Secrets untold, Lies unfold (Johnlock)

Sherlock's P.O.V

I took a deep breath and threw the phone from my hands. My sides pained from holding in the worst of the tears. Some have managed to escape, but I didn't care. I looked once more down to my John, my good friend John. That man accepted me, and he found my intelligence amazing, brilliant even. He was so loyal to me and seemed to want to try make my life better by giving me a friend. I never said it enough...at all. But he was the most amazing person I had ever met. He was kind and gentle and everything he did was done in a graceful manner. I took one last breathe and sretched my arms out. 

Goodbye John.

John's P.O.V 

I shot up in bed again, covered in sweat and panting heavily. I should be used to this by now, but every night those dreams still have the same fresh affect on me. The day...Sh..he died. I remember everything so clearly. Every word. Every breath. My mind, racing yet standing so still. Heart beating yet frozen like ice. But every night I awake dumbfounded that over the years that one dream, one person can still cause my body to freak out. I got out of bed, grabbing my stick and hobbled drearily to the kitchen. I sleepily put the kettle on and placed the now weak ingredients into my mug. Over the years everything has lost taste, nothing is strong enough to wake me up, I'm stuck in a deep hole in the middle of no where. I sat back and stared at my tea. Taking in everyting about it, its colour and how the heat rises from its watery substance. How the sugar decends to the bottom of the mug to slowly disintegrate. The slightest thing now distracts me. A dog barking outside will be my amusement for hours, even after it has stopped. Every few days my phone would buzz and there would be a message from Mycroft. Asking how I am, although he knows, and if I can come round for a talk. Recently they have been occuring more often, twice in the same day he will ask for me to come round, or if he could visit me. Everytime I decline with the same excuse of not being ready to face mind readers, or anyone remotely like Sherlock. Because if I cant even say his name without flinching or becoming a pathetic mess then how will I face Mycroft or anyone else who has had connections with him and have moved on when others haven't. Everyone I see, they have moved on. 2 years today that muttonhead decided to die, his body flopping on the floor. Landing like it was nothing special, nothing extraordinary. Landing like it was bird poo. Unwanted. Lestrade has been making some weekly visits, bringing in some groceries that I will probably not eat. I can't even face having a real conversation with him. Nothing is right anymore, everything I ever cared for is gone. The one person who had the ability to be an ignorant selfish alienated machine but still be my best friend, the one who pulled me out from my depression, stopped all my bad dreams and made my life the most prodigious and fascinating by just letting me see his human side. The moments when he wasn't a robot. But a real man, with feelings and thoughts, stupid questions and unintelligible muttering. Those few moments were the keys to him, leading into his real self. All his held in emotions. No one has seen then for years, or ever at all. But every now and then, they would appear. For a split second his brilliant pale face will recalibrate and flash real emotions of pain, sadness and fear; but never for long. I was clever enough to always notice his facial expressions, as much as he moaned at me for missing all other evidence I knew that all the evidence I needed was from his facial expressions. They showed an untold story, never to be told to anyone forever. Lost, like his soul.

I stood up, leaving my untouched tea on the table and decided that today I will visit his grave. It has been so long since that golden writing has glowed infront of me, reminding me that the only person in the world that was worth fighting for was dead. That gleaming black slab, seperated from all the others, under a beautiful tree. I have visited it only a few times as I couldn't bring myself to get there. But today I will go once again. Pour what emotions that are left standing into the silent air around his grave. The emptyness of the grounds, nothing but stone and flowers. I shuffled into some clothes, not bothering to check if they looked alright or they were even suitable for the weather, and hobbled out of the flat 221b Baker street. After 3 attempts to get a cab I finally got one to pull over, they never stopped for me like they did with him. I got in and said my destination. The driver drove quickly and carelessly, almost hitting some people that were jay walking. I didn't really mind, I was too lost in thought to care about the surroundings that were rushing past like a fly after you try to swat it.

The car jolted violently indicating we had arrived. I gave some cash to the driver and climbed out. I had only just closed the door before he was speeding away. What is it with drivers? Not thinking any more on the matter I prepared myself for the headstone, the memories I forbid myself from. The questions that I want to ask but locked away in my mind. I approached the tree with the lonely, forgotten black stone beneath it. The wind was getting colder as I entered the shade of the tree, suprisingly it is quite cold today but there was enough sun to make a shadow. I stared at the dirt and the small peices of grass beginning to grow over his grave. I opened my mouth to speak but all that escaped was a sigh of pain. I tried again. "Sh....Sherlock, please...I don't know anymore. It has been 2 years now. Yet I still have a tiny bit of hope left, but when I leave here, there will be none left. If you can hear me at all, give me a sign?...Please...I don't know how to carry on. My life is an endless abyss, it's dark,cold and frankly boring as you would say" I chuckled which led to tears to swell to my tired eyes. 'Sherlock...I never..ever told you how amazing you were. Your deductions were fantastic sure, but you as a machine...no, you were human but you were the most powerful and unstoppable person I have ever met, and I always admired how you could get away with so much. Nothing is right anymore...life isnt being lived, metaphorically. And I never could tell you how I feel, even now. But I want you to know that....' Tears were now pouring down my face and I was decending slowly to the dew covered grass.' Well...Sherlock....I miss you more than anything....for one more moment I would stop breathing...I would do anything for you to be back. And for me to be here today is...well...it's suprising. I didn't know how long I could live with myself after I just let you fall. I could have stopped you. Why you jumped....I don't know. You were the luckiest person in the world. You didn't know it but...many people loved you.....Sherlock...if there is any chance you can hear me then I want you to know, this is the last time I will visit for a long time. I can't take it anymore. Please, forgive me. Goodbye Sherlock.' I stood up, shaking, and let out a loud sob as I turned around. I couldn't do it if this is the last time, forever, then he deserves to know. 'SHERLOCK! I LOVE YOU!' I breathed heavily, shocked that I said it...let alone shouted it. 'I can't leave you alone for years without knowing the truth. Since our first case, since you were amazingly smart about everything. That moment in the flat...on the drugs bust...that 'No' was not meant for you...I was talking to myself. Not believing my calculations of our relationship would be set so high for me. But I never said anything...because you're married to your work. Sleep well Sherlock' I turned around, feeling a tiny bit happy but the hole in my chest was gaping open. Bleeding out tears,thoughts and everthing I tried to hide inside myself.

There was a rustle behind me. But I was too lost in determination to live life again to bother to turn till suddenly something warm flittered across my hand. I stopped dead and took a breath. That small touch sent shivers through my bleeding body. Torturing my mind as it screamed out a name, impossible.

'John?....'

My breathing stopped and I scrunched up my face. It's not real, John you've finally done it. You're mad. Nothing can save you now. Just take in some air? Please. I breathed in and out, clearly it was rattling against the tears choking my throat. I took another step, ready to leave my hallucination and even ready to leave this world. But something warm brushed my hand again, this time staying there. It pulled me back, forcing my body to shift around. And there it was. That long slim face. Features all poking out in the historical ways it always did. The clear cheekbones poking out from under his crystal eyes. But they weren't filled with content...but worry. 

'No...John you're insane, get help!' I started rapidly blinking and shaking.

'John, You're not insane. I'm real John. Listen to me, I'm not distant. I'm here, forever.' His deep voice was huskier than usual, I gathered some of my mind together enough for me to look up at him. His perfect face, pale white. But obstructing his god-like features were the rims of his eyes, red and glinting. It didn't take long for me to notice he was crying so hard he was shaking as well. I stared at him, trying to deduce something. Anything! Had he taught me nothing.

'You're not real. I wish my mind would stop now! It's enough ok!? I'm tortured enough...just...let me go....' Breaking down into tears I hung my head. 

'John' Suddenly there was a large impact on my body and to my surpise I could see Sherlock, see him hugging me. 'I am mad!' 

'John! No you're not! I'm reall! Please! I'm back.'

'You arse!' John suddenly removed his arms, that were wrapped around his sides holding himself together and threw them over Sherlock's back and they stood there drenching eachother with the years of emotions that were not able to be freed before.