Goodbye, John » {Johnlock} ON HIATUS

3. Desperate

John held the door open for Mary as they walked out of the coffee shop, carrying the leftover of their drinks. He took one last look at the small room and it's neat, tile floors before walking alongside Mary.

"We should try this again sometime," John suggested.

Mary looked at him in shock before smiling. "I never thought I'd hear those words come out of your mouth."

"Oh, I'm not that bad," he replied confidently. Mary gave him a look. "Okay, maybe a little."

She laughed and began to nod her head, "Yes, we should do this again."

As they made the journey back to Mary's flat, they talked more about what had happened during the time they had spent away from each other. Or rather, Mary talked, and John listened. Not much went on in John's life if someone else wasn't around.

As they were walking, John realized how much of a better mood he was in. He might have even felt the slightest bit happier, and that was all thanks to her company. He smiled to himself at the thought, looking at Mary with affection as she babbled on. She finally took notice after a moment of John simply staring at her while she talked. "What?" she asked with a confused grin.

"Nothing, really," John said, still smiling. "I'm just really glad to have done this with you."

She looked at the ground, blushing, before looking straight ahead of them, unable to look John in the eyes. John let out a whisper of a chuckle and turned to face the front as well, the both of them smiling to themselves as they continued on their walk.

Suddenly, he felt something brush against his left hand. He looked down and glanced up at Mary, before returning to his previous position with a smirk plastered onto his face. He let his hand brush against Mary's once more, causing her smile to stretch even farther across her face. They continued to play with each other's hands before Mary finally caught John's hand in her own. At first, he stiffened up at the sudden romantic gesture, but he quickly eased into the familiar but strange feeling. They walked like that all the way back to Mary's place, hearts beating fast but their mouths stitched closed.

When Mary slipped her hand out from John's, he was confused, but let her go.

"This is me," she said, tilting her head to point at the door.

John took a look at the door before turning back to her. "So it is."

"I guess I'll go in now," she said with a giggle, her cheeks flushed pink.

"I guess you will," he replied with a smile.

She turned to fumble with her keys to unlock the door. At first, she stepped in. But then she paused. She turned back around and planted a warm kiss on John's right cheek, before retreating into her flat, leaving him in a state of shock. When he was sure she was going to stay inside, he turned to leave. He raised his left hand to his cheek, before straightening out and limping his way to his home.

Normally, if he were with Sherlock, he would simply call a cab. But he was running short on money due to the lack of employment. He had thought about going back into his work at a hospital, but it was no good. Any time John tried to convince himself it would be best for him to go out and do something productive, he couldn't bring himself to actually put in any effort to do it. He never even picked up the phone to make some sort of an appointment to get the job. John was barely making it on his own. In fact, he really wasn't. Lestrade had felt pity for John, so he was able to slip in quite a bit of money from the department for the first couple months, until he was nearly caught and had to put a stop to it. Mike Stamford, one of his old colleagues, had also been kind enough to keep in touch after Sherlock's death and continues to send several checks to John-much to John's disapproval. But, nonetheless, he accepted the money so he could pay for his rent and occasionally buy some fruit or bread. He wasn't much of an eater; in fact, he barely ever felt an appetite. He would text Mike only to say something along the lines of "you didn't have to," but he always got the same response-

"Yes I did."

He hated being dependent on someone else, but as of right now, that was all he could bring himself to do. He knew Mike would understand, but it still unsettled him just how needy he was. After all the history he had with Mike, this wasn't something he wanted to burden him with. Especially since he was in the same state Mike had found him in-broke, and living in a not-so-comfy flat. He was in a great debt to Mike. A debt that John hoped he could one day repay.

John was so deep in thought that when he finally looked up from his feet, it wasn't his flat that appeared in front of him. Instead, he had subconsciously set foot on the familiar grass that surrounded the grave of the one and only, Sherlock Holmes. He looked around, confused. How did he end up here?

His legs were beginning to wear out, so he decided to have a seat on the grass, facing the stone. He let out a sigh of defeat, realizing that he was not in fact ever going to recover from his friend's death. As he picked at the grass, he began to think. And he began to think more than he normally would.

John was the type of person who would was always confused when first introduced to a foreign situation, but over time he would settle into a firm opinion on the matter. He would understand how things work, how it should work, and how he liked it to work. But, Sherlock was an exception to this about himself-the only exception.

In the beginning, when he first moved in with Sherlock, he wasn't sure what sort of relationship he shared with him or how their relationship would develop in the future. During their first encounter with others, he described themselves as 'colleagues.' But more time went by and suddenly they were friends, and then best friends. But the closer they became, the more complex their relationship was. Not that John ever had a problem with it, he always just assumed that's how things were with a person like Sherlock. But was that all?

It was true; their relationship was intense from the start. But that was something John loved about it. Perhaps it was the 'thrill of the chase'.

John smiled at the thought.

But, thinking back, John always had to argue with himself internally as to what exactly it was he felt towards Sherlock. Even now, sitting here at Sherlock's grave, it's always friend. Was that what Sherlock was? Just a friend?

He shook his head. Of course Sherlock was just a friend. What more could he be?

John's heart stopped. He tried to reason with himself, and he tried even harder to think this through the right way. He knew he wasn't gay, even if no one else believed him. But maybe there was more to it than that..?

John's eyebrows furrowed in confusion and frustration. He thought back, hundreds of flashbacks hitting him all at once. All the times John had glanced down at Sherlock's lips, all the times he would stare at Sherlock and observe all his features, and all the times he would think to himself just what color Sherlock's eyes were. Every time they held eye contact for far too long but neither backed down from it, every time John would touch Sherlock and let his hand linger for just a bit. Every single time he would stare daggers at any woman who came close to Sherlock, every damn time he-

John slapped his hand to his mouth, feeling bile come up his throat. He stood up quickly, ditching his cane and he ran from Sherlock's grave until he couldn't hold it in anymore. Puke erupted from John's mouth as he bent over, leaning onto a tree for support as the thick liquid ran over its roots and sank into the dirt. When the last of it dribbled from his lips, he trudged back to the grave and sank to his knees. The taste of vomit was left in his mouth and his throat felt rough. His head was pounding as well, the echoes of his flashbacks bouncing off the walls in his mind. He tried to massage to pain away, but it didn't work. He sat on the ground, sobbing with every bit of energy left within him.

He threw his hands down on the ground in front of him, burying his face into the ground. It took over an hour for John to finally burn out of fuel.

As the last tear ran down his face, he slipped into a deep sleep.

A/N - GUYS I AM SO SORRY. I hadn't planned on updating this soooooo late, but school has got me caught up way more than expected. I'm having a holiday break soon, so I am going to write during that time and hope that I can bring on the most that I can for those of you who are reading this.