AN: In the first version of this story, I ended it here. I lost motivation before and I really did not want to continue writing because I lost any train of thought I had to keep it going. This may or may not be the case now, but we'll see.
Chapter 12: Two Years
Two years after John's death
Normally Sherlock would be standing at John's grave right now, sitting beside it, talking to him. Today was different though, he didn't want to go. He was scared. Today he promised Mycroft that he would have the evidence that John was still alive, but Alex had demolished that whole idea.
Alex and Sherlock were eating lunch at the table, Sherlock was twirling his noodles around with his fork. They barely spoke to each other, but when they did, it was meaningful. Alex normally asked how he was, if he was going with Lestrade today, but today she was quiet for the most part. Sherlock was spending more time with his brother than he had since they were forced to live together as kids. It was relieving, in a way. Mycroft never said John's name, no one did. They all avoided speaking about him. Alex said it was something about moving on, so Sherlock tried to follow along.
The sound of his phone beeping took him from his thoughts. Sherlock glanced over at it, he received a text from an unknown number. Curious, he opened it.
I will be waiting for you, rooftop of St. Bart's hospital. 2 o'clock.
There was no signature after the text, just a simple message. Intrigued, Sherlock picked his phone up to respond. Although while typing the text, his phone shut off, unable to turn back on. He groaned and slammed his phone onto the table, startling Alex.
"What's wrong?"
"My phone." He responded angrily.
"...what about it?" She never knew when not to ask questions. "Who texted you?"
"I don't know."
"Is that bothering you? What did they want?"
"Nothing, Alex. Nothing." Sherlock's frustrated tone shut her up. He didn't feel hungry anymore. Glancing at the clock, he had a hour before he was supposed to arrive at St. Bart's. Maybe he should just show up early.
Sherlock stood up, put his plate beside the sink and went for his coat. Ignoring Alex's questions, he threw on his coat and scarf and bounced speedily down the stairs and out onto the sidewalk. Calling for a cab, one gleefully pulled up, allowing Sherlock to hop in.
Without Sherlock realizing, Alex followed behind in a cab that stopped for her.
Sherlock was standing at the edge, staring at the ground below. Whoever was supposed to meet him was 20 minutes late. Sherlock couldn't leave though; he was too interested in this. He sat down on the edge, placing his hands together under his chin, and went into his mind palace. He was just looking over a case in his head, one that Lestrade was positive that Sherlock was wrong. He wasn't, he was never wrong, but he was going through all the memories to be sure. He started tapping his fingers together, smiling from being so positive on the case.
"You know you shouldn't listen to text messages from strangers." That voice. Was it in Sherlock's head? He heard footsteps. "I'm surprised you even showed up... I was nervous you stopped caring..." The voice sounded like it was just a few feet from him. "Your smile is still as handsome as you." Opening his eyes, he saw him. Standing there. He looked so real.
"How..."
"Shh... Don't start with the questions." He smiled that familiar smile, making Sherlock's heartbeat rapid. "I'm so sorry, Sherlock."
"No. You're not real. You're in my head, you're fake!" Anger was boiling in side of him, he was shaking. He stood up too fast, losing his balance and fell back. He almost fell over the edge, but a hand gripped onto his wrist tightly and pulled on him. "You're not..."
"Not dead." John pulled Sherlock close and kissed him ever so lightly. Sherlock didn't exactly know what to say, or what to do. Every time he saw John, he could never touch him. If he did, he just vanished into thin air. Like he was nothing. But this time, this time their touch was so real and lovely, it felt so fake at the same time.
-Alex's POV, moments before—
She followed him, wanting to know where he was going and what he would be doing. When she saw his cab pull up to St. Bart's hospital, her heart sank. Worry started to fill her body. What if he was going to jump? Was it his end? She got out of the cab and followed behind, slowly, he'd never notice her. She watched him go up the stairs to the roof, so she ran back outside. She saw him standing on the edge.
"Oh god, no, Sherlock, no!" She yelled, almost to herself. No one looked at her, it's as if no one heard her.
She ran inside and ran up the staircase to get to the roof. The pushed the door open forcefully. There he was, he was okay. Who was that standing with him?
"I'm sorry, Sherlock. I'm sorry for everything." The unfamiliar voice said. Alex saw tears streaming down Sherlock's face. No one looked at her.
"It's okay." Sherlock's voice broke, she's never heard him talk like that.
The unfamiliar figure turned around to face her.
It was John Watson. Not dead.
