Please Don't Forget Me

by SherlockDW

After 3 long years Sherlock Holmes decides to show himself to John Watson. However, when he goes to meet his long waiting friend he finds something that makes him turn his back and questions to surface. Does John really care? Or was I forgotten all those years ago?

4. Chapter 4

John Watson shuffled around his coat and fished out his phone from his pocket. The screen lit up and he frowned as an unknown number came up. He opened the text

'I'm not dead. I'm so sorry John. –SH'

He nearly dropped his phone.

SH

Sherlock

Holmes

How the Hell is that possible?!

John hurriedly replied

Whoever this is, stop it. This is sick. Sherlock is dead. Send me another text and I will skin you alive. –JW

John knew he sounded weird sending that text, but if that meant that they would leave him alone, then so be it.

Sherlock received a text back from John and he opened it quickly,

Whoever this is, stop it. This is sick. Sherlock is dead. Send me another text and I will skin you alive. –JW

His hope faded and his shoulders slumped. John didn't believe him. Tears fell down his cheeks and his hands began to shake. No. He held onto that tiny cinder of hope that had bubbled in his stomach seconds before. He would not give up. If John didn't believe it, then he would show him.

John slammed his apartment door shut. It wasn't to 221B. It was to his new apartment. After Sherlock had died, he couldn't bear to live in the apartment they had shared together. It brought back too many memories. His hands shook as he dumped the shopping in his hands. After he had got the text, he had stopped shopping and wanted to go home. He sat on his couch and rubbed his face in his hands, sighing deeply.
There was a thump from John's room causing him to frown deeply. No one else was home, what else could it be?

He walked up the stairs and cautiously opened the door to his room. His eyes scanned every inch of the place until he noticed the fallen lamp on the floor. He sighed, picked it up and placed it back on the small table near the open window.
Wait. Open?
The Dark curtains fluttered in the wind.

"I'm sure I closed that earlier…" John muttered and shut the window, cutting off the breeze. With one final look outside the dark and abandoned street, he closed the curtains once more. His ears perked when a loud creak on the stairs sounded outside. Rushing onto the landing and spoke up

"Hello…? Anybody there…? Mary?" When there was no answer, he made his own way down and into the living room. He froze when he saw none other than a weak looking and bedraggled Sherlock Holmes sitting cross-legged on his couch

"I see you've moved out of Baker Street." The former dead man said.