A/N: Dear readers, I hope you enjoy this display of my feelings after the fall. I don't want to say to much, but I'll give the usual disclaimer. I do not own Sherlock. BBC1 does, along with its trolling writing staff.


The Way You Would Have Seen It.

When Mrs Hudson left me alone before the grave of the wisest man I'd ever known, as painful and sharp as using the past tense was, I felt as though I couldn't breath. The sky was a blaring overcast of clouds, but blinding light still managed to filter through and throw my reflection on your glistening grave marker. A subconscious tremor wracked my left hand as I swallowed hard. This would be it, then.

"...You.. you once told me once" I cleared my throat "That you weren't a hero." I exhaled in a sighing manner through my nose. talking to you in this way... it was more difficult than I'd ever imagined it would be. I could feel a lump raising in my throat and a burning to follow it. "there were times I didn't even think you were human, but lemme tell you this... you were the best man" I paused again, forcing myself to continue. "the most human, human being that I've ever known" I glanced away and then turned my gaze back on your tombstone. "and no one will ever convince me that you told me a lie... and so... there" I exhaled sharply and looked around, then placed my hand gingerly on your grave. "I'm.. so alone" It was getting harder and harder to speak. "and I owe you so much" tears stung at the corners of my eyes as I turned around. I couldn't allow you to see me cry. It was a silly thought really, considering there was no way you would have been able to see me, but just in case. I began to walk away when the thing I wanted to say most fought against my resolve. I had to say it. I had to ask you one last request. One more Miracle. "but please just one more thing, one more miracle, Sherlock, for me. Dont." I blinked. "be" I tried hard to swallow back my emotions and keep my voice strong. "Dead." I choked out in barely a whisper. "Just for me, Just... Just stop this" I heard myself pleading. I looked to the ground, sobbing under my breath and trying to wipe the tears from my eyes. I took a few moments to compose myself and tore myself away from your grave. I wanted to badly to fall to my knees and cry for you to return to me. I wanted to pound the ground and scream, but the miliatry man inside of me refused to stoop down to that level. Sherlock...

The grass crunched under my feet as I plodded off with a heavy heart and eyes threatening to fill with tears again. It was only on a second glance back that I noticed it. A tuft of wild black curls, the sun's choked light reflecting off pale eyes, and a quick glimpse of a pair of familiar high cheek bones. That image graced my eyes for such a small moment that I had to immediately turn my head and shake it off. I was hallucinating. I had to be. You couldn't be there, I'd just been in front of your grave. I may beg and plead but reason poisons my mind. All logic tells me that I'm wrong, all reason points to me having gone insane... Yet I held onto hope still.

I remember what you taught me, Sherlock. Believe in what you observe, and observe what you see. I saw you that day Sherlock. I know I did. I cannot accept that you are dead, even if the stone a couple meters away weighs heavily in my mind. Because the reason of which I speak is not the reason that you would have believed in. It was ordinary. It was plain, mundane, and simple. It was all those things you despised. So I allowed myself to believe in what was probably just a delusion.


A/N – This is my first Sherlock fic, so I do hope I've kept John in character. This was just a prologue detailing what I'd thought would be going on in John's mind. I may or may not throw in some chapters with Sherlock's thoughts in the same manner I presented John's with. If I do the chapters will alternate. One will be John, the next will be how Sherlock sees things.