Texting Sherlock

Depression

Individual Chapter

John pivoted on his heels, having said everything he wanted to say. If he had stayed there longer, he wouldn't be able to leave.

His best friend. His flatmate. His best man. His colleague. His detective. His world. His Sherlock Holmes. Seemingly, his everything:

Was dead.

The hard steps of the ex-soldier left deep prints in the soft and soggy cemetery grass. He quickened his pace, wanting to get away from the place that held so much death. Tears streaming down his red face, his ears turning a deep shade of pink, and his eyes becoming puffier with every second, a broken John practically ran out of the cemetery gates. It took everything in his will not to collapse on the sidewalk and scream various curses at the sky.

He had to keep himself together. Not so much for himself, but for Sherlock.

Twenty feet from the new grave of Sherlock Holmes, in the gathering of thick trees and shrubbery, stood Sherlock Holmes. Alive and well, his coat collar turned up against the cold wind and the corners of his mouth turned down. Despite being quite far away from John, he felt closer to him than ever before, Sherlock heard everything he had said.

Sherlock called himself a bloody bastard and an incoherent twit for not chasing after John and for not pulling him into a deep hug and apologizing for everything he had put him through. However, he couldn't do that, because that would risk John's life, and Sherlock would never forgive himself.

For the next two years, Sherlock continued to hate himself for not being able to do anything when John had nightmares. For not being able to do anything when John would sit in his armchair in 221B staring at Sherlock's empty armchair for hours. For not being able to do anything when John got into a cab and told the driver to go to the cemetery. For not being able to do anything when John sat on the soaking wet grass next to a black headstone and cried for what seemed like an eternity. (Sherlock never knew that one man could hold so much sadness and so many tears).

Sherlock was forced to watch as John slowly took his own life back into his hands. Sherlock watched as John met Mary. Sherlock watched as John was about to propose to her.

~~

"Two words. Not dead" said Sherlock, the whole restaurant had seemingly died out.

John wasn't happy, oh no, he was furious.

But...John had an undying desire to tackle Sherlock Holmes in a big hug, slap him and feel that the detective was still alive. After all, this was his best friend and two years of seemingly no contact hadn't changed that.

And now, he was back.

John wouldn't trade that for the world. 

[I <3 HEARING FROM YOU]
Would you forgive your best friend if they died for two years and then came back?
-I would. Definitely. 100%. I would be mad. But I think I would have the reaction that Greg Lestrade had when Sherlock came back :D