Crunch, crunch, crunch.
Leaves under my feet are so noisy.
Who knew such a thing, that was usually so soundless, could be so noisy.
John just sighed as he used his cane to limp towards the ebony stone. He came here a lot. Even though Harry told him that he really shouldn't. But he couldn't get over this. Sherlock was alive. He knew he was. The notes, his voice and most recently his coat.
He was alive.
And he was coming back.
He was.
He told him so.
John stopped when he saw the lonely grave. Even in death he's all alone. Why is that? Why was it no matter what Sherlock couldn't have anyone with him? He sighed and walked over to the grave and looked around. No one around yet. Didn't even look like anyone had visited in a while. There weren't any flowers, except the one's John had left himself last time. The blond looked around, hobbling away from the grave to look around the trees to see if he could find him, but he wasn't there yet. So, instead of trying to stand and wait for him, he lowered himself to the ground with a soft groan. Laying his cane across his lap as blue eyes wandered up to the stone. He didn't know how many times he had come here and done this same thing. Sat and traced over the carved letters while talking to himself. Letting Sherlock know just how much he missed him.
This time was different.
He was silent until he heard footfalls coming up behind him. For some reason he didn't move or say anything though. He didn't want to assume, and he didn't want to be mistaken. But when warm arms wrapped around his waist, just like the other night he smiled and reached up to touch the curly hair.
"Sherlock."
He could feel a smile come to the other's lips as they pressed against the back of his neck. "John, I'm so happy you came." John nodded and leaned against his chest as his calloused fingers played with the soft locks. "Of course I came. Why couldn't I? I come here a lot actually."
"You come here too much John."
His voice was a little cold. It cut at John and made his hand drop from the dark hair back to his cane that he was holding in his lap. "I know that Sherlock. But I don't have to come here anymore right? Because you're coming back?"
Silence.
He hated silence like this. When he was waiting for a really important answer but couldn't get anything out of him. "Right Sherlock?"
Say something, damn it!
"No, John. Dead is dead. Dead is gone. There is no coming back." John felt like his heart stopped for a moment. Every word he had been told was a lie. Every note that told him soon. Every single one. Was a lie. "What…? I don't understand…" He muttered pulling himself away from the brunette, turning to look at him. He recoiled a little and slammed into the stone as he stared at the man. It was Sherlock, but Sherlock from the day of the fall. There was blood all over his face still, in his hair…
Which meant…
John looked down and gasped at the blood on his hands. "No, no, no, no! This is not… happening Sherlock. It's not I… I don't understand." He felt like he was going to break. Right there. He felt like he was just going to shatter into a million pieces and never be one again. "You imagined all those things John. My coat, the notes. None of it was real. This isn't even real." The blond shook his head and looked at him as his eyes started to burn from tears. "You're lying! Why are you lying to me?! I held your coat in my hands, smelt it! Felt you hold me… you're saying it's all in my bloody head?!" He screamed and swatted the hand away as it started to each for him. The brunette pulled his hand back as he watched John grip his head and try hard to get his facts straight. "John, I need you to wake up."
"Wake… I'm dreaming again…?" He asked as he looked up at Sherlock again. The blood was gone now and he was just normal Sherlock. Pale hands reached out and gripped his shoulder's pulling him into an embrace.
"Wake up for me John. Wake up."
"Sherlock… I don't understand…" He closed his eye and wrapped his arms around his friend. His voice seemed to fade out and then back in.
~ .:. ~ .:. ~ ~ .:. ~ .:. ~ ~ .:. ~ .:. ~~ .:. ~ .:. ~ ~ .:. ~ .:. ~ ~ .:. ~ .:. ~~ .:. ~ .:. ~ ~ .:. ~
"John! John, wake up! John!"
Blue eyes fluttered open and he gasped softly as he saw Sherlock there.
"S-Sherlock… are you real?" He asked softly pressing his hand to his cheek to feel of the warmth. The brunette smiled and took hold of his friend, pulling him close and softly pressing his lips against his. John relished in the feeling. He had wanted that kiss more than anything in his whole life. His arms wrapped around the detective neck and he tackled him into the ground, hugging him hard.
He's back.
Really back.
"John, are you alright?"
He nodded to him and pulled back to kiss him again. "I am now Sherlock…" He said looking down at him. "One last nightmare tried to get me. But it didn't, and you know why?" He asked as Sherlock shook his head. John smiled and kissed him again.
"Because I always believed in Sherlock Holmes."
