Sherlock; Heartfelt Lies

Chapter 4: Losing

John P.O.V

Blimey did it suck. We'd been home an hour since I was released from the hospital and I was still struggling to getting used to relying on Sherlock so much. The hospital had given me crutches in case I wanted to stand up, and God was it awful. Sherlock was bored, he tried to hide it, but I could tell. That's the thing about he and I, we always know.

I was sat in my chair, watching crap telly, while Sherlock was on the sofa, unmoving. I could tell that he was not okay with any of this, and I just wanted to comfort him as he did me.

"Sher? Could you.. ehm.. could you help me come over to the sofa?" Of course, my crutches were leaning on my chair, but I was tired and I just wanted Sherlock. As soon as he registered my mumbled words, he was by my side, lifting me with slender hands. With what seemed like little difficulty for a man so skinny, he carried me towards the sofa and sat down, my body lying on top of his. With tender hands he toyed with my now long-ish hair. I didn't want to go to the barbers to get it done, I didn't want to waste time on such mundane bollocks.

"What do you want to do today John?" His voice was kind, as it had been ever since this whole business had started. I thought deeply about his question for a minute when am idea of some worth popped into my head.

"Make a list. I want to make a list counting down all of the things we are going to do whilst we can, okay?"

"Sounds interesting. I'll go and get something to write on." He shuffled his body from underneath mine and went into his bedroom to get the stuff. I smiled at how patient he was with me as oppose to every other human.

He returned minutes later with a leather book in his hands and a calligraphy pen. My eyebrows furrowed in confusion.. why such a nice notebook? I looked at Sherlock questioningly and he just passed me the fine leather in which I did not know what it held.

As I ran my fingertips over the crispy edges of the stained pages, I couldn't help but smile. Every time I turned a new page there were new pictures of me and Sherlock. The first one was a slightly blurry picture of he and I after our first case, laughing breathless after our run around London. Right before he got rid of my psychosomatic limp. I don't even know how he got a photo of that. I carried on flicking through the pages, each new photo of me and Sherlock bringing a smile to my face. I get towards the more recent photographs and there is a drawing of me, with a quote underneath.

You're in my veins and I cannot get you out ~ Andrew Belle

The reality of this astounds me, because he was in my veins, and I certainly didn't want to get him out. On the next page was a letter from Sherlock to me;

Dearest John,

Thank you. People say thank you for the most tedious things, but know that as I say this I mean it with all of my being. Before I met you I had no true meaning to my life, I solved crimes because if I didn't my mind would shred itself to pieces. But you are a conductor of light, you took my mundane life and turned it into something of worth. I cannot express my feelings for you in words, as I don't think that any of them amount to nearly as much as you mean to me. Thank you for giving me my humanity back. Thank you for teaching me how to love. Thank you for all the times together, for our little infinity. I love you John Watson, more than words can say. Will you do me the honour of accepting my next request?

William Sherlock Scott Holmes x

I looked from the page to see Sherlock on one knee with a ring held out in a little velvet box. "John Hamish Watson, will you marry me?"

I threw myself forward, locking my arms around his neck and buried my face in his chest. I had never felt so infinite in my life. Lost in the moment, I remained still. That was until Sherlock patted me on the back.

"John, are you okay? Is that a yes? What's wrong?" I pulled away and looked at him. Bearing a hopeful grin, he smiled that way at me. Looking back down at his chest, I realised I was crying.

"Nothing is wrong you muppet, that's why I'm crying!" I laughed a little at his sociopathic lapse.

"You're crying because you're happy?" He looked at me, completely bemused when I nodded.

"Oh. That explains why I'm suppressing the urge to cry."

Laughing I pulled him on top of me, gaining a noise of surprise from him. He landed in a heap, laughing too.

William Sherlock Scott Holmes, my fiancé.

Sherlock P.O.V

"Okay! Now, your list, get writing." Swatting me on the arm, he put his pen to his lips in his version of a thinking pose. After a few minutes he began writing; I began deducing. John in his last few years of life, what would he do. He'd just accepted my marriage proposal, he was happy about us, obviously he'd do a number of things for my benefit, as usual.

Smiling, he faced his list towards me. His hand writing was beautiful, full of swirls and flicks, I began to read.

First 6 months:

1. A countryside wedding (if you want that).

2. Just us on a holiday to America.

3. A special present for you (you can't know yet, sorry).

So far, they were very.. adorable? I carried on reading, a strange lump forming in my throat.

4. Visit a water park.

5. Sky dive.

6. Film marathon.

One per month, not necessarily in that order, love John x

The last few confused me, as they differed greatly from the other, nevertheless, I would comply. If John wanted it, it was his. The thought of life after John's lists were over made me feel empty inside. He and I both knew that he'd only stop once he could no longer write.

"Which one are we going to do this month?"

"Doctor Who marathon." Huh?

"Doctor... Who?" His face drops as though I've suggested we go and kill Lestrade's mother. I didn't know that this set of films were so profound within their popularity amongst people.

"Oh God. It's going to be a long month."

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"John. It's bigger on the inside? Why is it bigger on the inside? How?!" I was completely perplexed. John chuckled, so I tore my eyes from the TV and looked up at him grumpily. He was smiling really goofily down at me, his eyes warm and soft, looking relaxed for the first time in a while.

"It's Doctor Who Sher, it's going to defy the facts of everything you believe in and make you weep like a young boy. And just you wait until we get onto the ones Moffat has been involved in." That sounded deliciously sinister.

Humour him.

I loved the programme already, but as I was not big on TV, I could already fall asleep only on the first episode. Behind my eyelids I recollected every memory of John in his separate mind palace, every moment of glory. When John couldn't see me, I was so lost, I couldn't loose John.

Whilst watching the TV all of my thoughts were trained on him.

His smile.

His eyes.

His laugh.

His ability to overlook the beast in me and love me as me, not as who he wants me to be.

Everything.

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A/N: I'm sorry it's so tiny. I thought I owe you an update, so here you go. I'll get writing more now that we're off school.-NH