Fluff & Stuff

Hollow Holmes

Sherlock laid down on the couch, a small frown disturbing her usually emotionless features. She had been like this a couple of days now, sitting silently and not moving from her place. The only part that moved was her chest as she heaved breaths that were necessary to live. The light usually found in her eyes had faded, making her look dead. She would have sworn she was dead. But the pain in her chest told her otherwise. And of course the fact she had a steady heartbeat and pulse.

She looked at the clock on her wrist and felt no different from before. 2:21 AM it read. She had gotten used to it by now. The hollow feeling in her chest was proof. The lack of her partner's presence made her feel...empty.

A knock on the door created a small spark of hope glisten at the bottom of her heart, but she didn't feed it, knowing that if she was wrong then her feelings would be damaged more so.

Four months and 14 days ago, Doctor John Hamish Watson was reported M.I.A. due to not being found in the battlegrounds after they had finished a war, which was classified and not to be spoken of.

The news had taken a toll on Sherlock from the beginning, this consisting of her consuming less food and her little social life decaying. Mrs. Hudson, Molly and even Lestrade had tried to get Sherlock out of her flat but to no avail. They called her, texted her, even came by to bring tea and new cases for her to solve but she did not have the encouragement to proceed on her daily routine, which was now forgotten.

That all occurred in two weeks.

After a month had passed, her colleagues had not given up but were beginning to loose hope. They visited her and she did not open the door as she used to. She did not answer the calls, the texts or responded politely to Mrs. Hudson when she asked general questions in attempt to make small talk. She did not leave her flat. She did not eat. She did not speak. She was almost a corpse. Her skin was paler than usual, making the dark circles around her eyes much more noticeable.

This continued on for 3 more months and 14 days. She kept count. She was painfully aware she was dying and the only thing keeping her alive was that tiny spark of hope in the bottomless pit known as her heart. She still drank the morning tea Mrs. Hudson never ceased to make for her. She had taking a liking to it.

The knock on the door resounded again and she closed her eyes. A headache had made it way into Sherlock's head. The knock sounded again.

The knocking continued but more persistent. Sherlock sat up before standing up and stumbling towards the door. Her legs shook under her as she reclined against the door, putting her head against it and sighing as her head pounded.

She pulled open the door, her face showing off the misery and the pain she was going through. Her eyes were tightly closed as she rubbed her temple with her free hand in attempt to alleviate the throbbing in her head.

"Yes?" She said, her voice hoarse due to lack of use.

"Sherlock, I brought someone I think you might be happy to see." Greg Lestrade told her carefully as if one word could break her. Sherlock turned on her heel and walked back into the flat.

"I highly doubt you will achieve to bring joy into my miserable life." Sherlock muttered, her voice raspy and concrete.

"Sherlock...?" A male voice asked in disbelief. Sherlock's eyes snapped open, taking in the sight of her army doctor in his uniform.

"....John?" Sherlock whispered unsurely. This had not been the first time she had seen John, and every time she did, she shamelessly cherished the moment. Every time it had been figments of her imagination but she did not care. She only wanted her doctor to be back, and alive. Neither of them spoke nor moved, obviously awaiting each other's reaction. "The human mind does funny things to you. I just don't know why mine just keeps showing me you. I don't want a fake John, I want my John Watson. My real John Watson." Sherlock's eyes were red and puffy, meaning she was trying her best not to cry.

"Sherlock, it's really me." John Watson whispered sadly.

"You always are." She laughed humorlessly. She turned to Lestrade. "I'm surprised you actually tolerate how I'm talking to a figment of my imagination, Gary."

Lestrade ignored the mistake she always makes when addressing him. "Sherlock...he's really here." He assured her with a smile but frowned when he saw the disbelief in her eyes.

"Sherlock, I'm really here. The only reason they marked me as M.I.A. was because I was doing some undercover business in the enemy's headquarters. I needed to remain that way until I finished the mission I was set to complete." John explained as he had to Lestrade and Molly. Sherlock turned to John and narrowed her eyes.

"What was the last thing I told you before I faked my death?" She asked seriously. John felt a pain in his heart at the sight of Sherlock on the ledge of the building.

Most people had heard she said "Goodbye, John." or "Farewell, Doctor Watson." But in truth, only both of them knew what she had said before she took the leap.

"I love you, John." John said, tears glistening in his eyes. Sherlock gasped as more tears poured from her eyes. "And I love you too, Sherlock. I always have." John whispered, a small smile forming on his lips.

Sherlock ran towards John, jumping into his open arms as they enveloped each other in a tight embrace. Sherlock sobbed into John's uniform, wrapping her arms tightly around his neck. "God I missed you-So much-You have no idea-" Sherlock cried in John's arms. She pulled away far enough to see his face and pulled him down to her height, locking her lips with his in a passionate kiss, pouring out their emotions into the kiss with as much force as possible.