Imagine you had to leave your job. Imagine you were virtually homeless. You meet an old friend. Says he knows a guy you could flat with. Imagine if this total stranger, somehow, became your best friend.
You live together, you work together. He let you in. Whenever he says 'I'm married to my work' you always smile because you think, we work together. We are a team. Imagine meeting someone who wasn't too fond of you and your best friend. Imagine not actually knowing why he didn't like you. You get this feeling in your stomach whenever this strange man talks to your best friend. He always sounds like he's flirting with him. It can't be jealousy, can it? No. He's married to his work. You smile.
Imagine the strange man turning out to be a murderer. There was always something off about him. Imagine him trying to kill you. The fright, the pain and the loneliness. Imagine your best friend coming to your rescue. Your heart flutters. 'No it didn't' you tell yourself, again. The murderer got away, but you still have your best friend.
Imagine you and your best friend talking about the strangest of things. Then imagine your best friend in a horrible situation. Imagine the murderer with your best friend. Playing mind games with him. Telling him, convincing him, that he's a fake. You step out of the cab and your phone lights up. You look around and see him there. All the way up there. You shout into the phone telling him to stop. Imagine watching your best friend jump off a building. Imagine not knowing why. Not saying goodbye. Not say those three words you've been denying for too long. Imagine not saying 'I love you.' Imagine his reaction. You're never going to see it.
Imagine you and your landlady, standing before his grave, expressing your sadness, anger and love towards him. She leaves you alone so you can say what's really on your mind. It felt so good to say it but felt so bad at the same time because he's never going to hear what you just said. Imagine you are oblivious to the fact that your best friend, who faked his own death, is watching you, listening to you, from afar.
Your shared flat is now your own flat. Everything of his remains untouched. His equipment, the shot-at smiley face on the wall and the violin. You laugh. You remember him playing the violin to help him think. You cry. You remember him. You build up the courage to play his violin, to see if you could get help to think about anything else rather than him. Imagine the violin is gone. Imagine a soft tune coming from his room. The muffled notes seeping through the walls. You haven't dared to look in his room. You tear up at the thought. Going through his things and just remembering his connection to each and every object. But you need to go in, to make sure it's just another hallucination. That's what your therapist said, right? You'll occasionally have hallucinations. But this one seems too real. The handle squeaks as you turn it and the door creaks open.
A tall, slender figure with a mop of dark, curly hair is playing the violin.
"Hello" he says. That's all it takes. Just a simple 'hello' makes you break down in tears in front of him. Embarrassment washes through your body, but then is over taken with anger, sadness and love. All these feelings, rolled up into one, prevent you from speaking. He notices your struggle and carefully places down his violin. What he did next was completely out of character. Imagine your best friend, who you and everybody else thought to be dead, was hugging you. Your head nestled just below his chin.
"You fell, I watched you fall" is all you manage to whimper out.
"You watched me fall, but you didn't see me land" he replied. You could tell he said it with a grin because there was so much pride in his tone. You roll your eyes and refuse to ask any more questions. It will all be too confusing, you can already tell. You hug him tighter and he tenses up. A slight chuckle creeps out of your mouth at the lack of his emotion. Maybe you could change that. You lift your head so you can look into those cold, blue eyes. They're staring straight back down at you. You lean forward.
Imagine kissing your best friend. Now, imagine he is kissing you back. You pull away, a sense of accomplishment and love buzzing through your brain.
"I missed you" he says in is cold, deep voice which somehow, you find soothing.
"Not only have I missed you," you say "but, I love you, Sherlock." He looks surprised at first but his expression quickly changes to relief.
"I thought so" you roll your eyes "but that's great because, I love you too, John"