A/N: I've watched the phone call and the grave scenes like a hundred times now and just couldn't keep this in any longer. I held my breath when I watched the episode for the first time and waited John to say those three little words, knowing all along that he wouldn't, but still wishing for it. Hope you like this.
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"There's just one more thing" he said while keeping back the tears. "I… Um, I lo… Oh God. I love you, Sherlock. Always have, every irritating moment I spent with you, every… thrilling second I ran after you. From the very extraordinary beginning, I've always loved you, and um… I always will. So… I know you hate the sentiment. Despise feelings, but… there it is. You were… You are loved."
The tears were running down his cheeks by now and he wiped them with his sleeve before clearing his throat and shaking himself. He gave the cold stone that marked his friend's grave one final look and turned away. He'd go home. Well… Not home, he didn't have a home anymore. He'd go to a hotel or something. Get wasted, cry and maybe later come up with something, some tedious reason to keep on going, to stay alive, even when it felt that his heart didn't really beat anymore. He'd find a way, maybe. Sherlock would want him to.
Not too far away there was a dark man watching, listening, what happened at his grave. Sherlock couldn't help the tears. It was funny; he couldn't remember ever crying before meeting John, not for anything. But then again, he hadn't really had anything before John. His work, sure, but he had never been included or appreciated the way he had been after John had joined him. He had also had his mind but it hadn't been enough. Sherlock had been so bored for so long that he couldn't remember a time that he was actually intrigued by something, that was, until John.
John. When had his life really started resembling a life? When he met John. When had the boredom ceased to cripple him to the point where he needed something stronger than a smoke to keep him sane? When he met John. When had he started feeling something? The minute he had met John. John, dearest, strongest, bravest John. He was everything to Sherlock now. Yes, Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade had counted as well, but it was all for John. The doctor was the only one that he had been ready to really jump for, even without a plan. Anything for his John.
Sherlock wiped his tears away and took a deep breath.
"I don't hate the sentiment, John. I'd never despise your feelings" he whispered, knowing full well that he was the only one to hear them. "Be strong, please John, I beg of you. Just wait, I'll come back, I promise. I'll come back home, to you. Just wait for me." Sherlock knew that this might be too much to ask. Logically thinking there was no reason for John to wait for him. He could only hope that there truly was something more powerful than logic, something that he had never believed in, something… that would keep John waiting for him.