Sherlock walked slowly to the graveyard, John usually came at around three- o-clock. Sherlock would arrive at eleven-ish, just to make sure he wouldn't miss John. While he waited, this time behind a large monument(which he thought was very tacky) he went to his mind palace. The graveyard was lovely and quite. Unfortunately, he didn't have nicotine patches and smoking would attract attention, plus- even though he'd never know- he wouldn't want to disappoint John.
His heart sped up when he saw John limp in the entrance to the graveyard, putting a lot of weight on his cane. Immediately, Sherlock could tell that there was something different about John. Today he didn't just stand at the grave and stare, or talk. No, this time he did something much worse. Something that made almost made Sherlock tear up. But Sherlock didn't have real emotions- of course he didn't. He wasn't like normal people, he was different-special. John had fallen to his knees and was sobbing. Not the few tears he had shed the first time he came to the grave site but huge body-racking sobs. Sherlock's feet started to move of their own accord racing out to John. But he stopped. Fortunately John hadn't seen him.
He couldn't stay still. He couldn't watch this. What had he done? I HAD TO. John had to believe I was dead. There is no way-. His thoughts were interrupted. John had said something. Something he never thought he'd hear. Something even he would have never imagined John saying.
"I love you, Sherlock Holmes."
That's when he realised, that's exactly what he had wanted, since the moment they'd met.
This time Sherlock couldn't stay still. He couldn't stop himself running out, running to John. He was there in seconds, and John was encased in his arms. John just looked at him in disbelief, then suddenly anger washed over his face. Whack. John had pulled away and in the same movement lashed out and hit him.
Sherlock stepped back, touching the cut on his cheek, confused. He stepped back towards John, only to be met with a hat that knocked him to the floor. He got up very slowly and stood at arm's length from John, and held his hands up. He didn't speak, he should have known that John would have reacted this way. Normal people cannot control their emotions. Normal people have emotions, though Sherlock was starting to learn more about these, due to current circumstances.
John was so angry he could barely speak . "Sher-Sherlock" he began pacing "How did you-how are you-I checked-you, you didn't have a pulse Sherlock."
"I explained that to you" Sherlock stayed very calm, though he was longing to feel John's embrace again.
"You-you- you explained that? How could you have explained-if you'd have explained I would have known you weren't dead" His voice was trembling. At this point he broke down and fell forward into Sherlock, clutching at his coat. Sherlock knew he wanted John to stay there. He wanted John to be his.
"Shhh, shhh John. Don't- I'm sorry John" Sherlock couldn't say it. He usually wouldn't care about hurting someone's feelings, but for some reason- this was something that he couldn't understand- he didn't want to hurt John in any way. Ever. He couldn't admit that he had made John cry, he couldn't bear being the cause of John's pain.
John lifted his head from Sherlock's chest. "You're sorry? His voice rose at the end of the question. You're sorry? I thought you were dead, you have no idea how I felt. How could you do that to me Sherlock. I knew you weren't a fake, you could have explained. Don't you trust me?
"Of course I trust you John. You needed to believe that I was dead, or-" He stopped, he couldn't tell John this. For goodness sake he was endangering John's life right now; one of Moriarty's men could be watching everything. But according to Sherlock's latest findings there was only one left in the country. He had eliminated three only this morning, caught them all in a very delicate web of Moriarty's lies. By isolating each of them and using their own emotional weaknesses against them he go the information he needed, then anonymously sent the confessions of 2 murders, 43 cases of grievous bodily harm and 12 burglaries to Scotland Yard. Meaning there was only one left, and she was supposedly in Newcastle right now...but still, if he was going to talk to John they needed to go somewhere more private.
And of course, Moriarty himself was still out there.
In the split second Sherlock took to think of this, John had buried his head in Sherlock's chest again he was now muttering something unintelligible. The only words he could catch were the obscenities, he grabbed John's arm and tried to move him, but John was rooted to the spot.
"John, we need to move. We can't be out in the open like this. I can't be here. If they-" He kept looking wildly from side to side, as if in fear his other senses would betray him. If anyone was within two hundred metres of them , even hiding or in the church, he would have heard, or noticed them at least. He was on high alert the urge to protect John at whatever cost was bewildering-overwhelming he couldn't understand it. He knew John could look after himself (he was a solider after all) but Sherlock couldn't help the way he wanted to keep hold of him, never let him out of his sight again. He hated himself for endanger John's life again though somewhere deep down, he knew that they wouldn't be caught. At least not yet. Maybe…maybe this was love. It was nothing like in the books, it was much more intense. A need. He yanked on John's arm again.
"John…..John. We need to move."
This time, as he looked up John stepped back a little, though still in Sherlock's arms.
"Who are they' Sherlock?" Wait. is someone after you? Is that why you"
John swallowed Sherlock knew that it pained him to say these next words, he was about to stop him, of course he knew what John was about to say, but he didn't say it in time. With John in his arms, for some reason his reactions were a lot slower than usual.
"Is that why you-"he looked down at the ground, at the place where Sherlock's dead body was supposed to be- "faked your own death?" His voice rose several octaves at the end of the sentence.
"John, I've told you. We can't do this here."
"I'm not moving until you explain how you did this. Why you did this to me- I mean to us. Mrs Hudson's distraught."
"Fine. John if we don't move now, you could be shot within seconds.