After the Fall

Nightmares

Hey guys! Quick author's note, if you haven't finished watching Sherlock, first of all what is wrong with you?? And second GO DO IT before you read this, there will be an infinite amount of spoilers!

Okay, I'm done.

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"This phone call, it's my note. That's what people do, isn't it? Leave a note?"

"Leave a note when?"

"Goodbye, John,"

"No, don't! SHERLOCK!"

John jerked awake, shaking. It had been nearly two years, and yet it still felt as if it were yesterday when he was at Sherlock's grave, begging him not to be dead.

"John?" Sarah groggily rolled over. "You alright?"

"Yeah," John answered, rubbing his eyes. "Just... It's nothing. Go back to sleep."

Sarah did not go back to sleep. She sat up and put her arms around John and rested her chin on his shoulder. Eyes roving John's jawline, she began to hum softly. John allowed her a few moments. They would be hers to cherish for the next few days.

"John, you're not going to leave me again, are you?" Sarah asked, turning John's face to look at her. "There's no point in looking for him."

John dropped his gaze. He had been planning to go and ask Mycroft where Sherlock might be. He had been delaying for so long... Mycroft would surely think it nonsense to continue looking for his dead little brother. They were two of a kind, Sherlock and Mycroft. Bitter enemies, from Sherlock's point of view, but two of a kind, none the less.

But now John was getting desperate. He had not been able to accept the fact that Sherlock might actually be dead. Sherlock couldn't be dead. He had to have the last word, he wouldn't let Moriarty win that easily. Still, it had been two years. There were only so many places a man could hide, let alone a particularly infamous and recently dead man. Maybe Sarah was right. Maybe there was no point...

John's throat grew tight. He couldn't let himself begin to think like that. He was already depressed, and accepting Sherlock's death might mean his own. He couldn't do that to Sarah...

John lay back in bed. Let the world keep thinking Sherlock's dead. John had asked him not to be dead, and Sherlock hadn't let John down yet.

***

Sherlock angrily slammed his laptop shut and tossed it onto his bed. There was only so much mediocre entertainment that the internet could provide before Sherlock began to feel it ebbing away at his IQ. John hadn't updated his blog in over a week. He had broken his pattern, and it wasn't a good sign.

Sherlock stood up and stalked moodily to the window. He gazed mindlessly into the calm, empty street, resenting every inch of it. In two years, two bloody, hellish years, he had never left it.

Every night after Mycroft was asleep, Sherlock greedily raided his brother's office, searching for a case, anything that Mycroft had brought home from his long day of work. He would then scour it and often solve it within moments, but for those few moments he was almost content. More content, at least, than he was being trapped in his brother's house.

Sherlock had had to beg his brother for sanctuary. He suspected that what eventually broke his brother was the realization that Sherlock would never have asked for his brother's help unless he had absolutely no where else to go.

Feeling stuck and on the verge of explosion, Sherlock ventured down the stairs. Mycroft owned a large house, most likely because he had found himself an actual job. A dull job, no doubt, but it paid well. Mycroft had given Sherlock the very top floor. It was a three story, cream colored house. Nothing that Sherlock hadn't expected, apart from the rather alarming amount of women (and men) that Mycroft brought home from work. And then there was the annoying one. The woman who was almost never not in the house. The one who was never off her phone. Sherlock had held a five minute conversation with her and she hadn't once realized that she was talking to a dead man.

Mycroft was still at work. Sherlock had the large house to himself. He wandered into the living room and skimmed the shelves, desperate for anything that he hadn't read yet.

Suddenly, he spotted a black book on the coffee table. He swooped over to it.

Twilight...

Sherlock stared at the book for a moment, then shrugged and snatched it up. He settled himself into the armchair nearest to the fireplace and opened to the first page.

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Haha, Twilight....

Hello, Lovelies!!!!!

What do you think? Do you like it so far?

Don't worry, Sherlock won't have to read Twilight much longer ;)

If you have any suggestions, comments, questions, concerns or random thoughts, post them in the comments! I read all of them!

From, Lee