A/N: Reichenbach Role Reversal - I know it's been done before, I just wanted to give it a try.
Please R & R.
Away:
Lestrade made his way into Baker Street. It was quieter than it use to be, the bright warm atmosphere that once spewed from the doors was gone, more importantly someone was gone.
Sherlock sat in his chair staring depressingly at the one opposite him. The man looked as if he hadn't sleep in God-knows how long.
"Sherlock?"
No response was given.
"Sherlock? I've got something for you; an interesting case this time, I'll give you the details on the way"
Greg waited anxious and in anticipation for a reaction or response on any kind but a sigh was given. Silence cast over for a few minutes.
"What are you doing here?" Was the first acknowledgement from Sherlock to Lestrade being in the room with him.
"A case, Sherlock"
"Oh, right. Right, I'll be behind you then, no police car" Sherlock stated flatly
"How have you been?"
"Fine"
"Don't you think you should get some air?" Lestrade knew this was the first time Sherlock had even spoken in a while, let alone go outside.
"I said I'll be right behind you. I'll leave the door unlocked for John"
"Sherlock..."
"What? He just left for the shops, besides Mrs. Hudson in downstairs, she's been quiet recently"
"Sherlock, he isn't-"
"He'll be back in a few minutes. I'll leave him a- something" Sherlock interrupted quickly.
Greg gave his younger a sympathetic look.
"Sherlock, you know where he is"
"No, no I don't!"
"What?" Greg was now hugely confused.
"I don't know where he is! I don't know anything anymore!" Sherlock had lost all of hi cold and bored composure.
Sherlock's outburst of emotions wasn't exactly shocking given the past three months.
Three months.
Three months after the fall.
Three months after Moriarty shot himself in the head.
Three months after John Watson had commited suicide.
Sherlock didn't apply himself to cases like he use to; he'd go, give deductions, turn weak insults and then leave after mumbling the solution. No more passion or stimulation any more. Without John there was no point. He did flinch the first time no compliments such as "Brilliant" of "That's fantastic" was spoken to him with genuine kindness.
"What don't you know?" Greg held out hands as if to surrender as Sherlock's emotions were uncontrolable.
"Why! I don't know why John- Why he- I'm just angry. No, more than that, I'm furious, frustrated, agonized and confused" The skinny man aimlessly roamed about his flat uttering to himself.
"OK. OK. Deep breath, Sherlock"
"Why? Why bother breathing, living and existing without the person you- I-" Sherlock collapsed to the ground, his entire body shaking.
The raven-haired man curled in on himself, forming the smallest ball his six-foot body could create. Lestrade carefully lowered himself and wrapped his arms around the broken man, giving a bit of comfort but to Sherlock it was coming from the wrong person.
"I didn't save him... he saved me so many times, Greg. It's not fair. Moriarty wanted me, not him! Not him!"
"I know. I know, Sherlock" The man was given a harsh shove in return.
"You arrested him! You didn't believe us!" Sherlock's voice wavered on the word 'Us', it felt so long since it they became 'Him' from 'Us'.
"I'm so sorry for that Sherlock. Look, you know where I'll be if you are interesting in coming down. I can't change what happened or what myself or anyone did... I just know John wouldn't want you to deteriorate like this" It was worth a shot.
"I just..." Sherlock choked in a breath "I need to go somewhere first" On those words Greg left.
After a few minutes Sherlock got to his feet and dragged himself to the bathroom to clean himself up, looking at himself in the mirror he noticed a few things John would disapprove of; his skin was paler than before, his cheekbones poked out his face a little more than before and he felt as tired as he looked.
Washing his face with cool water Sherlock dried himself off, threw on his slightly heavier Belstaff and thick scarf, he picked up his keys and dawned his stoic mask then left the apartment, not locking the door behind him.
Keeping to himself Sherlock felt his subconscious take control, he knew the route without having to look up.
He reached his destination in a quicker time than he realised, the gates were iron, unwelcoming and freezing cold. The grass was recently trimmed and few people were around.
Trailing with his coat dramatically waving behind each step Sherlock stopped at the new-ish gravestone that held the only friend he ever had. It was a simple grey granite headstone with a gold inscription of 'John H. Watson' it suited him in many ways but contradicted who he was in so many others.
Sherlock doesn't remember much of the funeral except waking up lying ontop of the the fresh burial dirt that covered his friend hours prior, he was curled up on his side - crying - though he'd never admit it to anyone and would never shed real tears ever again. Mycroft approached him with John's black jacket as a comfort.
Pushing the memory aside Sherlock mustered up the courage to actually saying something this time.
"John... I uh, I don't think I ever told you how I actually felt about you. I told you that you were my best friend but to me you were so much more. You were a goldfish but you were amazing, fantastic and loyal beyond the highest of standards. You were the warmest person I ever knew, your smile made feel welcomed by you. Your trust - though wary with others - was exceptional with me, after all you did kill someone on our first night together I'm sure you kno- knew this but I did read your Blog more than my Website and I will only admit to you that I like it"
Sherlock hit an impasse of not knowing what to say next and made his turn to leave but then something sparked insied his mind and he returned
"No. Actually one more thing; John I... I love you. There I said it. Now come back so I can hear you can say it too. That's an order," Sherlock nearly smiled but it faded fast
"Come back, John. I need you back. I'm lost without my Blogger"
Sherlock left feeling only slightly better than before. He raised his chin and walked with presence and hailed a cab see Lestrade about his case, in his wake, Sherlock didn't see many things.
He didn't see someone following him.
He didn't see the unmarked sleek black car parked around the bend.
He didn't see John Watson watching him from afar with tears in his eyes silently bidding farewell to his best friend once again.
John didn't know when he was coming home but now he knew he needed to soon. Sherlock loved him and the feeling was more than mutual.