Leave me - Sherlock Oneshot

John sat limply in his chair, staring at his un-touched cup of cold tea. The flat was quiet as death, and sprinkled with dust and clutter.

And John still felt it was empty. Sherlock's old possessions spread around the flat created barely more than painful memories, yet he couldn't get rid of them. It was all that was left of his friend, remnants of gone by days that played the part of his ghost in the lonely flat.

He felt sick all the time, partly because of the depression, partly because he no longer wanted to eat, causing his clothes to hang of him awkwardly at his bony joints and baggy on hia weak limbs.

He rarely slept because every time he closed his eyes, he couldn't help imagining more new and tormenting scenarios.

What if...

What if he been there earlier to stop him jumping? What if he'd tried to break Sherlock's fall? What if he had managed to talk him out of it, or spotted what he was going to do?

All the what if's were so painful , because that event was never to be changed, there was no going back, Sherlock was dead, gone. Not in his head though. He saw things...Sherlock walking around the flat, he never really was. He was dead and rotting, in a hole in the ground.

He put the mug down and shifted in his chair, his baggy clothes shifted, slipping slightly off of his shoulder. He never went out, he didn't need new clothes.

He ran his hands through what was left of his greying hair. It had thinned with stress, his bad eating habit, through the rocks thrown at his windows, the hate messages, the death of his friend.

The man he had loved ... the man he'd loved but never told. Not even at his grave , it was too late ...too painful to do that ...it was too late because the bastard had gone and thrown himself off a building and left John without a hope...

His head burned and the tears came to his eyes, it wasn't fair.

" Where are you ?" he mumbled

" WHY DID YOU GO? YOU FUCKING COWARD!" he screamed at no one in frustration and then started to sob, leaning against the wall, dizzy from standing.

"I'm here John." he heard a low voice from behind him.

"No you're not , I'm gonna turn around and no one will be there "

"John, look " The voice pleaded.

He turned around, Sherlock was there, he looked perfect , the same as he always had done, no crack to his skull, or blood dripping from his face, no maggots in his eyes unlike the hallucinations that greeted John frequently. This was another hallucination, John knew it. Sherlock was gone.

Some people out there had thought he was alive, seen him.  Bullshit.

"Leave me alone , you're not real."  He spat ,turning his back again .

" John , I'm real I'm alive " The apparition persisted.

"You're dead." John shook his head, his voice weak and pained, "You're dead, I can prove it"

" Oh yeah , how ?" Sherlock's mouth curled at the corner in the way he used to, when he was real.

John smiled sadly , " I'll wake up when I do it "

" Do what ?"

John gulped , " In every dream I kiss you ,but I always wake up as soon as I do. "

This Sherlock stepped closer to John, put a cold hand on his face. He felt so real. He closed his eyes and brushed his lips against John's so gently. A tear ran down John's cheek.

"John this isn't a dream." he said quietly as he pulled away.

John shook his head,

"A dream, a hallucination,  it doesn't matter, dead people don't come back in reality."

" I was never dead.".

"Yes.  yes you were-are ,you're dead , you're dead , you're dead ,leave me alone ,just leave me " he fumbled for the gun in his waistband, , pushing him away and shaking.

" Leave me alone,you're not real, you're dead, leave me. "

"John put the gun down, I'm real. " This Sherlock stepped further away. John shook his head.

"Leave me."

Tears streamed down John's face, and then he pulled the trigger on the gun , hitting the man in the head, crying and shaking his head, he dropped the gun as he whispered,

"Just make it stop..."

Blood pooled onto the floor and John curled back up in his chair and sobbed .

He woke up to find himself still alone, as always. He stretched his arms and made two cups of tea to go cold.

He dropped the mugs to the floor with a crash as he turned around. He knew then he had been awake. He realised what he had done...because Sherlock hadn't left...His body,and his blood still graced the floor.

Why?

Because dead people stay dead in reality.