I wrote this before the airing of series 3 but just decided to publish it now.
Sherlock closed his eyes and took a deep breath. This was it. Three years he'd waited for this moment. Here it was, and everything Sherlock had ever rehearsed in his head now seemed too casual, too dismissive of all the pain he had put John through and the pain he had himself felt from having to watch his best friend suffer at a distance.
Feelings. Problematic, weren't they? Once upon a time he had utter disregard for such things but what is it they say? Absence makes the heart grow fonder?
The people walked steadily by, in the typical British fashion. No one seemed to notice him or if they did, they were obviously dismissing their thoughts. His being alive was unbeknownst to everyone he knew, except Molly and Mycroft.
It was most unlike John, in Sherlock's experience, to have chosen this restaurant above all others. John had always been a more frugal man, not ever taking his girlfriends on dates to expensive restaurants- Sherlock put it down to John's little confidence in said date's success.
Sherlock took a step forward and the restaurant's automatic doors flew open invitingly. The waiter/host asked Sherlock several questions- Sherlock simply said he was meeting someone, his attention diverted as he looked towards the back of the restaurant. John would have chosen a seat near the back, surely, if he were due to meet a date. The back had more secluded area, with the light slightly dimmed. Then- Sherlock spotted him, laughing between sips of wine and nodding his head slowly, obviously mesmerised in his date. Sherlock had never seen him this way. His previous dates ignited some smiles, some laughs, yes, but nothing like this.
Completely ignoring the host Sherlock walked briskly in John's direction, his eyes fixed on his best friend. He was dressed a little formally for a date, Sherlock saw. His suit was brand new and his hair backcombed- John never normally combed his hair. His date wasn't dressed nearly as formally. This was a special occasion- a special occasion such as a-
John suddenly stood up and crouched down on one knee next to his date's chair, pulling out a small black box from his pocket. Several people in the restaurant turned around to witness John in awe, who was now looking up at his date with a smile. "Will you, Mary Morstan-"
Sherlock felt a weight in his chest as the world froze around him. He hadn't expected John to have moved on without him. He still needed him, more than he ever had, but now John had someone else, someone else to complain about his day with, someone else's face to be the first thing seen every lazy Sunday morning, to cuddle with whenever his PTSD got bad. John didn't need Sherlock any more, and Sherlock was just going to have to accept that.
Yes, I know it's short and ends rather abruptly but I didn't want to go into logistics since I just wrote this to explore Sherlock's hurt and difficulty in revealing himself. It's my first one-shot or fanfic, even, in about six years (as you can tell, haha) so reviews are very welcome!