I wake up the the sound of a violin. I put my hands on my face. "It was just a dream… Another dream…"
"Hello, John Watson."
I look up to the detective standing at his usual place by the window.
"Sherlock? You are alive?"
"Yes… I am very much alive."
"But… that day on the rooftop-"
"I had to do that to save you, John."
"Save me?"
"Yes."
"So… you faked your death?"
"Yes."
"How?"
"The details of that are not important."
I look away. "Three years, Sherlock. Three bloody years…"
"It was necessary."
"Necessary?!" I can feel the anger and rage boiling up inside of me.
Sherlock walks over and sits next to me on the couch.
"Are your feet feeling better?" he says, avoiding my question.
I look down at my bandaged feet.
"Yes. Sherlock… Why did you have to leave? For so long?"
"I found lots of little pieces of glass in them, and I pulled them all out. You did lose a bit of blood though, but-"
"Sherlock." I say, sternly.
"John, I would never have left if it wasn't for something important. You know that."
I reach out to him and end up resting my hand on his knee.
"So you are real?"
"Yes, why wouldn't I be?"
"It's just… all of the hallucinations say that."
I look at him, and for a brief moment I see disbelief, sadness, and despair flash across his face. For this one moment, I am convinced that he really is human.
"John… You had hallucinations of… me?"
"Yes. Because I missed you, Sherlock."
"You… missed me?"
"Of course, you idiot."
At this, Sherlock looks away from me.
"Sherlock? What's-"
"I…" He clears his throat. "I missed you too…"
"Sherlock-"
"I missed everything about you, John. Everything. I couldn't stand it. I wanted to visit you so badly, but it was dangerous- I couldn't risk it."
"Sher-" He then looks right into my eyes- as if this is the only moment he can declare his thoughts to me.
"I missed your voice, your silly jumpers, the way you complemented me like no one ever has.. I missed the way you looked at me when I was making a deduction, the way you yelled at me to buy milk, the way the corner of your mouth rose slightly when I said something witty or sarcastic.." His voice lowers to a whisper as he continues. "I love the way you hold yourself like a military man, your smell, the way you question everything, and how low your voice gets when you're tired. But most of all-"
"Sherlock-"
"I missed always being by your side. I hate myself for doing this to you. I hate the amount of pain and suffering I have put you through. I am so, so sorry, John."
"Wow. Sherlock- no one has ever cared that much about me." My voice cracks. "I'm fine, Sherlock, honestly…"
Sherlock leans over and hugs me. His hands grab me tightly- like I am going to disappear.
'Did he have hallucinations of me too?'
I grab the back of his coat tightly- I am never going to let him go again.
I guess I must have tensed up because Sherlock starts moving his thumbs in circular motions on my bare back. It calms me down instantly. I let out a sigh. Sherlock stops.
"No, Sherlock. Umm… what I mean is..."
"Oh, do you want me to continue?"
"Yes, please. It lets me make sure you are still here. With me."
"Ok."
He continues, and I rest my head on his shoulder. Sherlock pulls me closer to him and sighs.
"John…" he says quietly. We have never done anything like this- hugging. It's new, and I like it.
"Sherlock?"
"Yes, John?"
Sherlock looks at me, and I feel a spark. Our faces are so close, and our noses are touching. 'Wait.. What was I going to say?'
"John…"
"Sherlock…"
"John, we're-"
"I know, Sherlock."
"But, you said… You said you weren't-"
"Gay?"
Sherlock doesn't respond.
"I know I said that… But now, I don't know what I am."
"John…"
"I realized over these past three years that I had feelings for you. I cried so much when I knew that you were never coming back to me. I wanted to see you, or hear your voice- something, anything."
"John…"
"Sherlock… What I mean to say is-"
"John, don't-"
"Sherlock I-"
"No…"
"I love you."
"John… No one has ever told me that- I don't even know how to… I can't-"
"You never had a girlfriend? Boyfriend?"
"No."
"Really?"
"Yeah."
"I'm sorry to hear that, Sherlock."
"It's ok, John."
I turn red and look down, realizing that he hadn't said he felt the same way. 'God, I'm so stupid! Why did I think this could work!'
"Sherlock.. I'm sorry."
"For what?"
"Making things… Well, making things awkward between us… God, you just got back! I'm an idiot…"
Sherlock's hands move up from my back to my neck. Sherlock then cups my face in his hands, and places his forehead on mine.
We sit like that for a few minutes in complete silence. It is calming, in a way, but I have no idea what he is about to do. 'What if he kisses me? God. No, stop thinking like that, John Watson. He doesn't think about you that way-'
"John?"
"Yes?"
"I don't love you. I could never love you- love is too simple a word. I need you, John."
"God, Sher-"
"I can't get you out of my head. Ever since I left, I have been kept up at night just thinking about you.. Now that I'm here, with you, and you're in my arms…"
"Sherlock-"
"John, can I kiss you?"
My heart starts beating rapidly, and I am having trouble breathing.
"John… Please?" Sherlock looks at me pleadingly.
"Of course you can, Sherlock. Have you… ever kissed someone before?"
"No…"
I put both my hands on Sherlock's neck and pull him even closer. I press my lips against his softly, trying not to scare him. He exhales sharply out of his nose. I easily become overwhelmed by the whole experience, since I had been dreaming about it ever since I met him. I lean forward, and lie on top of him.
"John…" Sherlock whispers.
"Yes?"
"I'm nervous."
"Just breathe."
"I don't want to ruin this for you..."
I press my lips against his again, trying to show him how much this means to me. I can feel his pounding heartbeat. I slowly pull away, and brush my fingers over his cheek. His eyes open to look at me.
"Sherlock. You are my entire world. I love you. I love everything about you, and you mean everything to me."
"John… I just… I don't think I can do this..."
"For someone so smart, you can be a real idiot sometimes."
"John! I'm serious."
"Sherlock- You can never do anything wrong. I promise."
Sherlock then gives me a look that I can't decipher, and I kiss him on the nose.
"You must be tired, do you want to-" Sherlock stops me with another kiss, this time with more enthusiasm.
Everywhere Sherlock touches me feels like it is on fire. His hands on my back are burning hot. Our hands are everywhere, our kisses are insistent. He tastes like coffee and London smoke, and I love every bit of it.
"Oh, God, Sherlock…"
"Have I done something wrong?" His voice is low and raspy. And I love it.
"No, you're doing everything right."
