the richenbach hero // johnlock

Chapter Two

Sherlock slowly strode to his grave. The words still felt unfamiliar, like he was in a dream. He retrieved the letter, unwilling to open it. He had requested several time that Mycroft let him return to John, so far, he had been denied. Sherlock turned to leave, but looked at the spot where John had been standing. He look at the imprint of the shoes in the grass, the size of his feet ever so small. Sherlock let himself smile. Oh how he missed his dear blogger. The soft, small man had been replaced by a hardened, rough exterior, covering his crumbling inner shell. Sherlock sighed softly.
"Just a little longer, John, I promise"

"Don't make a promise you can't keep, brother dear"

"Ah, Mycroft, ever so cynical"
Sherlock hissed at his brother.

"Had I known you were going to sulk around, I would have told you myself. Read the letter anyway, I did take the time to write it after all"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. He studied Mycroft for a second. His body was tired and his eyes were sad. Very sad
"Mycroft? What's wrong?"

"Nothing...I'm fine"
Mycroft plastered a fake grin on his face. Sherlock grimaced at the sight. He sighed softly and hung his head.

"Myc....please...I've already lost too much, don't make me lose you too...."
Sherlock's voice was a whisper and his eyes began to water. Mycroft was taken aback by the spring of emotions from his baby brother. Mycroft rushed to him and wrapped his arms around Sherlock.

"You'll never lose me Sherlock. I'm your brother. Come on Lockie, let's go"
Mycroft pulled off of his brother and walked him to the main road and hailed a cab.
"Go on home. Read the letter"
The door began to close, and Mycroft gave a small smile. Small, but very real. The cab began to leave, and Mycroft turned back towards his own home. Sherlock watched the buildings of London speed by as the cab went towards his home, or rather, what he had been forced to call home for the past year. He sighed and looked down at his lap, where the letter sat. He glared it for a second, confused as to why Mycroft had wrote him instead of saying it directly. His eyes flitted up back to the window, in time to see John entering his old flat, 222B Baker Street.
"Stop!"
The cabbie slammed on the breaks. Sherlock opened the door and stood slowly, studying his old home.
"Do...do you mind waiting a moment?"

"It'll cost extra, but I can wait"

Sherlock smiled thankfully and nodded at the cabbie. He rushed across the street and approached the blue door. The gold numbers were faded and well worn. The knocker turned to the side. Sherlock smiled fondly at it.
'What's the time?'
He glanced up at the sky to calculate the approximate time.
'Roughly noon, but could be later. Either way, Mrs. Hudson is out.'
Sherlock pushed the door open gently and stepped inside. He breathed in the familiar scent and smiled softly. Everything smelled like John. He heard the familiar soft padding of Johns feet against the hard wood floors above him. Then they moved to the staircase and the footsteps descended. Sherlock rushed out of the way, knocking over a few, painfully loud items. Johns head whipped around.

"Who's in here!"

Sherlock remained silent, tears pricking his eyes. Johns voice. Something he had longed to hear again. John called out again.

"Answer me! Who is in here!"
John moved closer to Sherlock's hiding spot, forcing Sherlock to move further away from him. Every step hurt Sherlock's chest. He heard John begin to sob.

"Damn it Sherlock! This is your bloody fault. Imagining people in my home, hoping to see you step out! I should...I should've died with you. I can't do this anymore!"
His hand slammed against the wall.
"I need you! Please...come back to me...I can't...I can't do this without you....I love you..."

Sherlock sobbed silently. His vision blurred with tears. John doubled over, tears hitting the floor. His sobs were loud and violent. Sherlock couldn't take it. He wanted to rush out and grab John. He wanted to hold him and never let go again. But he couldn't. He couldn't hold John. And he might never again. So he left him a note.
'Hold on John. For me. Don't let go.
-SH'
And he left it in plain sight. Sherlock left the backdoor without a sound. John felt his heart breaking. His breath came out in painful gasps. He stood slowly and wiped his eyes. He glanced around, to make sure no one really was here, and his eyes fell on a piece of paper, sitting on the table. He reached out softly and took it in his fingers. He read the words over and over, choking back tears. He left the flat and walked home.