It had been six monthes since Sherlock jumped off the roof of St. Brenard's hospital. The fuss had finally quieted down, but John was still in a state of depression. Sometimes he would just break down crying.
Sometimes he would talk as if Sherlock was still there.
There was so much left unsaid. So much John wanted to tell Sherlock, and now never could.
Everyone tried to help. Even Henry stopped drinking. Still, nothing worked. Finally, they all just decided that it was best to just leave him alone for now.
John did everything a normal person did. He worked, shopped, ate, slept, watched the Tele; but he was just going through the motions. Dr. John Watson was as close to a zombie as you could get in the real world.
One day, he was returning home from a hard day at work. Usually he could avoid thinking about Sherlock, but today, everything seemed to remind him of Sherlock. The way these people had been hurt or maimed was just what Sherlock would have liked. It tortured John.
As he fished for his keys, he said, "Please, Sherlock, don't be dead."
When John stepped into the flat, he found a tall, lean man with black curly hair.
John found...
"Sherlock."
...…...
They both stood there staring at each other. Finally, Sherlock spoke,"John" snapping him out of his stupor.
In a flash, John was across the room. He punched Sherlock in the face.
"Six monthes! Six monthes you bastard! You left me alone and depressed for six bloody monthes!" he screamed.
Before Sherlock could reply, John grabbed his face and smashed his lips into Sherlock's.
Sherlock was stunned. This had never happened before. At least not to him. What should he do? He never wanted this moment to end so he did what was natural and leaned into the kiss.
"I love you," John whispered when they broke apart.
"I love you, too."