60 Ways to Say Goodbye - A Johnlock Fanfiction

Chapter Thirteen

So apparently the last chapter was a success. I'm not sure if this one will be as good, but we'll see.

I think with the addition of this chapter, I'll reach 1000 reads pretty soon, so thank you so much, guys! I really appreciate all you've said and done.

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I was so alone and I owe you all so much. I love you guys.

~BB

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Chapter 13

I woke up in the morning. Sherlock was still passed out next to me. My palm was still laying on top of his. I had gotten closer to him in my sleep.

When he slept, he had a soft expression on his face so I could almost pretend that he was a normal person.

I let him sleep, I guessed he hadn't gotten much if that lately. I know how uncomfortable the graveyard is.

A little later, Sherlock's eyelids twitched a bit. He made a noise and let out a breath. He fluttered his eyes open and smiled upon seeing me looking back at him.

"Good morning," he said.

"Good morning," I repeated.

Sherlock took my hand that was holding his and draped it over himself. I was now holding him closer.

"You smell good," he told me.

I laughed," You don't. When was the last time you took a shower?"

Sherlock didn't answer.

"Go shower," I told him. For once, he listened to me. He slowly got out of bed. He was wearing only grey sweatpants that hung low on his waist. I'm not sure why, but that's not what I pictured Sherlock wearing to bed.

As he walked to the bathroom, Sherlock stretched his arms over his head and I could see, for the first time since he returned, just how much weight he had lost.

"Sherlock, I'm going to the store," I told him. "We need more food."

"Good, I'm starved," he said. I didn't have a hard time believing it.

I heard the water in the shower turn on and I got out of the bed. I had to go upstairs, that's where my clothes still were.

I got ready quickly. I went downstairs and opened the door.

There must've been 70, no 100 of them. All the scum, the lowest of the lowest. The people who would bother people in the quiet of their homes to get the latest scoop. The paparazzi.

"John! It's John Watson!" One yelled.

I was bombarded with questions about Sherlock.

"Is Sherlock in there?"

"How did he survive the fall?"

"Are you two gay for each other?"

The last question was out of the blue. They would do anything to catch my attention. Unfortunately for them, I wouldn't talk. I pushed my way through the scum and flagged down a cab.

As a taxi pulled up to the curb, one reporter tried to get in with me. They might have succeeded if another hadn't pulled them back trying to get in their place. In the split second that nobody was in the way, I slammed the door shut.

I laughed. So we were back to this life?

"Where to?" The cabby asked. I told him the street location and we started driving.