He was never coming back, was he? All this time John had believed, hoped that his friend was alive. He wasn't. He knew this now. Every time he looked out of the window, he thought he saw Sherlock, every time he looked to the sky he imagined his friend an angel, and could almost see him there himself. But he wasn't coming back. Never.
John sat on the chair opposite the one Sherlock used to sit on. He hadn't touched it since it happened. He had hoped that it was all a trick, that Sherlock would come back. He hadn't.
It had been two years.
The doorbell sounded. John heard Mrs Hudson rush to open it. He could hear her talking to the person at the door. It was probably her 'suitor'. That was what she called him. She thought that he would whisk her away to get married any time now. John felt sorry for the man.
There were footsteps on the stairs and Mrs Hudson's voice came, sounding excited, "There's someone here for you John!" Sighing with barely supressed annoyance at being disturbed he stood up and opened the door.
It was him. Oh my God, it was him. HIM!
Sherlock stood in the doorway, watching John with the wary eyes of a mouse that has just run straight into the path of a cat. John began to sway, so Sherlock gently took his arm and led him to his chair.
A haze fell over John's eyes, and when it cleared he was sitting in his chair with Sherlock standing over him. It was him. Sher… Him! He was here!
Sherlock's voice, deep and velvety, came for him "John, are you Ok?" John struggled to find words to say. Sherlock's brow creased in concern "I'm sorry, John. If I had known that you would be affected this much I would have found a better way, or not come at all…"
John shook his head to clear the last of the fog from his brain. "It's you, Sherlock! You're alive! I always believed you were."
Sherlock looked at his old friend. He had gotten a lot thinner since he had been gone, and very pale. He looked… Well, he looked unwell. As John stared into space, Sherlock stood and prepared to leave.
Suddenly John's arms shot out from his sides and pinned Sherlock to the chair. "No, stay here! Don't leave me again!" A little shaken, Sherlock settled himself back onto his seat. John was looking at him in the way that a starving person looks at food. It was as if he thought that looking away from Sherlock would make him disappear once again.
"I'm here now. I'm staying. "John looked relieved.
After about a week of constant supervision, Sherlock was finally allowed out of John's sight. He was relieved. It had been getting extremely annoying. But Sherlock had persevered, hoping that the real John was still there, behind the shy, jumpy John who could not bear to be away from him.
Sherlock needed the time alone. He wanted to… Stretch his wings.
John was sitting in his chair once again, anticipating the arrival of his friend Sherlock. He had been gone for 24 minutes and 47 seconds. John was worrying. Was Sherlock coming back? Had something happened to him? Where was he?
Suddenly a dark shape passed his window. He stood up to look, but it was gone almost as quickly as it had appeared. A millisecond later, Sherlock appeared at the door. "Sherlock, did you just see…" Sherlock's face took on a panicked expression, before he realised that John had not fully seen, only glimpsed a shadow.
"I'm sure it was just a bird, or something. Don't worry about it." John looked suspicious but didn't say anything.
Weeks went by, life was almost normal. But John was still different, detached. He was quieter than usual, and would drift off in the middle of a sentence, staring into space. Sherlock knew that John could see through him, that he knew there was something Sherlock was keeping from him.
Sherlock decided to show him.
John saw a dark shadow fly across the window. This time it stayed there, tantalizingly. He wanted to see it, figure out what it was. Cautiously, John made his way over to the window and opened the curtains. He stared out. Sherlock's face stared back.
When John awoke, he saw Sherlock standing beside him. His first thought was of relief. Sherlock was still there. Then he noticed; Sherlock had wings.
Whatever Sherlock had expecting John's reaction to be, it wasn't this. At the sight of a winged Sherlock his face had fallen and his eyes filled with tears. Sherlock knelt by him, but nothing he did could stem their constant flow.
"I…I knew it was too good to be true. You…You're dead. You're an angel. YOU WERE DEAD ALL ALONG!" At this, the doctor burst into tears once more.
"John. JOHN! I am not dead." Sherlock's voice became more serious. "I have wings, GET OVER IT. I am alive, and there's nothing that you or anyone else can do about it!"
After a while, the tears subsided. John sank into a stunned silence. "But…but why are you here? I mean, if you're dead…"
"I've told you, John. I'm not dead. Yes, we have established that I have wings. But that doesn't mean I am dead!"
John calmed a little, and looked at Sherlock inquisitively. "Well, explain them then. Why do you have wings if you're not dead?"
"I… I can't really tell…"
"What do you mean you can't tell me? Just, just go back to hell or wherever you came from. I don't want you here. I don't want your shadow. LEAVE ME ALONE!"
Sherlock crumpled at the voice. Slowly he made his way to the door, looking over his shoulder at the still livid John. He hoped that it would not last, that John would forgive him. He couldn't think how.
The next morning, Sherlock came to 221B to see if John had changed his mind. "Just see how he reacts." He told himself "if he tells you to go away again, you can leave. There's little harm in looking"
Sherlock's hands shook as he reached for the knocker. He took a moment to wonder at how much John effected his emotions. Then, he knocked.
At first, there was no answer, but then the door swung open to reveal a lurching, unsteady John who smelled strongly of alcohol.
Sherlock was confused. John had never drunk before, not more than a little glass of wine with meals. But, he reminded himself, things had changed now.
John lurched forwards, tripping on the doorstep and propelling himself into Sherlock's arms. Sherlock stood for a second, holding his semi-conscious friend. John's body convulsed and he vomited violently, covering Sherlock's Jacket in red-tinged sick.
Sherlock urgently climbed the stairs, dragging the ex-army doctor behind him, and placed his friend on the sofa before pacing the room in anxiety.
He suddenly saw a note on the table and ran to pick it up.
"Sherlock.
I understand now. You died, but you came back for me. I want to stay with you, Sherlock. You are my best friend. I would be lost without you. So I will make it easier for you. I'm going to join you. You won't have to pretend to be alive anymore, for me. I will be with you again!
I know it's not the best way to do it, but alcohol would avoid any suspicion. I would say I'll miss you, but I won't. I have missed you for the last two years, Sherlock, and I want to find you again. I won't have to miss you anymore.
He said you were on the side of the angels. I heard. You left your phone on. It's true, you know. And now I will be as well!"