Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock
Buried
He watched.
He watched as they struggled and grieved, these people he had come to care about.
He watched as his brother steered them all out of despair and back towards each other, a favor he had never asked for but couldn't help feeling a little grateful for.
Each of his friends had found peace in their own way. There was forgiveness, and there was reconciliation, and all that other emotional nonsense that turned out to actually be important.
He watched them move on without him.
It was annoying.
Of course he didn't want them to stay miserable, that would be absurd. Their feelings really shouldn't be affecting him at all.
But they did. And it felt less like annoyance and more like…
Pain.
He wanted to be a part of the healing. To join them in recovering normalcy. To laugh again.
But it wasn't safe. His enemies were still out there, still able to carry out Moriarty's last order if he turned up alive. He had to track them and bring them down from the shadows, undetected.
He had to be a ghost.
But soon, he would have them all. The last pieces of the Great Game would be swept off the board, and he would find his place once more and start anew.
Until then, he could only watch.
AN: The first chapter of my new story "The Empty Room" should be up sometime this week. It'll have a bit more action, and I may not keep to a word limit. We'll see. To those of you who reviewed and continue to review: You are glowing stars that dance gracefully in the darkness of cyberspace. I wouldn't be writing a sequel to this if not for you. Thank you!