What do you want to be when you grow up? I don't want to be alone.

15

St. Bart’s. Come at once. -SH

My breathing sped up as I stared down at my phone. It couldn’t be him, couldn’t possibly, but though my head knew this I still held out that maybe, just maybe...

No.

It couldn’t be. Why was it so hard for me to understand that? I wasn’t going to wake up to gunshots being fired, wasn’t going to walk into the living room to find a mannequin dangling from the ceiling, wasn’t going to open the fridge to find a head or thumbs, or open the microwave to find eyeballs as part of some "experiment." It wasn’t happening. Because as much as I hated to admit it, he was dead. And I knew this. But for some reason, some part of me had to hope that maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t. Because if anyone was that brilliant and clever, he was.

I picked up a book, hoping it would clear my mind, only to set it down a bit later. Of course, the one book that I just happened to pick up had to be a murder mystery, didn’t it? I gave up with a sigh and set it down. I heard a knock at the door and looked up, though I had no intention of getting it. There was only.one person I wanted to see, and it couldn’t possibly be him. Everyone else just came to check on me. To see if I was fine. Which I wasn’t.

They knocked on the door again, more urgent this time.

"Go away," I said quietly, not expecting to be heard. I heard the door open but didn’t look up from my lap.

"I asked you to meet me. You didn’t come." I swear, at that moment a bomb could have gone off next door and I wouldn’t have noticed. All I could focus on was that voice, his voice.

I closed my eyes. It’s not him.  He’s dead. I watched him fall. I checked his pulse. This had to be some sort of dream, a delusion, something.

"John?" His voice sent shivers up my spine. "John, look at me, it’s important." The voice was closer to me now, though how close I couldn’t tell. "John, please..." I felt him place his hands on either side of my face, my skin tingling where he touched me. Wait, he can’t be touching me. Not if he’s dead. Which meant...

"Sh-Sherlock?" I never knew a word so hard to choke out. I opened my eyes to see another pair of eyes directly in front of me, surprisingly close. "But..."

"Shhhh..." Sherlock drew me into his arms, holding me close to him. I grabbed fistfuls of his hair, reassuring myself this was real. He was real. Sherlock was back.

He drew himself away to look me in the face. "John... You’re crying..." Sherlock brought his thumb up to wipe at my eyes and I felt myself blush. "What happened to my strong soldier?" More tears fell from my face and I buried my head in his shoulder.

"John... this is important. Did you mean it?"

"Mean it?" I said between sniffles. "Mean what?"

"The text you sent me..." I thought back. Which text? I had sent him a lot while he was gone.

Oh.

"Yes. But I know you don’t feel the same so..."

"No."

"S-sorry?"

"No. You don’t know that I don’t feel the same because I don’t know. Actually, quite the opposite. I do believe I have developed feelings for you..." He paused and then continued, and I could sense he was hesitant this time. "John Watson, I think I love you." My mind spun as I tried to comprehend the words Sherlock said. Surely he couldn’t have...

Before I had time to grapple with this, Sherlock gripped my head in his hands. He moved himself closer to me, then stopped, his face just inches from mine. Sherlock searched my face, looking for something unknown to me, before roughly pressing his mouth to mine. I responded immediately, moving my mouth against his. My fingers twisted in his scarf as I wrapped my other hand around his neck, gently playing with the curls that brushed his neck.

"Sherlock?" I said as he parted himself from me, needing to breathe.

Sherlock leaned his head against mine. "Yes John?"

"Why did you jump? Do you know how much you’ve put me through?"

A pained look crossed Sherlock’s face. "I know. Moriarty threatened me. Said if I didn’t jump he would..." He trailed off and closed his eyes, remembering what had happened. "Sherlock?" I prompted him.

"He said that if I didn’t jump he would have Lestrade, Mrs. Hudson, and... and you killed."

"Is he...?"

Sherlock nodded. "He’s gone now. They all are."

***

There will be one last section after this, and then it's over.

~Trisha