Sherlock shivered and curled up tighter, hugging his knees to his chest. The TV was blaring, louder than probably necessary. He had tried anything to block out the sound of his own thoughts. The strings on his violin had snapped hours ago and his iPod had run out of charge. Suddenly, there was a crash from the kitchen. Sherlock jumped and grabbed his violin by the neck.
"Who's there?" He cried. Someone turned around. Sherlock found himself faced with his best friend.
"John?"
John smiled gently at Sherlock. "Yes, Sherlock. It's me. Why are you acting like you've never seen me before?" He moved closer.
"B-b-but you're dead..." Sherlock stuttered. His grip slackened on the violin. John removed it from his now shaking hands.
"Last time I checked, I was alive. Are you alright?" He stroked Sherlock's sweat soaked curls. The detective shivered. "You seem cold. Let me make you some tea." John smiled as he wandered over to the kettle and flipped the switch. Sherlock just stared at him.
"You're here. You're really here."
John nodded, handing Sherlock the cup. The thin genius took it gratefully.
"I'm here and I always will be. And I'm gonna keep talking, even if you can't here me. Blah blah blah. Blah blah blah blah. Blah blah blah..." He would have kept going but Sherlock covered his mouth.
"Shut up. I can hear you." John licked Sherlock's hand and he pulled away, disgusted.
"Sherlock, your hands are like ice. Here. Take my jumper. You need it more than I do." John slipped his beige jumper over Sherlock's bony shoulders.
"Now, Sherlock." John stared deeply into Sherlock's silver eyes. "There's one thing I need you to do for me."
"What?" Sherlock asked, putting his tea on the table and looked at John. Little John. With his big brown eyes and tufty blonde hair. John with lines of laughter creasing his face. John with the dodgy leg and shoulder. Just John. His John. Wait... his John? How could John be his? What was he thinking? Sherlock blinked and shook his head distractedly. John moved Sherlock's hair again.
"Sherlock, I need you to wake up."
"Wake up? But I'm no-" Sherlock jerked up on the sofa, eyes wide. He breathed rapidly. His violin was on the floor, obviously what had awoken him.
"John?" He whispered into the silent flat. There was no reply. He stood, feeling something slip off his chest and land on the ground. He bent down and picked up John's jumper. The jumper he had been buried in. Sherlock felt his heart leap.
"You're alive!" Sherlock shouted happily. "Oh John!"
I felt like ending this happily for once. But it's not going to last. Everything goes downhill from now on! But until then
AOR