"What is it, Mar?"
Mary pulled out of the daze she was staring off into. Trisha had asked her a question but of course she hadn't heard it. She hated it when she did that, especially now when every word out of Trisha's mouth was the most beautiful sound she'd ever heard. But she wouldn't help behind distracted, she was so nervous. But come on, what's done is done and now she had to forget about it and let the over grown boys deal with their own problems. She'd gone her whole life without being nervous over boys, she wasn't about to start letting them effect her now. She was holding Trisha, nothing else should matter.
"Huh?" she asked, letting her eyes wander back down to Trisha's face. It was starting to fill out again, the recession in her cheeks fading more and more each day. She was so beautiful.
They were both sitting up in the hospital bed, watching some afternoon TV, curled around each other.
"I asked what's wrong, you haven't been listening to a word I've said," Trisha laughed, reaching up to push a lock of bangs from Mary's eyes.
"I'm sorry, love. I'm worried about tonight. I did the right thing, didn't I?"
"Of course," Trisha comforted, shifting her weight so that she faced her fiance, "from what you've told me they need each other. And your deductions have never been off before, right? They'll be fine. You did an amazing thing, babe. Now stop thinking about two boys or I'm going to get jealous." She teased and watched Mary's lips curl into a smile.
Mary leaned in and kissed her softly in thanks, who returned the kiss full-heartedly. For the rest of her life, Trisha would never get over kissing Mary. Never. After the past years she's had, there was absolutely nothing better on the planet then Mary and the feel of their love on her mouth.
This is total fucking bullshit. John's grumbling to himself as he hobbles his drunken way out of a taxi, onto a random street. Why the hell, on his first night out of the hospital, would Mary ask him to do this? Send him to pick up a damn cat from her sisters to babysit? He didn't even fucking like cats, but apparently it was so bloody important for him to pick up the damn thing tonight, no ifs, ands, or buts. And of course she couldn't do it, God forbid she leave Trisha's bedside for 30 fucking minutes. But telling Mary 'no' to something would always be much more of an effort then actually doing what she tells you to. If her suborn head gave you an order, you did it.
He wasn't normally this impatient with Mary and had he had a clearer head he'd be happy for the distraction from returning to another empty room. She had been very specific to go straight there and he'd been sober for too long; having to deal with that gnawing pain without any numbness is enough to drive anyone mad. Killing some time and some pain, he found the closest pub and a few long hours. John hadn't really intended on getting ass-hat hammered because he coulnd't exactly show up like that to Mary's sister's, and no one in their right mind would hand over their cat to a drunk man. But logic blurs with the vision, and there he was, assuming it was perfectly find to show up quiet intoxicated. Well not quiet totally gone, but he was floppy enough.
Was this really the address? He looked up blurrily from the scribbles in his hand. It seemed a little run down to be the place; who owns a cat in a shitty apartment? That's not very fair, cats deserve better than shitty flats. He'd have to give the owner a piece of his mind. And that's exactly what he planned to do, as he stormed up the few stairs to the door and let himself in. He was too drunk to wonder why it wasn't locked.
He stood in a dimmed thin hallway covered in old carpet and dust. He froze when he heard the music floating sadly and slow from the room beyond. It was a violin. Who the fuck plays violin besides dead men? Like many other things in his pathetic life, it automatically hurt him to hear, each piercing note drifting into his core to hallow it out some more.
"Hallo!?" he shouted to the musician in the next room. The music stopped immediately, but it wasn't followed by any other noise. "Would you stop playin' that and come here please with the cat thank you!" He liked the way his voice felt tumbling out of his mouth, moving up and down in pitch.
He slummed sideways against the wall and waited, looking down at the floor. Maybe they were trying to wake up the cat, it was late. Cats are grumpy when they wake up. He should help, he was a doctor and all.
With half closed eyes he stumbled down the hallway into the next room.
"Issok, I'ma doctor," he started but stopped immediately. .
Had he been sober he would have been racked with a million questions, pierced through the heart, he would be angry and attack, he would curse and cry and God knows how desperately he would kiss. But he wasn't sober, he was quiet intoxicated and confused and everything inside his being stopped. His eyes, breath, atoms, heart, soul, legs, brain. Everything. It was as if someone had pressed pause. All that seemed to be sinking in from the absurdity of it all was that damn face with those perfect check bones and wide eyes, and that damn body as frozen as he was, staring just as amazed across the room.
"John," it breathed with a voice coated in terror, as if it saw a ghost. Ghosts shouldn't really be afraid of other ghosts, John distantly thought somewhere in the back of his mind.
But that voice. It broke him out of his stare to take a step forward.
An electrical silence danced over their skin as John took another step. Then another one. His thoughts were too far away, too drunk to compute. He was just moving.
He stood before the other man, who stared down at him in complete shock, running his eyes over and over him. He didn't seem to be nearly as slow motioned as John was.
John reached up a shaky hand to lightly skim it over the skin on the hallucination's face. Well that's what it had to be, anyway. It closed its eyes, shame creasing in his brow. John wanted it to smile, wanted it's inquisitive eyes to open again, see the clear blue he's gone so far without. John wanted it to talk to him, to deduce-fuck- anything and he'd be happy.
John figured he shouldn't indulge in this surprising hallucination, that it can't be healthy. Once you start seeing your dead flatmate around where cats are supposed to be its a pretty good sign to give up drinking and be seriously worried about your sanity. But honestly the only thing he felt was relief. The pure grief that had clenched it's gnarled hands over his heart was loosening its grip faster than any alcohol could ever encourage. With each glide of John's fingers over the soft skin, he felt his soul returning to him. Entering in through every breath he drew. He was seeing that face! That face that haunted his nightmares with glossy eyes and bloodied hair, the one he missed seeing every morning, the one he thought he would never see again. He was touching it, and his alcohol soaked nerves tingled as he felt him under his fingertips.
He couldn't help but smile very slowly, the the pure blithe of being in that powerful presence once more overwhelming him, pushing joyful tears to the brink of his eyes. It was just a ghost, but a very warm, very beautiful one. He hadn't felt, not like this, in longer than he could remember. He had assumed that part of his brain had been broken, but there it was, and it was dusting itself off. He ran a shaky thumb across those lips he'd thought about even when he didn't want to. The figure leaned into John's touch, and began moving its lips under his thumb.
"John," it spoke, so much behind that velvet voice. But that was enough for John, that deep voice washed over him fresher than any water could. He felt clean for the first time in three years. He didn't need anymore words, just his name spoken with a voice gone from this world.
Before his heavy thoughts could catch up with his desires, his lips were moving longingly slow against the figure's. His hands were desperately clinging to the neck in front of him, as if they too wanted this to be real as deeply as he did. His mouth was slowed by the pints of alcohol he'd consumed, but after a few moments of hesitation, the ghost kissed back, wrapping long arms - surprisingly strong for a hallucination- around his waist and pulling him closer. Warm hesitation broke into waves of passion crawling out of his center. John tried to be careful, tried to savor the heavy tasting and pulling, but it was hard when his already blurry mind was filled with the euphoria of tasting Sherlock.
Time stopped, and nothing mattered, because Sherlock was back, even just for a moment of pure bliss, and he was finally embracing the one person that ever truly mattered. The pain was gone, ignored, shoved aside to make room for blossoming heat. John lazily ran his tongue over the faux-Sherlock's lip who hummed in approval, seemingly as lost as he was in the embrace. Before the kiss could gain much more heat, the ghost pulled away, sliding a long hand to the base of John's neck to hold their heads close together.
They closed their eyes.
They breathed.
And finally, after so long, if felt like they were both whole once more.
A/N: Sorry this one is so short ._. but thanks for all the positive feed back, really helps motivate 3