There was someone unfamiliar working at the counter of the coffee shop John always visited, and that should've been Sherlock's first clue. She was a pretty girl with shoulder length blonde hair, she was far too young for John but she giggled and smiled when John walked away.

"Done flirting yet?" Sherlock asked and John just sighed before hailing a cab, holding the piping hot coffee in his hand. As Sherlock climbed into the cab he glanced back at the coffee shop, he couldn't see the girl anymore; she had probably gone off to fetch ingredients from the back room. Yet for some reason, Sherlock couldn't shake a horribly uneasy feeling as they drove to the crime scene.

"Oh, alright. I'll be right in." John said into his phone. Sherlock had pretty much already solved the case but that didn't stop him from being annoyed that John had to go in to work.

"Sorry Sherlock I-"

"I know John. Go already." Sherlock said grumpily. John just nodded and walked off to get a cab to take him to the hospital. Sherlock secretly wished that John would ignore the call and stay, but also knew that wouldn't happen. Sherlock gave John one last look before he rounded the corner, blowing on his coffee, which was still too hot to drink.

Sherlock had solved the case, it was really quite easy. The killer was standing among the crowd that had gathered at the edges of the crime scene, just outside the tape. Sherlock had pointed him out, and the look of surprise on his face was priceless. The man had been eager to see the police work at his crime scene and hadn't expected anyone to solve the crime at all, let alone within the first three hours of it being committed. Lestrade was talking on the phone as the man was loaded into a police car and Sherlock walked over to him, listening to the conversation.

"Yeah… alright… well then why are you calling me?" Lestrade looked irritated for a moment before his expression turned into one of pure horror. All the color drained from his face and his eyes went wide.

"Are you sure? Alright… I'll be right there." Lestrade hung up and ran his hand through his hair. His hands were shaking; actually his whole body was shaking.

"Something wrong?" Sherlock asked. He already knew that something was, but he wanted to know what. Lestrade jumped at Sherlock's voice and backed away so fast that he nearly tripped over the dead body.

"Sh-Sherlock! Um, no, nothing's wrong. Well something's wrong but it has nothing to do with you. I gotta dash though, good work today." Lestrade practically ran away from Sherlock and that was enough to get Sherlock curious, so he followed Lestrade. He was mildly surprised when Lestrade pulled into the parking lot of Saint Bart's hospital, but followed him in nonetheless. Sherlock slinked past the nurses and other staff and watched as Lestrade stepped into the morgue. Sherlock pressed himself into the wall and inched closer so he could hear what Lestrade was saying.

"Yeah… that's him." Lestrade sounded more tired than Sherlock had ever heard him. Sherlock had heard Lestrade speak after months of exhausting work and sleepless nights while trying to catch criminals and never had he heard Lestrade sound so… old.

"Jesus Christ, what happened?" Lestrade asked and Sherlock heard Molly's voice drift out of the room. She sounded as though she had been crying and all her willpower was being used so that she wouldn't start again.

"He was poisoned, haven't figured out by what yet. They said he just keeled over two blocks from the hospital, they rushed him inside, but it was already too late." Sherlock could hear Molly sniffling as he drew closer to the room. He wondered who this person could be that would have such an effect on both Molly and Lestrade.

"Oh god, why him? Why did it have to be him?" Molly's words were muffled by what was probably Lestrade's shoulder. Lestrade was good with sentiment and was no doubt hugging Molly.

"I watched over him for all that time and now… oh god. Why?" Molly was full on sobbing now and Lestrade was shushing her reassuringly. Sherlock stopped at her statement, Molly had watched over someone? Sherlock was beginning to feel very confused, and he didn't like the feeling one bit. He was finally close enough to peer around the corner of the door and he saw Lestrade's back. Lestrade was caressing Molly's hair in an attempt to calm her, but Sherlock could see that Lestrade was barely holding it together himself. Sherlock couldn't see the body of the person whose death was causing Molly to break down the way she was. Sherlock was about to try and sneak in and see the body when Molly said something that made Sherlock's blood turn to ice.

"What are we going to tell Sherlock?" Sherlock felt his stomach clench and he stood completely frozen in the doorway.

"What?" Sherlock asked, Molly let out a squeak and Lestrade whirled to face Sherlock. They both gaped at him, both looking absolutely terrified. Molly's eyes were red from crying and Lestrade had tears glistening on the rims of his eyelids.

"How are you going to tell me what?" Sherlock asked and stepped forward. Lestrade shifted so he was blocking Sherlock's view of the body.

"Sherlock, you should leave. Just trust me when I tell you that you don't want to know. Not yet anyway." Lestrade choked out. Sherlock couldn't fathom why he wouldn't want to know the identity of the person right behind Lestrade.

"Step aside Lestrade." Sherlock commanded, he needed to know who it was. Sherlock felt his breath catch and his hands begin to shake, because he was afraid. He was afraid that the person lying dead behind Lestrade might be the only person in the world that Sherlock had ever loved. Sherlock rarely ever admitted that to himself, but he wasn't one to deny facts that were right in front of his face. All the facts seemed to point to one person, Molly having watched over him, Lestrade also being sad about the death, the man keeling over two blocks from the hospital. All the clues seemed to lead to one conclusion, and for once in his life, Sherlock hoped more than anything in the world that he was wrong. Lestrade didn't budge and Sherlock felt his fear rising, clogging his throat and speeding up his heartbeat.

"Move." Sherlock growled at Lestrade and he finally stepped to the side. Sherlock's eyes fell upon the lifeless body of John Watson. The earth stopped spinning, time stopped moving and Sherlock's heart stopped beating in his chest. Everything just ended right then and there; a meteor might as well have crashed into the planet. Sherlock felt everything cease to exist around him, Molly and Lestrade melted away and the ground disappeared beneath Sherlock's feet. He was falling, falling deep into the nothingness that was left of the world because John wasn't there to catch him. John wasn't there hold everything in place. John was the only thing in the universe that kept everything existing, and now he was gone.

John was gone.

Sherlock felt everything and nothing at the same time. That didn't make sense, but John being dead didn't make sense, nothing made sense anymore. Sherlock felt anger at whoever did this to John, he felt rage like he never had before and knew that whoever they were, he would make them pay. Sherlock felt sadness, grief stronger than any drug he had ever injected into himself. It weighed him down as though he was a million pounds heavier and Sherlock came crashing to his knees. Sherlock also felt hatred, he didn't hate the person who did this, he hated himself. This was his fault, he should've seen the signs, should've known, should've saved John. There were tears running down Sherlock's face, he felt like he was being torn apart from the inside. Sherlock never believed people when they said emotions hurt. After all how could something mental be felt physically? But Sherlock had never felt more in pain then he did right then, his entire body felt like it was on fire. He was burning and there was no one on earth except John who could put out the flames.

"Sherlock?" Lestrade asked from behind him. Sherlock didn't care; there was no reason to anymore. Sherlock stood though and marched out of the room without a word. He walked up onto the roof where he had faked his death all that time ago and he cried. He cried silently, the tears streaming down his face and plopping down onto the concrete roof. Molly walked up next to him and stared out across the city.

"Do you think this is how John felt?" Sherlock asked and Molly looked at him.

"What?" Molly turned to face him and Sherlock barely managed to croak out the words.

"Do you think John felt like this when I faked my death?" Sherlock asked again. Molly looked sadly into Sherlock's eyes and murmured

"I know he did." And she walked away, leaving Sherlock all alone on the roof again.

Sherlock didn't know if he could bring himself to walk up those stairs, the stairs that John had walked up and down only hours before, but he never would again. Sherlock finally convinced himself to go inside and was greeted by Mrs. Hudson. She had a large smile on her face when she saw him, so she had clearly not been informed of the events of that day yet. Her smile faded when she saw Sherlock's face.

"Sherlock dear, are you alright?" She asked and Sherlock smiled at her as he might've when John was there.

"Fine." Sherlock smiled at her and ascended the stairs before she could ask any more questions Especially the one he knew he would have to answer in the morning: 'Where's John?' and Sherlock didn't want to have to answer it.

Sherlock slept in John's bed that night. He didn't dream, he just woke up, feeling as though he had never fallen asleep in the first place. Yet the clock revealed that several hours had passed. Sherlock breathed in the scent of the covers, they still smelled like John and Sherlock both hated that and loved that about them. Why did the sheets on John's bed get to contain a small part of John when Sherlock didn't? Yet Sherlock was glad that there was a little bit of John left anyway. After staring at the ceiling for quite some time Sherlock closed his eyes and began to plan his revenge.

"Who hired you?!" Sherlock slammed the girl against the wall again for good measure but this only caused her to whimper and cry more pathetically. She kept on insisting through her tears that no one had hired her, that she hadn't even made the coffee. Sherlock let go of the front of her shirt in disgust and she crumpled to the floor of the alleyway, blubbering like a child who had just skinned their knee. Sherlock had to seek answers elsewhere. He made his way back to the coffee shop to investigate and sent Molly a text while he walked.

Don't even think about touching John's body. This is my investigation and I will find out who did this on my own. -SH

Just as Sherlock pushed open the doors of the coffee shop his phone buzzed and he looked at the message Molly had just sent him.

I promise I won't lay a finger on John's body, the toxicology report can wait. If you need anything let me or Lestrade know. You may not want any help, but you need it. Don't do anything John wouldn't want you to. -Molly

Sherlock's stomach clenched and he thrust the phone deep into his pocket. John wouldn't want Sherlock to try and find his killer. John wouldn't think that he was worth it, but Sherlock knew that if he didn't do something he wouldn't be able to do anything. And that included living. If Sherlock didn't do something to make up for his own inability to save John's life, than the guilt would kill him. Sherlock pushed past the manager of the coffee shop and went right into the room where the security tapes were kept. Thank goodness for modern security. Sherlock finally came across the tape that showed John entering the shop and Sherlock barely managed not to break down at the pixelated image of John while he was still breathing. Then Sherlock saw the video of the person that had made John's coffee, it was a young man, so the girl had been innocent. Sherlock watched the video a few more times to try and get a better look at the man responsible for John's death but the cameras were of poor quality so there was pretty much nothing to be learned. Sherlock stood to leave, the video still playing, but something stopped him before he left. The man had stood on a chair and was holding a paper coffee cup in his hand. Two words were written on it:

Tee-hee

Sherlock felt his blood boil with rage. This man thought that killing John was funny, that John's life was little more than a joke and that made Sherlock want to put a hole in his head. Sherlock marched out of the room and saw a coffee cup sitting on the counter it had a phone number written on it and Sherlock knew it couldn't be a coincidence. This was confirmed when Sherlock rotated the cup and on the back were the words Tee-hee in the same handwriting as before. Sherlock wanted to destroy that cup even though it contained evidence. He wanted to destroy it because it had been touched by the man who had killed John, and everything that that man had ever come in contact with deserved to burn just as the man himself did. Sherlock began to type the number into his phone and Mycroft's voice echoed inside Sherlock's head 'caring is not an advantage' Sherlock grimaced because he knew Mycroft was right. Caring wasn't an advantage, but only now did Sherlock realize that caring had been the only thing that had kept him alive. And now it was killing him.

"I was wondering when you were going to call."

"Shut up"

"Ooo, someone's grouchy."

"You killed my best friend; I have every right to be angry."

"That's true, but manners are manners. Speaking of manners, I haven't introduced myself. I'm Joseph; it's my pleasure to speak with you in person Mr. Holmes."

"I don't care who you are, I only care about you being punished for what you did."

"Oh, are you going to spank me?"

"No, I'm going to kill you."

"You have to find me first."

"I already did."

"What? Hello... Hello?"

Sherlock was already halfway to the man's location by the end of the phone call. The man had made an enormous mistake in allowing Sherlock to call him. The sounds that had been clearly audible in the back round of the conversation had told Sherlock quite clearly the location of Joseph. The man should've chosen someplace less obvious, but it was all the better for Sherlock. A remote abandoned warehouse, the perfect place to make Joseph pay and he would pay. Sherlock's phone buzzed in his pocket and he scowled at the caller ID.

"Mycroft." Sherlock muttered under his breath. He declined the call, but almost as soon as he did his phone buzzed again with a text.

I am not a fool Sherlock. I know what you are doing and although I will not stop you I will tell you that it is a mistake. -MH

Sherlock typed in a response as the cab drew nearer to their destination.

Leave me to my business Mycroft. I am doing what is necessary and if you interfere I will make you suffer as well. -SH

Sherlock tried to calm his anger with a few deep breaths but they did little to lessen the rage that was bubbling inside Sherlock. He almost didn't look the next time his phone vibrated, but eventually he pulled it out of his pocket and read the message.

I have no doubt about that Sherlock, so I will not interfere, but I will tell you this. If John were alive, he would not want this. I know you are in pain, but I implore you to do the right thing. If not for my sake or your own, at least for John's. -MH

Sherlock nearly chucked his phone out of the window of the cab when he read that. What did Mycroft know of right and wrong? Sherlock believed that his actions were the right ones, John deserved this, he deserved for the man who had ended his life to be brought to justice. Sherlock clenched his fists as the cab pulled up to the warehouse. Sherlock paid him and began to walk up to the empty building that Sherlock would normally associate with Mycroft's kidnappings. The rusty warehouse loomed before Sherlock as the cab drove away and Sherlock's phone buzzed.

I'll only say it once more, don't do this. -MH

Sherlock glared at is phone and continued to walk, his hand curling around the gun that had once belonged to John.

Sherlock, Mycroft told me what's going on. I'm on my way. Please, please don't do anything stupid.
-Lestrade

Sherlock was about to turn his phone off when he received another text from Molly he saw the preview of it on the screen, but not the whole message.

Sherlock, don't do this. John…

Sherlock didn't bother to check; instead he shut his phone off and slipped it into his pocket just as he walked through the doors of the warehouse.

"There you are! Took you long enough to get here." Sherlock turned to his left to see Joseph approaching him with the walk of someone who is very excited. Sherlock's fists clenched and his toes curled, he pulled out the gun and pointed it at the man. It took all of his willpower not to shoot him right there.

"Whoa now, you could put an eye out with that thing." Joseph cautioned with a grin. Sherlock tightened his grip on the gun and took aim.

"Well then, I suppose its game over for me. I doubt there's anything I can say that will change your mind so why don't you go ahead and shoot." Joseph was still smiling as he said this and it made Sherlock even angrier. He had no right to be happy, he should be terrified and in agony in his last moments. Sherlock wanted him to suffer before he died.

"Well, go on then, we haven't got all day." Joseph checked his watch to emphasize what he was saying, but Sherlock still hesitated.

"Come on." Joseph went down on his knees and spread his arms to give Sherlock a clear shot.

"Kill me and avenge your friend." Sherlock wanted to pull the trigger, but still he didn't.

"Do it." Sherlock steadied his aim and took a deep breath to clear his thoughts.

"Do it!" Joseph shouted and Sherlock almost pulled the trigger when he heard John's voice in his mind.

This isn't justice Sherlock. This is revenge. I know you're a better man than this… prove me right.

Sherlock felt tears form in his eyes and he dropped the gun slowly. Joseph's face became confused as tears began to stream down Sherlock's face.

"You… are under arrest… for the murder of John Hamish Watson." Sherlock said in between shaky breaths and he pulled the handcuffs from his pocket. Sherlock knew what true justice was, and killing this man wasn't it. True justice was what John and Sherlock used to run around London trying to accomplish. And Sherlock wasn't about to betray John by going against everything they had ever fought for. Joseph looked incredibly confused and shook his head in disbelief.

"No… no! You were supposed to kill me! You coward! Don't you want to avenge your friend?" Joseph was livid as he shouted these things at Sherlock. Then Sherlock understood, it had been the plan all along to get Sherlock to kill Joseph. Joseph had wanted to die for some reason and had decided to tarnish Sherlock's name while he was at it. Sherlock would've been convicted of murder had he pulled the trigger and that had been the goal all along. Sherlock hated himself even more as he handcuffed the kicking and screaming Joseph. John was dead because of him and Sherlock had nothing left to live for anymore now that the man responsible had been dealt with. Sherlock knocked Joseph out with a well-placed hit from the butt of the gun. He contemplated the gun in his hand for a moment and pressed it to his temple to see how it felt. Oddly enough it was almost relieving, the guilt, the grief, the anger and the sheer emptiness subsided slightly and Sherlock felt slightly at peace for the first time in days. Because for the first time since John died Sherlock felt almost as though he might see John again, if he was lucky he might get to walk up the stairs of 221B Baker Street and see John sitting in his old chair, smiling and greeting Sherlock. John would be drinking his favorite tea and there would be an extra glass set out for Sherlock on the coffee table. John would skim through the newspaper in search of an interesting case and Sherlock would gaze through his microscope while stealing glances at John over the top of his lenses. Sherlock and John would dash through the streets of London after some criminal and they would catch him. They would call Lestrade, breathless and laughing like madmen as they relished in the diminishing thrill of the chase. They would go to Angelo's and sit at their usual table with a candle glowing in between them, laughing the night away over linguini and ravioli. Yet that was only if Sherlock was lucky and got to go to the same place as John. Sherlock didn't really know if such a place existed but if it did John would surely be there. Sherlock didn't know if he deserved to join him or not though. Because Sherlock had once said that although he was on the side of the angels, he wasn't an angel himself. What he didn't say though was that the reason he was on the side of the angels was because John wasone of them. And Sherlock wasn't sure if he deserved that. Sherlock hoped so as he pressed the gun against his temple, and squeezed the trigger.

"Sherlock!" Sherlock never thought he would hear that voice again. He whirled around to see John sprinting towards him as fast as his legs would carry him. Sherlock looked at the gun in his hand and noted that it hadn't been fired, Sherlock was still alive. So how could John be?

"Sherlock!" John's voice echoed inside the large warehouse and Sherlock's mind finally snapped out of the strange fog it had been in earlier. John was alive. Who cared how, he was alive! Sherlock stood up and let the gun drop to floor. He barely had time to take step before John collided with him in a crushing hug.

"You idiot. What were you thinking?" John asked as Sherlock wrapped around John's body. Sherlock didn't answer; he just buried his head into John's shoulder and breathed in his scent. John was alive and Sherlock felt as though he himself had been brought back to life because he once again had a reason to live. All the pain and guilt and the sheer emptiness were washed away by the sheer joy of seeing John again. John's light seemed to chase away the darkness that had filled the corners of Sherlock's heart because Sherlock did in fact have a heart. John had surgically implanted a beating, feeling heart into Sherlock's chest the moment they had completed their first case together and now that John was alive it began to beat once more.

"I love you." Sherlock whispered the words into John's shoulder before he had time to overthink their meaning and John tightened his arms around Sherlock.

"I love you too you git." John pulled away and kissed Sherlock with enough passion to stop a war, or start one. Suddenly Sherlock felt more than just alive, he felt an incredible happiness flow through his body that he never would have thought himself capable of feeling. As John deepened the kiss Sherlock smiled imperceptibly, this was more than Sherlock could've dreamed for (and heaven knows he had dreamed for it quite a bit) and he hoped that it would never end. The kiss broke and Sherlock looked into John's eyes and asked the question that he had been dying to ask.

"How can you be alive?"

"Canterella." Sherlock nearly leapt out of his skin when Lestrade answered the question from beside Sherlock. John separated himself from Sherlock.

"How long have you been standing there?" John asked with a slight blush.

"Long enough to get a couple photographs." John blushed deeper and Lestrade chuckled before explaining.

"John was drugged with Canterella which gives one the appearance of death even though they are very much alive." John and Sherlock nodded in understanding and Sherlock laced his fingers in Johns. Lestrade caught on quickly and cleared his throat before leaving with the unconscious (and rather heavy) body of Joseph. Sherlock pulled John against him and just stood there for a moment, reveling in John's existence. His warmth, the rise and fall of his chest, the beat of his heart. All of it was alive and it made Sherlock want to experience every inch of it for every second it existed for every passing tick of the clock for the rest of eternity.

"I'm so glad you're alive." Sherlock said, planting a kiss on John's lips.

"So am I." John said.

"Dinner?" Sherlock asked and John smiled a loving smile that Sherlock wanted to see every day from that day forward.

"Only if you can get us a candle." John gave Sherlock a wink and Sherlock grinned.

"Small romantic." Sherlock said and they headed off to Angelo's for linguini and ravioli.

Author's Note: Hey everyone! Thank's for reading (if you did, you might've just skipped to the end out of impatience) review if you liked, also review if you didn't and tell me what to do different next time. I really don't like this story (far too goopy and Sherlock is way out of character with all his touchy-feelyness) so feel free to be as cruel as you like!

Thanks!