Johnlock Fluff (mostly) Oneshots

Letters To A Dead Man

Hey yall, I started this chapter a couple of days ago but I deleted it and started again. I kinda got this idea from iiBxzkie but it's slightly different to theirs because they did a diary and I'm doing letters but check their book out because it's good. Anyway, this chapter is gonna be a lil' bit sad. Hope you enjoy. (I got the title from a book of Janto Oneshots which had a book called Letters From A Dead Man.) I shortened the period of time Sherly was dead for.

John's POV
Sherlock was dead and I needed a therapist. She had told me to start writing letters to Sherlock as a form of grieving. I wrote the, and left them at his grave each week though I wasn't sure why. It wasn't like he could read them because he was dead. 

I still couldn't believe that he was actually dead. There was a part of me that was still hoping that he would come back thought theoretically, I knew he couldn't come back. His time was up. 

So every week I wrote a letter. I wrote a letter which detailed on what was going on in my life, which was generally not a lot, and I would talk about how much I missed him and especially how much I loved him. Occasionally would talk about my consideration of joining him but I never quite had the courage. 

Sherlock's POV
I sat in my tree watching John. He came once a week and left a letter. Then he would sit there in silence for a while crying softly to himself. It broke me inside to see what I had done to him and to know there was nothing I could do about it. Not yet anyway. 

It had been a year today since I had left and I knew John wouldn't last much longer. I wasn't even sure if he would make it through today. Mentally, I made a note to tell Mycroft to keep a close eye on him. 

As soon as John left the cemetery, I climbed down and went to get the letter. I loved the letters I received from him, apart from the ones where he spoke of his contemplation to try and join me. Ever since he started he write them I had kept them with me and I'd reread some of them so often that I knew them by heart. 

Dear Sherlock, It read. 

I don't know why I keep writing these. It's not like you can read them. Dr Evans seems to think that it will help me but I don't think so. The only thing that would help me would be if you came back, but I know that's not going to happen. I love you too much for you to leave me like this. 

Everyone seems so concerned for me but no one seems to care that you're gone. Mycroft is as pompous as ever and Lestrade is just giving me cases like I'm you when everyone knows I'm not. 

Nothing seems to be happening since you left and life is so boring. I got "time off" from my job to "recollect myself". Basically they fired me. I haven't been doing anything - there doesn't seem any point in doing anything. 

I miss you so fucking much, Sherlock. I wish I had told you this before you jumped but I love you do goddamn much. Every fibre in my being wants me to be with you but Mycroft keeps on finding me which is weird because I only ever spoke about it in these letters. 

Sometimes I wonder what I'm doing with my life. I'm by myself in the world and I'm writing letters to a dead man. 

It's been a year now, I wish I'd figured out how to think about you without it ripping my heart out (kinda stole this line from If The World Was Ending) but I haven't and if you don't come back soon then I might just have to join you. 

We both know that you would never love me back. I guess that's why I couldn't tell you until now. 

I hope to see you again very soon

Love, John

Tears were streaming down my face as I cried silently. I grabbed my phone to call Mycroft. John wouldn't survive if I came back today. There would be consequences to coming back early but at that point I didn't care. 

Hands shaking, I dialled Mycroft's number.

"Yes, what is it brother dear?"

"I'm going back to John today" I managed to keep my voice steady.

"Sherlock, we've been over this. It's not safe for you to go back yet"

"I don't care. If I don't go back to him, he will find a way of killing himself. I was not asking you if I could, I was warning you that I will. Now, I'm off to see him. Stop me and I will tell Lestrade about your fantasies about him."

There was silence and then I hung up. Time to go back to John. 

I ran as quickly as I could to 221B Baker Street, knowing he would be there. He had mentioned a few times that he hadn't had the heart to move away. It was our home. 

When I got there, I burst through the front door. I ran straight upstairs without worrying about Mrs Hudson. She wasn't my main concern right now, John's safety was.

I went right into the living room to see John on the sofa crying, huddled up into a ball. He looked much thinner than when I left. It was obvious that he hadn't been taking care of himself. Had my death really impacted him that much?

"John" I gasped. His head shot up to look at me before tears began welling up in his eyes. 

"No. Not today. Any day but today. I really do not need hallucinations today" He had been having hallucinations of me?

"John, it's me, I'm here"

"No you're dead"

"John, I am not dead, I'm here and I'm sorry. I had to do it or Moriarty would have had you shot." 

He got up from the sofa and walked towards me. His hand was held out in front of him, as if he still wasn't sure that I was real. I couldn't help myself and I threw myself forward, pulling him into a bone-crushing hug. 

"Sherlock" He whispered. "I-"

"I know, I love you too" Neither of us broke the hug. 

"I'm so glad I wrote a letter to a dead man" He mumbled and I chuckled. 

"Me too, John, me too." 

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Hey guys hope you liked it and I hope it wasn't too bad. My back hurts like hell lol. Anyway, I'll do some more writing tomorrow and I will see you soon x