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When you feel my heat, look into my eyes, It's where my demons hide...
John Watson, a short-ish blond haired teen, stood at the top of a hill. He was alone. Oh so very alone. He stood before the grave of his once living best friend, Sherlock Holmes. He was a hard one to get along with, but John... He seemed to like John for some reason or another. Sherlock was very smart. He could get out of almost any situation. Why he resorted to this, John would never be able to figure out...
“Sherlock Holmes (16) shot himself early Saturday morning at his flat.” The papers read, “Holmes was known to be best friends with a Mr. John Watson (17) and there is a further investigation going into as to why Holmes has resorted to such a tragic way to pass.”
John bowed his head. “Sherlock...” He sighed, “How can I even put this into words?” He put a hand onto Sherlock's grave. “I was so alone...” He sniffed and paused, “And I owe you so much...”
John flinched as the memories came back to him. Before Sherlock. Before anyone was there for him. He remembered Sherlock being there, waiting at the top of this very hill. That's why John requested that he be buried atop this hill. It meant so much to both of them.
It was the place they first met. The place they first... John shook that thought out of his head. He didn't need that, not now, not ever again.
“Can you... Can you do me one favor?” John could barely get his voice above a whisper. “Don't... Don't be dead...”
Don't get too close, It's dark inside, It's where my demons hide...
“Sherlock, Sherlock Holmes.” The boy said with a very serious face.
“John, John Watson.” John gave a confused look to the tall, pale, raven haired boy standing in front of him. He had very defined cheek bones and very curly hair. What was Sherlock, was his name right? Why was Sherlock speaking to him of all people?
“You know, you shouldn't look so confused. Some people take interest in your life too...” Sherlock said, smiling a little half, fake smile. John noticed the slight twitch in his left eye, but he opted not to point it out.
“I'm sorry, have you been stalking me?” John asked.
“Oh, no no no, I merely just saw you, but I know that you love to wear jumpers, you have a sister that was killed and you're aspiring to be an army doctor. That you've been alone for most of these years, and that has hurt you greatly. That your parents could care less about you and-”
“Okay, enough! How do you know all of this if you haven't been stalking me?” John asked, slightly enraged.
“The power of deduction, John.” Sherlock smiled, but this time it was a full, real smile.
“What?” John scoffed, a slight look of amazement in his eyes that Sherlock noticed and that smile of his turned into a small smirk of satisfaction.
At that moment John knew he was hooked, he had to be friends with Sherlock Holmes. He was amazed at how he could define people in less than a minute right before his eyes. And he was never wrong. Sherlock Holmes was a pure genius.
The day that John met Mycroft, Sherlock's preferred, older brother, he saw the look of coldness in Sherlock's eyes. Like Sherlock did not want him to exist.
Later that day Sherlock had told him all about how Mycroft picked on him. Beat him up for not having “real emotions” or for out smarting him.” Sherlock... There were times where John didn't even think that he was human. But he was the most human, human being there was.
