I own nothing, all writes go to Moffat, God of all.
John Watson stood in the doorway of his flat looking up at the man standing outside. They had been like that for some time now, watching each other. Finally the taller man spoke.
"Hi John," he said.
"Sherlock," John addressed him, trying his hardest not to cry.
"I'm not dead," Sherlock said.
"That's a great deduction," John told him.
"I'm sorry that I-"
"John?" A timid voice asked from the top of the stairs. John turned around and starred at the woman.
"Yes?" He asked.
"Who's at the door?"
"Can you please come down here?" She cascaded the staircase and stopped beside Watson holding his arm.
"Mary this is Sherlock Holmes, Sherlock this is Mary…my wife," he introduced the two.
"Sherlock Holmes?" She asked John. "Oh my God, he's-"
"Yes Mary, the elusive Sherlock Holmes is indeed alive," he said coldly.
"Oh my God, he talks about you all the time," she told Sherlock.
"Does he?" Sherlock asked looking over at his friend.
"Wait here," she said, "I'll go set another place for dinner." She ran off leaving the two men alone. Sherlock broke the silence first.
"I'm sorry I left you John," he said.
"And where exactly have you been?"
"There were a few things I needed to take care of," Sherlock said.
"You were gone for two years," John said.
"I know and I'm sorry," he said.
"Stop apologizing! I'm not your boyfriend Sherlock you don't need to explain yourself to me."
"But you are my best friend," Sherlock admitted.
"I'm married Sherlock," John told him.
"I know," he said.
"Things are different now, they've…changed."
"Dinner's ready!" Mary called from upstairs.
"Shall we?" John asked.
"After you," Sherlock said.
Over the next few months things fell back into a somewhat familiar pattern. John and Sherlock were back on cases but spent less time together. Sherlock moved back into his flat with Mrs. Hudson and John and Mary a few blocks down, however when he was at the store John felt the overwhelming need to pick up the blackberry jam Sherlock used to like. A change was noticed in the two men, not a good change.
Four months after Sherlock's return the two were investigating a suspect in a recent murder. They found him in an abandoned building and things did not go according to plan. The man pulled the gun on Sherlock and he, so willing to die again, did not realize what John was doing. The blonde man threw himself in front of his friend and took his bullet straight to the heart. He fell back and Sherlock caught him and eased him to the ground.
"John," he cried trying to stop the bleeding.
"It's okay," he told him.
"No," Sherlock said holding the dying man.
"I wish," John chocked out, "I wish I could have told you…"
"Told me what?"
"How much I missed you," John was crying now.
"I missed you so much," Sherlock told him, willing himself not to start crying as well. Sherlock Holmes did not cry.
"Tell Mary…tell her…I love you."
"I love you too," Sherlock said before he could stop himself.
"What?" John asked looking up at the beautiful man with dark curly hair.
"Is what she'll probably say back," he said trying to cover up his feelings.
"I loved you too," John whispered. No use hiding his feelings when he was this close to death. "I always loved…" his words trailed off as he took his final breath. And the light left his eyes, the flush left his cheeks, the words died on his pale lips that Sherlock so longed to kiss. John Watson was dead.
Sherlock spent month's afterwards hoping, waiting for him to come back and explain how he faked it all. So this is what it was like for John when he thought he was dead, he did not blame him for marrying Mary. Sherlock spent more time with her as well after John's death. He knew he couldn't leave the woman that his love had loved alone. Mary had found out about her pregnancy shortly after John's death and Sherlock promised to be there for her. Yet when he was alone, there was no one to chase away his nightmares with false promises and hope. Mrs. Hudson came up one night to put an end to this.
"You need to stop this, he's dead Sherlock," she said, her voice cracking a bit at the end.
"Maybe he's not," he murmured, holding one of John's sweaters to his chest.
"I can't stand to see you like this…like he was when he thought you were gone. It's not right for someone to be in so much pain even though I knew you were coming back."
"He's coming back Mrs. Hudson."
"No, no he's not." And he didn't. John Watson Jr. grew up with stories of his brave and adventurous father. He especially liked the ones his uncle Sherlock told, unlike his mother he didn't leave out the gruesome parts. It wasn't until he was almost twenty that he realized what his father and Sherlock's relationship was. Love. Undisputed, pure love. Of course he knew he also loved his mother but Sherlock was his first, his first true love.
So I was feeling depressed and wanted to depress you all too
Please review