One Day (Sherlock Short Story)

The Finale

(Next Morning, John's POV: )

I groaned, rolling over on the floor and coving my face with the throw pillow. The sun wasn't shining; the rain was still coming down. This was a h*ll of a storm. I slowly removed the pillow, shading my eyes from the dreary light. I looked around. Alice was on the couch, covered in a blanket. Greg was sleeping in my chair. Surprisingly no bottles or cups lay scattered around the floor. No spots reeking of alcohol. Alice wouldn't have done it, and neither had Greg or I... We were too drunk. Mrs. Hudson couldn't of. I had locked the door. I sat up slowly, scanning the room more. It was as I had left it, but the kitchen door was open a crack. I got up, holding the blanket around me like a child. I wandered through the gap and looked round again, regretting replacing the fluorescent bulbs the other day. I sighed and noticed one thing different: Sherlock's bedroom door was open. I thought I had closed it last night. Everything was fuzzy. I moved forward slowly, pushing the door open and going in. Dust flew up my nose immediately and I coughed horribly.

"John?" Someone asked. I turned around, still coughing. No one was behind me. "John?" They repeated. My coughing had died down as I turned back into Sherlock's room, horrified. Was I imagining his voice? Was I dreaming? "John?"

"S-Sherlock?" I asked weakly. I closed my eyes as I heard his bed rustling.

"Yes? Are you okay?" He replied. I felt my chest tighten.

"Sherlock. You're dead. Your- You died. Three years ago." I said sternly, clenching my fists and squeezing my eyes shut.

"No John. I faked it. Moriarty threatened to kill you, Alice, everybody, if his shooters didn't see me jump."

"No."

"Yes. I jumped, but I faked it. I lied. To save you. To save everybody."

"Three years. And now," I laughed harshly. "Now I'm hearing you."

"Open your eyes." I did, and he was standing in front of me, dressed in his usual clothes. He looked thinner though. "I spent the three years hunting down Moriarty's men. I unravelled his web. I worked as fast as I could, but I couldn't get it done sooner than that. I'm sorry, John." He said sincerely, looking at me like he was incredibly sad. I shook my head as he spoke.

"No. No, you're dead. I'm seeing you. I'm insane!" I cried, closing my eyes again.

"John..."

"No, Sherlock. No. Shut up, shut up!" He did as I said as I tried to wrap my mind around this. "Say it again, Sherlock." I told him after a long hesitation.

"What?"

"Say it again."

"I don't un-"

"Sorry. Say sorry, Sherlock. Apologize again." I heard him hesitate.

"I'm sorry, John. I hated doing that. It broke my heart. I hated it. I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry." He said, his voice not wavering. I couldn't tell if he was being sincere or not... then again I never could, even when he was alive. "I see how you all suffered from my Lie. Alice started smoking. You got your limp back. Greg is miserable. I'm sorry." He continued. I opened my eyes slowly and looked at his face, into his eyes. He looked miserable. He looked like he missed me. It couldn't be him.

"Thank you. But you still aren't here." I insisted, feeling a lump form in my throat. He looked indecisive for a moment, before stepping forward and embracing me. I staggered back for a moment, not believing that I could feel him. "Stop it. You're making this harder than it has to be." I said sadly. He broke away, pain in his eyes.

"John, I'm real! Please believe me! I'm real, I'm here! I never died!" He begged, his voice still not breaking.

"Impossible. Even you can't make miracles, Sherlock." I argued, my voice breaking at his name. A tear went down, dripping off his cheekbone as he stepped away.

"Please, John." I just stared at him. "Please."

"I can't, Sherlock." I said sadly, looking down to my feet.

"Then pretend I'm here. Pretend I faked my death." He asked, looking at me with his dam* doe eyes. I looked up, and then couldn't look away.

"Fine..." I admitted, looking away and back to the ground. "Fine. Encourage my insanity."

"John, I am alive." He insisted. I avoided his gaze and looked around, spotting his pistol on the nightstand.

"Yup, yes, you're alive." I replied, walking over to it and picking up his 'mobile'. He didn't say anything as I unlocked it and looked through the messages. "Did you ever get any of the messages we sent?" I asked blankly.

"Yes."

"Where'd they go?" I asked, setting it down again.

"I deleted them... since we're starting over." He replied cautiously.

"You never replied." I said flatly, inspecting his pistol.

"I was dead."

"Still not positive on the 'was'."

"John." I turned around, the gun resting in my hand casually.

"Sherlock. You're dead." I cocked the pistol. Confusion spread across his face.

"And yet I see you in front of me." I looked down at my feet and smiled. I looked back up.

"And I'm insane! It can't get much worse than this." I finished. He realized what I was doing and lunged forward, but it was too late...

I shot through my brain.