The next morning was hard to say the least. He told the truth. He wasn't there. I was alone. Completely alone and he wasn't coming back.

That entire week was hard. A full week of being alone.

I didn't even have Lestrade. I could have called him to tell him I was trying to move on but I didn't know if I could explain how. I couldn't just tell him I kicked my hallucinations out of my head. It was easier not to say anything.

Then there was a day when everything went wrong.

I had been late to work due to nightmares and started off slow. Then I had to diagnose a kid with cancer. Normally we didn't have to deal with that type of thing in our office but it was a lucky but unhappy coincidence. It popped up on one of his scans. Then I found someone had stolen my wallet. I found this out in line at the store when I was buying the food for the week, making me have to return every item I had already gotten out. My limp had returned so that made it all the more difficult. When I finally got back with the cash I had in the apartment I had to recollect everything and ended up getting wine as well. Then I filed my report on the burglary the formal way realizing I didn't have a friend on the force anymore. Then when I got back to the apartment Mrs. Hudson was sick. I had to make her dinner and take care of her. Then I found a letter from Mycroft waiting for me. It seemed he wanted to know how I was doing. I didn't believe he really did. It was probably just something my sister or Lestrade put him up to. I'd have bet Lestrade. I decided to use it to light myself a fire while I drank my wine.

I had known it was a stupid idea to drink. I saw what it did to me before. I knew what drinking to feel better would lead to. But for the first time in my life I understood why Harry did it. Maybe it would be better to be drunk all the time. Being sober wasn't fun these days.

Well I drank myself almost the whole bottle when I heard the tisking noise coming from behind me.

"You're not supposed to be here." I said to him before he could say anything. I laughed too, but I think that was the alcohol.

"And you're not supposed to be drinking." He twirled his chair around closer and sat across from me. He looked good. Especially with the orange glow of the fire dancing across his features. Black suit, purple shirt, cut hair. He looked less thin than the first time I pictured him. It suited him.

"I'm supposed to be giving you up."

"And yet here you are creating me." He flourished his hands in front of him and adjusted himself on the chair as if to show off the prize he was.

I smiled at him and rocked my head to the side. "How do I get rid of you?"

"You'll figure that out when you want to."

"I do want to." I was lying. So obviously lying. I already was starting to feel better with him in the room. My bad day started to disappear.

"No. You did want to. Today you did not."

"Well you have me beat there." I took another swig from my wine.

"Of course I do. I'm smarter than you."

"How can I be smarter than myself?"

"Stop asking stupid questions."

I lost myself into an uncontrollable fit of giggles at that. He started laughing too. Although I'm pretty sure he was laughing at me and not with me.

That night I went to bed and he followed me. I hated myself for giving into my drunken delusion but I couldn't let it go. Not that day. It had been too hard of a day.

I had the option in front of me again. I could accept I was crazy, get help, stop seeing him, and get my friends back. Or I could keep living the lie that made me happy and be completely alone. One was hard, the other was easy. I wasn't sure I wanted the ending of the hard one. I wasn't sure I wanted the consequences of the easy one. I chose what I always knew I'd choose in the end.

I chose Sherlock.

I wasn't happy with myself about it. Not at first.

When I woke up the next morning I found myself alone. I was pushed over to one side of my bed but that was out of habit at this point. I didn't think anything of it.

I hadn't gotten too drunk last night so I remembered everything. I knew what my drunken mind created and I was not happy about it. I couldn't keep doing this. The day before had been hard and I understood that but I shouldn't have needed him there.

I shouldn't have but I did.

I went downstairs to make myself some tea and there he was in the kitchen looking the same as the night before. I groaned and ignored him being there. How could I have been so weak? It had been so hard to get rid of the last one. It took a real toll on me. I was only hurting myself by creating him again.

"You know John, a hangover is not conducive in your line of work." I ignored him and started to get ready for the day. "The silent treatment? How childish." I walked past him and into the bathroom shutting the door and washing cold water over my face.

I went back out to finish my breakfast and he wasn't there. That was good I thought. Maybe I had gotten rid of him easy this time.

When was I ever right?

"You wanted me here." He popped up next to me as I finished off my tea. "You made me real. You can't get rid of me that easy."

"You're not real." I also wanted to say how I didn't want him and how I wanted the real thing but I thought it was pointless to argue. He already knew.

"I am real."

"No you're not."

I pushed past him again and moved back into the bathroom. I started a shower and hopped in, trying to wash him away. I couldn't let myself go again. I had to fight this one. I did it with the last one and the one before, I could do it again.

"I'm as real as you make me."

The sound of his voice had me jumping and almost falling down as he popped in outside of the shower. On basic instinct I covered myself with my hands cupped over my groin. I guess there wasn't a point really but I did it anyway. I popped my head out of the shower to yell at him to leave me alone but he was already gone.

He didn't bother me again while getting ready for work. He didn't follow me to work either.

He was there when I got back though, playing on his violin. A part of me just wanted to smash it. I was sure it wouldn't stop the music though. Not at this point.

"I want you to leave," was my greeting. I had this worked out while I was at work that day. I couldn't keep him. I had to do the hard thing. I had to move on. I wouldn't give in to him in the slightest.

"I'll only leave when that's true."

"If you don't leave, then I'm moving." It made sense didn't it? If I left the apartment then I could get him out of my head.

"I'll follow you. Really John, you're not that hard to figure out. You've probably already started looking in today's paper. Predictable."

"No. Stop pretending you're him. You are not him."

"I'm as much of him as you want me to be."

I closed my eyes and rubbed them hard. I kept repeating to myself: go away, go away, go away. When I opened my eyes, he was gone. Relief flooded over me.

But not for long.

Then next day was met with silence.

The nightmares were still there. I went to my doctor and told him about my sleeping trouble. He gave me some prescription sleeping pills. I would have done that sooner but a part of me didn't want to get rid of the nightmares. They grounded me to reality. Sherlock was dead. I saw it happen.

I saw it happen every night.

I couldn't afford to lose any more sleep though. As a doctor the lack of sleep was never beneficial. I was afraid if this kept up that I would make a real mistake one time. The last thing I needed was a malpractice suit. And I was fairly certain I could stay in reality. I knew he was dead. I knew I was crazy. I could tell what was real.

When it came close for me to go to bed I took the pills with some water and headed towards my room. The pills took an hour to kick in but I could feel my body slipping when they did. I crawled into bed and let the relaxation take me away. I hadn't been this relaxed in a very long time.

As my eyes were closing, right before I fell asleep, I saw him. Standing there in the darkness. He didn't say anything. He just stood there by my door watching me. He was still wearing that purple shirt.

I woke up groggy but at least I slept through the night. He wasn't there when my alarm went off. He wasn't there when I was in the shower. He wasn't there when I had my breakfast. He wasn't there when I left for work. I thought I was silly for worrying myself so much. I was beginning to get paranoid.

When I came home, he wasn't there. I decided to watch some TV instead of read that night.

Maybe that was my mistake. Maybe because I was watching mind numbing TV my subconscious took over. Maybe it was because I took the sleeping pills early that night.

I should have read.

He burst in through the front door allowing it to slam open. It scared me up and off the couch. He looked up at me ragged, breathing heavy. His clothes were ripped, his hair was long and messy, his coat was dirty, he was extremely skinny. He looked like he was being chased.

"John!" He ran in and slammed the door and moved over to me grabbing both of my shoulders to keep me in place. "I know this is a bit of a shock but you're just going to have to deal with it. No I'm not dead. I lied to you and I'm sorry but you have to help me. I need you."

My brain had gone too far that time. It was too real. He was shaking, he was sweating, he was cold. He looked frantic, he looked worried, he looked sick. Every bone in my body told me not to believe it. To yell at him. Tell him to leave. To get him out.

Then there was the other part of me. That part was just so tired. I just wanted this to be over one way or another. It told me that my brain was doing this for a reason and I should just ride it out.

I was just so tired.

I sank down on the couch and pulled him down with me. He still looked apprehensive but he did what I wanted. I looked over at him. He just looked so real. Every physical detail was perfect.

He was shaking making the dark curls on his forehead move with him. The dark circles under his eyes made his blue eyes look grayer than normal. That made them look all the more calculating as I watched them bounce around me and around the room. His skinniness made his cheekbones stick out more, only making him look better. Especially with that coat turned up like it was, his blue scarf folded underneath. I always thought that though.

His lips were slightly parted as if he had something to say but was waiting for me. I followed the curves of his top lips up and down before realizing I was staring. I then dropped my gaze down to his suit. It was indeed ripped like the first one's, worn and had seen better days. This one's mistake was the purple shirt. The purple shirt was untouched and clean hugging his body just as it had done before, but sticking out in his ragged appearance.

"If I help you…" I brought my eyes back up to his. "How do I find myself again?"

He gave me a slight furrow of the brow, the most confusion he would ever show. "You found yourself, in the first place, by helping me."

"But I know you're not him."

His brow smoothed and his lips turned into a small smile, comforting if it were possible. "I'm as real as you make me."

It was then or never. I had to make a decision. I had to choose.

I grabbed his head in my hands and looked him over. He had no injuries, he just looked extra pale.

"Alright Sherlock, what'd you get into this time?"

Sherlock smiled up at me and put a hand on my knee quickly squeezing it before jumping up and going into a long story about a case he was on. About how he had been doing cases since he faked his death. They were all to shut down Moriarty. If he was ever gone, that was what he was doing. But he would always come back.

I accepted it. I accepted his case story and I accepted his fake suicide. I didn't know why my mind made me re-live him explaining that part to me. My reaction was much better though because I knew what was coming. I think that was why.

To give me a fresh start with this Sherlock.

He deduced me again as well. I played along asking him how he knew and he would give me some reasoning that had to do with my trash or some scratches on the wall or something.

I fell hard that night. I fell into the reality that wasn't true. I let myself believe it.

Sherlock was alive and he was with me.

We couldn't let anyone see him so he had to stay inside. He couldn't work Yard cases until he finished taking down Moriarty, which wouldn't be for a while. I accepted everything he said.

The part of me that knew it wasn't real was pushed down. Far, far down. I didn't want to listen to that part. I wouldn't. I made my decision.

That night he followed me to my room. He said he wanted to study my breathing patterns and my heart rate in sleep now that I was taking sleeping pills. It was hard to understand how this one gave me a fresh start but still clung to the sleep study like the others. He said it was a new experiment. I didn't argue and there he was on my bed again taking my pulse and watching over me.

The next morning I made him breakfast and tea and he didn't eat but he drank. I left for work and he promised not to destroy the flat too much. Well he more huffed at me but I took that as a promise.

I was in a better mood that day at work. I had slept through the night again. I was a little groggy from the pills but I was okay. I had something to look forward to when I got home.

And when I did get home, there he was. Playing his violin. I sat down and read a book while he played. I even started a fire. It was soothing. It was comforting. It was safe. It was my new normal.

I ignored Sherlock's room. Deep down I knew that I had locked it shut and the key was in my room and I didn't want the reminder. If I passed it I would just tell myself that Sherlock shut it himself.

I didn't like to be away from Sherlock if I could help it. I wanted the reminder that he was there at all times. Over the next few weeks I found myself needing not only to be in the same room with him but to also touch him. Just to be reminded physically that he was there.

When I passed him something like my computer or his tea I would make sure our fingers brushed. When I passed him his coat for our late night walks, I would run my hands down his arms. There were even a few occasions where I would casually scratch his head while watching television. More than once he rested his head on my thighs waiting for me to do it. It always made me happy when he did. At night I made sure he was always there and I soon got into the habit of pulling him down next to me again.

When he slept next to me I didn't need the sleeping pills. It was probably better that way. I was no longer groggy in the morning. Just fully refreshed from a nightmareless sleep. Sherlock didn't complain.

Sherlock was getting on my nerves from complaining about his boredom. I suggested we go out for a stroll past midnight again. We did that on the weekends or any night I didn't have work the next day, sometimes when I did. He would deduce people and we would both keep an eye out for any danger. Over our time walking we stopped three burglaries, four beatings, and two murders. The adrenaline rush was always pleasant. It was what we both needed. It felt good to help people again.

I shut other people out. I didn't need them because I had Sherlock. I didn't think I could let people into my life anyway. How could you tell someone you were seeing your dead friend? Having to hide him would just be a reminder that he wasn't actually real.

So I would talk to people. I would make pleasant conversation but I wouldn't go out of my way. Everyone started to see how I was doing better again, how I was happier, but I didn't let them think too much on it.

Lestrade and my sister had not tried to contact me since the last time I spoke to them. It made me slightly sad but they of all people wouldn't understand. They were the ones yelling at me to stop. I missed them a bit but then I would come home to Sherlock and he would take my thoughts away.

Mrs. Hudson was the one I talked to the most. She stopped in on her let's see how John is today visits less and less. I knew I wasn't good company. Even if I was happier, I still shut her out. But she would still visit and I would talk with her and Sherlock would go off in his room. She was happy I was happy but she still wanted me to get out more. Go meet a girl or something. I tried to stay off that subject.

Things continued like that for three weeks. I would stay in my world of Sherlock and I would be happy.

I wasn't truly completely happy though. There was always that nagging feeling that something was missing. It could be the way this Sherlock said something bellow his intellect level, the way he let me touch him, the way he slept in my bed every night, the way he still occasionally wore that purple shirt, the lack of text messages pulling me from work, the lack of explosions, the lack of complaining, the way he touched me. The little things were adding up. I tried to ignore them and push them down but it didn't make them go away. Not really.

I had to face that I couldn't make the perfect Sherlock.

It was the third weekend when I couldn't push down that fact anymore. We were lying about the flat and Sherlock was talking about something. I really hadn't been paying attention so it didn't matter. I was too busy trying to shove down my lingering thoughts.

"John?" Sherlock asked from his chair. He was wrapped up in a sheet that day. Too lazy to put on real clothes.

"Yes Sherlock?"

"The point of me telling you this is so you'll actually listen. The scull is doing a better job than you."

"Right. Sorry."

"You want to tell me what is so fascinating in your mind that it can compete with mine?"

Right then I had been going over the times I had spent before I hallucinated. I was going over my time living with Harry and coming back here. I wasn't sure I wanted to tell him. But then again I guessed it really didn't matter.

"Did you know I used to look for signs from you to tell me you were actually alive? I was always disappointed when I didn't find anything."

"Maybe you just couldn't see them. Maybe I overestimated your observation skills."

"No he would never- you would never."

"Don't be so sure. Have you looked?"

"Course I looked. I looked everywhere."

"Did you?"

"Why do I get the feeling you know something I don't?"

"Do try to catch up. I can't spell everything out for you."

What did he mean now? I did look everywhere. I looked at his things, I looked in the apartment, I looked at my stuff. Where else was I supposed to look? The only other places he went were the lab at St. Bart's, the Yard, and maybe Angelo's. He had to know I wouldn't have gone to those places. Didn't he? Maybe he expected me to handle it better.

"Well I'm not going to the Yard."

"Ah so you've finally caught up. A whole ten seconds."

"Isn't Angelo's too public for you?"

"You expect me to come along."

"If it's not too much trouble." Why wouldn't I want the man who made the clue there himself? "And if it is, the answer is still yes."

"We'll go to St. Bart's rooftop tonight instead of the park."

"The rooftop?"

"Where else John."

We were on our way to the rooftop and I was having strong second thoughts. My mind couldn't process the truth in what I was doing. I was following Sherlock who was going to show me if he did or did not leave a clue that he was still alive on the rooftop he jumped from. He couldn't just tell me himself though because he was not the real Sherlock who did it. He didn't even know. I was curious so I was following him to find out for myself. I didn't know what I'd find up there and I didn't know what to believe.

It was all very confusing.

We snuck in through the hospital easy enough. I could already feel the panic attack start. I hadn't stepped foot in this building in a very long time. Just standing outside of it made me go into shock the last time. How could I possibly make it to the roof?

Only knowing he was there with me made it better. So I climbed up the stairs trying to keep up with his lanky legs. Then there we were. It was staring me in the face. An empty rooftop overlooking the street.

I found myself stuck in the doorway. I was breathing fast and couldn't see straight. I wondered what he felt when he walked up here. Was he nervous? Did he know what he was about to do?

Did I?

Sherlock had already stepped out to the middle of the roof and was searching around in the dark. I didn't know what he was looking for but he had his thinking look going. I walked towards him. Seeing him on the roof where he jumped was making me worried he'd do it again. He'd make me watch again.

I had walked up into him and gripped his shoulder hard. "John?" He didn't flinch away. He put his hand up to my other arm and smiled at me. His pale skin reflected in the moonlight making his cheekbones stand out more, normally something attractive but at that moment it made him look ghostly. "I won't leave you." I nodded in response.

I had to look away and walk towards the edge. I had to see. He said he wouldn't leave me and I believed him. But him saying that also made the nagging feeling that he wasn't real start to creep back.

The real one left me.

And this was the spot where he did it.

I walked up next to the ledge and looked at the street below. It was so far down. I could see the spot where I had been. I could picture him standing on the ledge, bringing out his phone to call me.

I didn't know what caused me to do it but I got up on the ledge myself. I looked down again. I could see the spot where I found him.

I could see it all.

"John?" A worried voice called from behind me. "What are you doing?"

"I guess I should have thanked him." I yelled over not looking away from the ground.

"For what?"

"I could never forgive him for making me watch but he made me stand there." I pointed to the spot on the street. "I didn't have to see him hit the ground. You know that's part of the reason I thought it was all fake. That I thought he was still alive. I guess I know better now. Who could survive this jump?"

"I could."

I scoffed, not taking my eyes off the ground. "I used to think he could." No one could jump from this height. He couldn't do it.

"You're talking about me."

It had noticed I said 'he' instead of 'you'. I knew what I said.

I was afraid of losing reality on the way over but reality bitch slapped me pretty hard.

"No I'm talking about him."

My gaze was still stuck on the ground. I felt a bit dizzy from the vertigo but I wasn't about to look away. I couldn't look away. I just kept reliving the moment over and over.

"Don't do this John." The worried voice was closer now. I was sure if I looked over it would be standing right next to me on the roof. It wasn't on the ledge though. I would probably lose myself if it was.

I was already losing it.

"Oh god, why did you bring me up here?" I could have been happy not knowing what was real. I could have lived in my fantasy world.

"John we can leave. We can leave right now."

It was frantic. I could tell it wanted to rip me down back onto the roof and away from the ledge. It couldn't reach me though. I wouldn't let it touch me. The touch would just confuse me.

"Sherlock is dead."

It was the first time I had said those words out loud. I hadn't really even thought that before. A bit of me always held onto the hope that it was all a lie. I couldn't fool myself now.

"John get down. Right now." I ignored it and kept my stare at the ground. I wasn't crying. I wasn't reacting. I was just replaying over and over. "Get down from there this instant!"

"I couldn't make a perfect him." I spoke as if I couldn't hear it. "You're not him. You're not real." I had to say these things. I had to say them out loud. "I wish you were."

"I'm as real as you make me." But I couldn't make him really real. Not alive. "Get down and look at me. I'm right here."

"You're not enough. I wish you would have stayed away." If these hallucinations stopped earlier then I could have moved on. They didn't stop though. I went past the point of no return. "Just go. Leave me alone." I could feel my eyes start to burn as my voice became stronger. The tears started to stream down and I had to close my eyes. "Go be dead like you're supposed to be."

I didn't hear a reply. I didn't hear anything but my own shaky breath. I opened my eyes to still see the ground below me. My vision was watery but I could still make out the spot. I wanted to memorize it. I needed to remember what was real.

Sherlock was dead.

Where did I go from here?

I didn't know. I had been so happy with my fantasy world. Now I had nothing. There was no one to pick up the pieces of my broken self.

I was utterly alone.

I looked down and saw as a tear fell from my face and flew down through the air. In the dark I couldn't see where it landed. It didn't matter. It came splashing down on the hard concrete all the same.

For a moment it didn't seem so frightening. I really wasn't one for heights but if I fell it would finally be over. The step off would be the most terrifying thing. But then I'd fall. The falling wouldn't be so bad. It'd be over quick. I'd just close my eyes, let the wind rush through my ears, and picture him there. The impact would probably kill me instantly. I wouldn't have to feel pain. It really wasn't the worst way to die. It was all about getting over the nerve of taking that step. And facing the fact that mid-fall I'd probably want to take it back and then there would be the moment when I realized I couldn't. I could get over that though. I'd just close my eyes, picture him there calling me forward, and it'd be over soon.

What was left for me anyway?

I looked down again. Then a whole new wave of realization crashed over me. I couldn't do it. I was a fighter. I was in the army. I was a soldier. It was ingrained into me. I couldn't do this to myself. Not to the people who cared. Mrs. Hudson couldn't deal with clearing out the apartment for both of us. My sister would feel guilty. Lestrade would too. My mother would probably die from grief. And Sherlock. What would he think?

He would be mad at me. No doubt. My copy of him was mad at me for climbing up here. Sherlock would be furious. He would tell me some nonsense about how I was only using a building because I was overcompensating for my height. Some nonsense like that. What he would really be doing would be telling me not to, without telling me not to. He had a knack for doing that. He would also be mad that I did it in the same spot, in the same way. The only copy-cats he liked were serial killers.

I couldn't do it.

I sat down and scooted myself back off the ledge carefully breathing out a sigh when I felt solid roof under my shoes. I turned around and no one was with me. I was utterly and completely alone.

Why did I do it? Why did I make him leave? I knew he wasn't real but what did I have to live for now? He made my life better, these past few weeks were better, and I told him to go away. What was I supposed to do now?

The walk back to the apartment was a slow one. The stress was pressing in on me from all angles and I could feel my leg start to act up. I hadn't needed my cane for three weeks and so I had to walk back without it. I thought about getting a cab but I wasn't sure I could handle it. I wanted the night air to clear my mind.

When I got into the apartment I went straight to the shower. I needed to clear my head. I needed to sort out what to do. I needed something. I needed someone who was no longer there.

The shower really didn't help so I went up to my bedroom. I took the sleeping pills and waited for them to work. I was hopeful he would come back because I took them. There was no such luck that night.

I was alone.

I woke up and the same thing that had happened before, happened again. A brief few seconds of ignorance and then a crashing wave of memories. The happiness of the past three weeks combined with the reality of the night before. I turned over and tried to go back to sleep.

I regretted telling my hallucination to go be dead every second. It was like losing him all over again. I thought of talking to someone but I didn't want to. I didn't want to have to face this. I wanted it to go away.

I couldn't face it. I couldn't work through it. I wasn't strong enough. And there was no one there to support me.

What was it about Sherlock that made me think this way? Act this way?

He was like no one I had ever known. He meant more to me than I could have explained and based on the way I acted after he was gone, he meant more to me than I understood. I'd just lost him a second time and I was completely lost.

I thought of the past three weeks and all the times I got to pretend he was back. I got to pretend he would allow me to touch him, to sleep next to him. I got to pretend he would touch me back. I knew it wasn't something people who were just friends would do.

But Sherlock was special wasn't he?

He was the best friend I'd ever had and more. He gave me a reason to live. He gave my life a purpose. He was a fantastic man.

Boy was that an understatement.

I had time to think about just what he meant to me. The next few days I called in sick to work and I told Mrs. Hudson I wouldn't be up for visitors. She looked concerned but I told her I was fine.

I spent the first of those days alone in my room. The questions came back. They were the same type of questions as the night I saw my therapist. What would I say to him if I saw him that I hadn't already?

I had had the chance and I blew it. Sure I told him some of the things, well I told my hallucinations, but there was one thing that I was avoiding telling him because I was avoiding telling myself.

It was time I faced how I really felt about Sherlock. I had to face what everyone was telling me to. Now was as good a time as any.

I was adamant with him and everyone around me; I was straight, I was not gay, I was heterosexual. I went over the times I said it in my head. Was I always so defensive? I guessed there was a reason.

Why was I only figuring it out now?

People had said there was a tension between me and Sherlock. I never really saw it, or I avoided it. I put it up to the fact that we were friends. Good friends when Sherlock had never really had one before. We had moments that only made sense to us. I just understood him best and he understood me. He really understood everyone.

I felt protective over him. I always had. I mean I killed for him when I only just met him really. I always told myself I would have done it for anyone. But I knew that wasn't true. I would put myself in front of a bullet for most anyone but to kill? That was something different. I probably would have for many people I knew but Sherlock was practically a stranger at the time.

I guessed I felt something for him then. It was a strong quick friendship that pulled me in and hugged me down. I didn't fight it. Why would I want to?

But did that friendship grow? Is that why I was so broken?

It was different than any other friendship I had ever had. I'd been close with my mates before, especially one from my high school days: Bill. We had been friends for years and years. He had moved away but we still kept in touch now and again. Losing him to moving didn't have nearly the same effect that this was having on me. It was obviously different too. I felt different about Sherlock.

But how did I feel?

It wasn't like I felt for him like I did the women I dated. Though I did tend to care less for them than I should have. I always chose Sherlock over them. He meant more. He needed me. I needed him.

I did need him. He completed my life. How could I not have feelings for him?

There, I admitted it. Yes I finally admitted what I had been skating around. Sherlock was more than a friend, he was more than a random girl, he was more everything. I couldn't help appreciating him for what he was. I guessed it just seeped in a little further than I expected.

It made sense. All the times I waited for his call, jumped to please him, came running for him, got mad whenever someone made fun of him. It was kind of sad really. I was like a lovesick teen with a crush.

I didn't mean to think lovesick but as soon as I did my heart leapt. Lovesick was the perfect word. How could that be possible? Was it possible to love a man who couldn't love you back?

If I was in my right mind I would have been scolding myself, telling myself that I was just reading too far into things. That I was straight and my grief struck mind was making this crush up.

I wasn't in my right mind though and this was more than just a crush. This was something that started long before the grief came. This was something that was there when he was alive.

I had feelings for him. But it wasn't anything sexual was it? I mean I could appreciate his good looks as much as the next fella. I could see how he was attractive with his curly black hair, his calculating blue-gray eyes, his prominent cheek bones, that dark purple shirt. Okay yeah I thought he was attractive. More so than other men. Actually if I was being honest, he was the only man I looked at in that way.

Not that he would look at me in that way. He wouldn't think of me in any of these ways. He couldn't have feelings for me. He didn't have feelings. He couldn't find me attractive. He was asexual. I was surprised to find out I wished he wasn't and that he did find me attractive.

But he really wasn't truly was he? He had feelings. He was just very good at pushing them away. They hid behind the wall of asshole. I could see it though. I knew when he actually cared. I also could tell he wasn't truly asexual. Married to his work was probably accurate. But he wasn't pure asexual. He did have a thing with Irene Adler didn't he?

I gritted my teeth. I was embarrassed how jealous I was over her. I didn't even know for sure if anything happened. I just knew a beautiful dominatrix had a crush on my Sherlock.

It made me furious.

Who else did he have a thing for?

Everyone said he had a thing for me but I didn't see it like that. Moriarty maybe. It wasn't a sexual thing. They were just on the same playing field. I think he enjoyed that.

Who was I kidding? There was no one to hide it from anymore. I always wanted more from him. I was happy but there was always more under the surface. There was a reason I made my hallucinations keep the physical touch. It was because they would. It was what I wanted from the real thing and my mind let it happen. I wanted it again.

I wanted him to come back. Real or not. I wanted him back. I needed to tell him how stupid I was not to see it. How could I not have seen it? He probably did. He probably knew long ago. Oh god when did he find out?

Being lovesick. But was I really in love? How do you know that sort of thing? Sherlock was different but was that love?

He was special. He meant everything to me. Losing him broke me. I wanted him back always. He was always on my mind.

Who was I kidding?

I loved Sherlock Holmes.

It only took me a year and a half of living together, living without him for five months, hallucinating his presence, falling out of reality, losing him again, and a day of mental processing to figure it out. I could practically here him in my head.

Twenty six months John. Took you long enough.

Though he would probably have it down to the minute. No, second knowing him.

I couldn't really hear him though. Not outside my thoughts. Because he wasn't there.

Twenty six months of ignorance.

I wanted him back.

AN: I was asked if I like to torture you guys in a review. To that I say "hehehe". Don't worry, it won't all be torture.

Also thank you for the reviews! They make my life :)

I hope this chapter wasn't too jumpy. Of course I will answer any questions.