A/N: I intended to post this in two-part, but after a long consideration, I should just post it in one chapter. So, enjoy the longest chapter I have written. ;3

Thank you to my real-life Sherlock, ChocolateFrogsForMoony for beta-ing this chapter.


Chapter 3 : Proper Goodbye

John stepped out of the cab carrying a bouquet of flowers. Tulips. Sherlock never said what his favourite flowers were, but he deduced it once they went to a florists, to interview the owner slash Sherlock's primary suspect. Whilst there, John noticed him staring at the yellow tulips sitting in a small black bucket, in the middle of the questioning. John knew that Sherlock didn't have the slightest interest in any other flower, so he decided that Sherlock liked yellow tulips and he has always brought a bouquet every time he visited Sherlock.

On the way to Sherlock's grave, John saw a woman in her late forties, standing a few graves away from Sherlock's. She had always been there whenever John visited Sherlock. They had chatted before, but she had never mentioned to him what her name was. Well it wasn't even a proper chat anyway; they never talked about anything else other than reminiscing their memories with their loved ones. It's just like a rule between John and her, not to talk about themselves. It's all just about Sherlock and her fifteen-year-old son, Toby.

It had happened a year after Sherlock's burial. They had met in the graveyard so many times before. But then John had stopped coming to Sherlock's grave for a while after he moved out from Baker Street. He was on his way to Sherlock's when suddenly he heard the woman's voice.

"I haven't seen you for a while."

John stopped, turning on his heels to face her and smiled sadly. "Yeah, I know. Things got complicated. But I've sorted out the problem and here I am."

She nodded; she paused for a moment as though trying to find the correct words. She tilted her head towards Sherlock's grave. "Couldn't stay away from him, could you?" John smiled weakly, playing with the bouquet that he carried.

"It's hard letting the people you love go." She said after awhile.

"I'm not!" He snapped, then inhaled deeply after realising he had just yelled at the women. "…I don't love him."

The woman wrinkled her forehead. "No, I'm not talking about you. I mean in general. I lost my son, Toby, and it's hard to let him go."

He can almost hear the blood rushing to his face, making him look like a steamed crab. Trying to keep his cool, he cleared his throat and opened his mouth. Not a word came out, so he shut it again.

"My son, he—he died. Suicide." She lowered her face, patting the headstone.

John felt like he was punched right in the pit of his stomach.

"He was so young, so innocent. He may not be a straight A student, but the teachers loved him. He always smiled to whomever he met. He never—his friends bullied him." She paused and then in haled deeply. "They bullied him for being gay."

Another punch to the pit of his stomach, this time, for a completely different reason.

"I'm sorry to hear that." He said.

"I was never there for him. I should have told him that it doesn't matter what everybody thinks of you. If you love someone, no matter their gender, then go for it." She looked up to John tears welling in her eyes. "And denying things doesn't make anything get any better." She gave John a smile. There was something in her smile that twisted John's stomach.

John stayed quiet, soaking up her words, trying to compose his sentence.

"It doesn't matter. Sherlock died. I'm just too late to realise that I have feelings for him." He said, looked pretty surprised with his own words, but the fact is, after 'Sherlock' asked him not to fall in love with him, he's been re-evaluate his feeling towards him. How Sherlock always be the top priority against dating/shagging his girlfriend. How he always forgive Sherlock for ruining his dates. How he secretly enjoyed being dragged out from his dates. And how his world, without him knowing it, revolved around Sherlock. How Sherlock suddenly meant everything to him.

He's been on denial phase for months, but this makes it clear, that he, John Watson, was in fact in love with Sherlock Holmes, the annoying detective.

Thousand of bricks fell to his back. He felt like the feeling of losing Sherlock hit him hard in the heart all over again.

"At least you know how you feel about him." She grabs John's hand and squeezed it gently.

"Thanks." John said awkwardly. "I think I better—" He gestured at Sherlock's grave. "Bye."


'John, I told you, not to fall in love with me.' Sherlock said. He had been hovering in John's vision for quite sometime, after he snapped at the woman to be precise, but hadn't said a single word until John walked away from her.

"Shut up, Sherlock." John said in a low murmur. "I love you, and there's nothing I can do about it."

Sherlock didn't say anything after that. The real Sherlock wouldn't be so quiet. He would definitely say something like 'I'm married to my work'. John missed his Sherlock.

John dismissed the memory. He didn't like to remember how late he realised his feelings towards Sherlock. As John walked towards Sherlock's grave he noticed the woman exciting the cemetery from the corner of his eye, her eyes red rimmed, she'd been crying about Toby again.

Sherlock looked back at him, still quiet from earlier. John gave him an odd face and turned his face to the paved stone pathway. He walked absentmindedly and then stopped all at once. Apparently, his body memorized the path to Sherlock's grave so well he didn't have to actually watch where he goes to get there.

John placed the bouquet on the grave.

"Hey, Sherlock." John patted the headstone carefully, as if he was touching something so fragile. "I haven't visited you for a while now." He straightened his back, and he looked around. No, Sherlock, as usual. Sherlock always disappeared whenever John talked to the grave, making it more painful to speak, because imaginary Sherlock made his death a little unreal to him.

"It's been over two years," John hesitated and then shook his head. "Almost three years, Sherlock."

"I've told my therapist about you." He murmured then continued in a low and painful whisper. "I've told her how I feel about you." He shook his head, as if he wanted to shake away the pain. "She said I should get a closure. I never really listen to her, but now that I think about it I would never be happy with Mary if I didn't say a proper goodbye to you." He paused and then slipping his hand to the pocket, fishing a cream coloured card from his Jacket.

"I don't know if you noticed, but there was a reason why I had stopped visiting you."John tapped his fingers on the card now. It was an invitation card. A simple wedding invitation card, with 'John Watson' and 'Mary Morstan' embossed in golden ink.

"I don't think I ever told you about this girl." John paused. "She's Mary; I met her eight months ago on one of the night when I force myself to socialise with the world, spreading words that you are not a fraud." John smiled. "It's getting there Sherlock, everyone is starting to doubt Richard Brook now that one of the judges confess that he received a threat from Moriarty to—" His voice trailed off. "Anyway, she's one of people who actually listen to me. She thinks I'm sweet because I always defended you. She attracted by my 'sensitivity'."

"I assume she never heard the rumour that I am in love with you... or maybe she heard about it but decided not to believe a word of it." John shrugged. "Either way, she likes me. And because she really listens to me, I asked her to meet again. Not in a way that—"

"I'm not asking her to a date; it's just a man asking a woman to talk over dinner. Not too fancy place, but still count as a restaurant. We went there a couple of times, I enjoyed her companion and she enjoyed me telling our story. I was not making a move on her, until she kissed me."

John looked around, as if he wanted to make sure that Mary isn't hearing what he will said next. There was an old man standing a couple of graves behind him, but that's far enough for John.

"She kissed me and … all I could think about was you."

John stopped talking. It sounded twice as bad as what it sounded like in his head. He could actually imagine Sherlock rolling his eyes. "You died, Sherlock, you don't have the right to judged me." John finally speaks again.

"She's the exact opposite of you. She's nice, sociable, a good listener. I'm sure you'll hate her. In a way, maybe that's what makes me like her. She's not you." John tried to smiled, but his face fell in a second.

"She's not brilliant, exciting, nor dangerous. She didn't have all of those things. She's not you." He balled his fist then opened it, again and again until he cannot feel his own hand. "She's not you, Sherlock."

"But, even though she lacked in all those things you're good at, she made up in important thing... she's alive and—" John choked as he feel a tennis ball-size lump in his throat. "—and you're not."

"I love you, Sherlock, I always will. It's just that I can't live like this for the rest of my life. I—" He's voice trailed off. "I'm marrying a girl tomorrow Sherlock. I know I supposed to be a very happy man, and I will… but just let me say a proper goodbye to you, so that I can move on with my life."

"Let me grieve for another ten minutes and I'll walk out from here without feeling like I cheated on you."


Two and half an hours later, John left the graveyard with his shoulder squared back, walking with a limp. Just like the old days, days before he meet Sherlock. Empty and meaningless


A/N: I'm sorry for anyone that hate author's note, but I cannot stop thanking people who leave reviews. Thank you for Sherlocked. For. Life ; Black Fullmoon and Mewknight for the reviews it means so much for me.

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