here died away, only to begin again. John had listened to this song on repeat for hours on the days when the pain had been particularly bad. It didn't make the hurt go away. Far from it. But it had been Sherlock's favourite song. Pink Floyd were the only band he had ever let John introduce him to...
Can you tell a green field
From a cold steel rail...
A single tear trickled down John's face.
Why had Sherlock done it?
John knew that Sherlock was not a fraud. It was impossible. But then why would he jump off St Bart's hospital? Sherlock had never cared what anyone had thought of him. It was one of his traits that John had admired, even though it was hugely irritating sometimes.
A smile from a veil...
John sighed, a third and final time. Who was he kidding? His life wasn't complete without Sherlock. He didn't know how he felt about the man - John was still sure he was straight. Well, pretty sure anyway. But when the fact remained that when Sherlock had jumped off that building, it had left a hole in his heart that he hadn't been able to fill.
Do you think you can tell
Yes, the fact remained that his life really wasn't worth much without Sherlock.
John Watson sat there for a few minutes, as Wish You Were Here played over and over again. Finally, he stood up and walked over to his bedside cabinet, as if in a daze. He opened the drawer, and took out the sleeping pills that his doctor had prescribed him just under three years ago. He had never taken them - the bottle was still full.
Did you exchange
A walk on part in the war
For a lead role in a cage...
John gazed at the small bottle for a minute, and then opened it. Lifting the first pill to his lips, he closed his eyes and paused momentarily.
And in that second of hesitation, there was a knock on the door.
John immediately got up to answer it, feeling irritated at being interrupted, yet somehow relieved and, peculiarly, slightly excited.
He opened the door. Standing there, a tall figure, even thinner and gaunter than John remembered, was Sherlock Holmes.
For a second, neither of them moved. Then Sherlock stepped forwards, his arms lifting slightly as though unsure whether to hug the man standing before him or to defend himself.
"John?" his voice was tentative, more nervous than John had ever heard it.
Sherlock glanced at John's face. Emotions were difficult for him to read, but it looked like now would be a good time to get out of John's way before he was punched in the face. "John?" he said again.
Finally, John spoke.
"Is it really you?" he asked, his voice cracking. "Or is it just another dream?"
Sherlock did not reply. Instead, he leaned forward and hugged John, the final triumphant lines of Wish You Were Here playing in the background.
How
How I wish you were here
We're just two lost souls swimming in a fish bowl
Year after year
Running over the same old ground
Have we found
Same old fears
Wish you were here...
The days of wishing were over. Sherlock Holmes and John Watson were reunited at last.