Our Dearly Departed

Hanging Out with Graham Cracker

    "Why do you look so angry?" Greg wondered as John sat in English class, waiting for the class to begin. He was still going over the argument in his head, clenching and unclenching his fists and pretending that they would make contact with Henry's distorted face. John looked over at him with boredom, taking a deep breath and scowling.
"Oh, I guess it's nothing really, everyday sort of...anger." John sighed, brushing off the question and trying to prop open his book and pretend to read. Greg just slid into the seat next to him, leaning his head on his hand and raising his eye brows.
"Come on John, what happened? You can tell me, I'm very trustworthy." Greg insisted.
"You're not trustworthy, shut up!" John insisted, smacking Greg lightly on the arm. Greg just laughed, rolling his eyes as if John were being too dramatic. "And it's not even a secret." John added.
"Then why aren't you telling me?" Greg wondered.
"Because if I share, I feel like I will have to go over and punch Henry Knight right in the braces." John decided. Greg laughed, looking very intrigued.
"Alright, this is getting interesting, what happened with the school weirdo?" Greg wondered with a tone of mystery. John sighed, biting the inside of his check and trying to think of the best way to deliver this and make himself sound just a bit mentally stable.
"Well, he was talking about how the risen dead should all be put down, and how there will be no cure for the disease and how they're all going to want to kill people and eat their brains and such. So I yelled at him, and really, really wanted to hit him with a chair." John admitted. Greg grinned proudly, as if John's sudden burst of anger made him very proud of himself.
"Brilliant John, brilliant." He decided.
"That's not brilliant, it's mean, unnecessary, and who knows who else shares his views? Who knows how many people want to put a bullet in my Sherlock's head?" John groaned.
"Ooh, wait, we're talking about your Sherlock now? I thought we were talking about the other one." Greg muttered, making his best stupidly confused face. John groaned, slapping him again and settling back into his seat, crossing his arms with a scowl.
"Hey mate, come on, I'm sure there'll be a cure, everything's fine, Sherlock's acting normally, right? He's fine, there's nothing going on in his brain that you need concern yourself with." Greg assured.
"No but there is, he told me. He's got it to, they all do." John whispered. He wasn't really looking at Greg, but he could almost hear the smile fall off of his face, searching desperately for a response that wouldn't sound too mean.
"It'll be okay John; it's always okay in the end." Greg assured, patting John's shoulder before scuttling along back to his seat for roll call. John was left sitting in his seat, not feeling the slightest bit better. When finally English was over and they were released to lunch, John and Greg walked to their lockers to find Sherlock standing next to them, staring at the wall in front of him as some girl with brown hair was trying to talk to him. John faintly recognized her as Molly Hooper, a shy girl from the grade above that was always very nice to everyone. Maybe she was asking him how he was feeling or something cheesy like that.
"Ah, John, thank God!" Sherlock exclaimed, taking a step towards John and hitting Molly with his backpack that was slung over his shoulder.
"Hey Sherlock." John said with a smile, and Sherlock's smile stretched wider than ever.
"Hello Molly." Greg said with a smile, suddenly acting very calm and flirtatious. Molly blinked once, her cheeks getting a bit red on account of being recognized.
"Hi...um...Graham?" she muttered unsurely, looking very ashamed.
"Greg, but, you know, Graham works. Like the cracker. I guess." Greg shrugged, leaning on the lockers.
"Real smooth." John muttered, and Greg elbowed him in the stomach.
"Well, I better go, see you guys later." Molly muttered, looking slightly uncomfortable and walking down the hallway, the bow in her hair flopping lamely against her ponytail.
"Did you just flirt with Molly Hooper?" Sherlock wondered.
"I tried to." Greg admitted, shrugged as if it was no big deal. Sherlock looked rather confused, as if he couldn't tell why Greg would ever want to do that.
"That's how someone...flirts?" he asked, looking at John in confusion.
"Well, yes, I guess so. I thought you might know how someone flirts considering I was flirting with you for a good three months." John pointed out with a laugh.
"I never remember you saying something as stupid as that." Sherlock decided. John nodded with a laugh, seeing Greg's cheeks go red with shame.
"Ya, well, that's because I never said anything stupid like that. I was good at flirting, while Greg just talks." John pointed out.
"Shut up John, you're a terrible flirt!" Greg insisted with a small smile. John looked around with a stupid gape, as if pretending to be surprised, and Sherlock just chuckled.
"I'm sorry Greg, who here has a boyfriend and who's single?" John wondered.
"Oh Sherlock shouldn't count." Greg insisted with a defensive frown.
"Why not?" Sherlock asked, sounding partially offended.
"Because you're you, I'm pretty sure you'd go out with anyone who acknowledged your existence." Greg decided.
"I would not. You notice me, and I'd rather die than go on a date with you." Sherlock defended. Greg just groaned, seeing his argument was going nowhere, and started off to the cafeteria, shaking his head in annoyance.
"He's helpless." John decided.
"Indeed he is." Sherlock agreed, and with that he grabbed John's hand and they walked down to the cafeteria together, swinging their arms as they went. They had a little spot in the back of the cafeteria, where no one else dared sit because they didn't want to hang out with John and his gang of misfit friends. Greg and Sherlock were usually the only ones who made it every day, Mike and Sarah sometimes showed up for lunches but they had so many clubs and meetings that they were rarely ever there. This was one of the days where it was only the three of them, so there were a couple of empty seats until the next group of friends at the table. Sherlock and John had both packed a lunch and Greg bought whatever slop the cafeteria tried to pass as food, so they sat there for a little bit before Greg finally made his appearance.
"I don't want to go to the meeting tonight; could I just sneak over to your house?" Sherlock wondered as they were eating.
"No, come on Sherlock, you know that this is the right thing to do. Besides, it's good for you, I think that talking to people who really understand will help." John decided.
"Are you part of a gang or a book club?" Greg wondered as he started on his cardboard pizza.
"Group therapy, for the dead people." Sherlock groaned. "My mom signed me up and it's terrible."
"Ooh, that would be really boring." Greg decided. "But really fun for an outsider. Like, do you talk about death? Hell? Did you meet God?" Greg wondered with an amazed expression on his face.
"Don't be stupid Greg, there is no Heaven, no Hell, no nothing, it's fairytales constructed for the humans not to fear death. It's a lot less scary if you think you're just walking through the pearly gates into paradise." Sherlock snapped.
"Well, I never really thought I'd go through the pearly gates, but alright." Greg shrugged.
"Oh come on Greg, what did you ever do to send you to Hell? Huh, cheated on your homework?" John laughed.
"I don't know, just...you know, stuff." Greg shrugged.
"Trying to be all rebellious." John laughed, and Greg just scowled.
"So what was it like then, if not Heaven or Hell, was it just darkness?" Greg wondered with an eager smile. Sherlock sighed, shrugging as if it didn't seem too important at the moment.
"Dreams. Nightmares really, that's it. The small part of consciousness that is left in your brain replaying your life in front of your eyes, tragedies, fantasies." Sherlock muttered, staring at a pretzel in his fingers without bothering to eat it.
"That's really cool, so it's like just going to sleep forever?" Greg wondered, abandoning his lunch for this exciting conversation.
"I guess so, but it's more like paralysis." Sherlock admitted with a shrug.
"Well sign me up, that sounds great." Greg said with a smile.
"You wouldn't get far, wouldn't you just rise?" John wondered. "The last thing we need is Greg the zombie."
"Oh stop it John, you love my company, admit it." Greg said with a teasing smile. John just rolled his eyes, finishing off his sandwich and beginning to absentmindedly pick at his potato chips. When school was over Sherlock and John went their separate ways, exchanging a quick and mournful goodbye before Sherlock climbed into the front seat of his mother's car to bring him to the meeting. John sighed, walking to his car alone and unlocking the doors before a voice behind him made him turn.
"Hey John!" Greg called, running from the sidewalk and making a mad dash across the parking lot. John groaned as Greg had to jump out of the way to avoid being crushed by a school bus that was getting into the lineup.
"Hi Greg." John muttered when Greg finally arrived, panting and leaning against the car for support.
"Hey..." he muttered, taking deep breaths, "Wanna hang out?" he wondered with a smile. John sighed, but he couldn't think of any excuse to send Greg away, especially when the poor kid almost got hit by a bus.
"Ya, alright." He agreed, pulling open the door and getting into the driver's seat.
"Brilliant." Greg said with a smile, getting into the front seat and operating the radio while John drove away.
"Where do you want to go?" John wondered, meandering through the lanes of traffic through town.
"No idea." Greg admitted. John nodded, so he just kept driving.
"We'll just go to my house, that way your mom doesn't keep coming up and asking if we want snacks." John decided, and Greg nodded in agreement.
"I don't know what it is with my mother and snacks." Greg muttered, as if this were some deep, psychological question. John nodded, pulling into his driveway and grabbing his backpack out of the backseat, stepping into the sun and stretching a little bit before slamming the door and locking it. Greg had his backpack slung over his shoulder, leaning against the car with a smile.
"So, like, what is it with you and Sherlock now?" he wondered. John looked at him with confusion, not exactly sure what he was getting at.
"What do you mean?" John asked, starting his way to the house.
"I mean like, I know you broke up with him and stuff, but does he even remember any of it? Does he get a new mind after he dies?" Greg wondered as John pulled open the door and announced their arrival to his mother.
"He remembers fine, it's just, you know, complicated." John shrugged.
"Complicated as in he doesn't forgive you, or complicated like you both don't know if it's appropriate to kiss each other without the other's consent?" Greg wondered.
"I don't know, come on mate, it's just complicated." John insisted, throwing his backpack at the wall and walking up the stairs, Greg following closely behind. Harry wasn't home, as usual, probably with her shady friends behind some gas station.
"He's just been acting really weird, even for Sherlock, kind of...possessive?" Greg muttered, as if wondering if that word was acceptable to use or not.
"Oh ya, he's possessive, kind of creepy actually. He refuses to do anything except be with me, like he doesn't even want to sleep in his own house, like he's scared of family time or something." John shrugged.
"Maybe he wants to make up for all the time he lost when he was dead." Greg suggested. John shrugged, flopping on the bed and flipping through the channels on the TV.
"I don't know what's gotten into him. Mycroft seems to think that it's some instinct he has, like, a zombie instinct. Mycroft thinks that all the dead people rose to take revenge on the people that killed them, that each one of them had someone to blame and therefore something to avenge." John pointed out.
"So that's why Sherlock's stalking you? So that he could kill you when you're not expecting it?" Greg wondered. John shook his head doubtfully, no, there have been plenty of times Sherlock could've ended John's life, it would've only been too easy. No, there had to be another reason.
"Maybe it's just the disease getting prepared, maybe even before he goes rogue he needs to be with me, just so that when it happens he won't have to hunt me down." John shrugged. "I have no idea."
"You really think he's going to go crazy?" Greg muttered, kicking off his shoes and flopping onto the bed.
"Mycroft seems to think so, and everyone else as well, but I don't know. I mean, he's Sherlock, could you even imagine him trying to kill someone?" John wondered.
"Oh yes. Definitely. Every time he looks at me I imagine he's planning on the most painful way to kill me." Greg pointed out with a shiver.
"Ya well, he just doesn't like you." John defended.
"He doesn't like anyone, that's kind of my point. You're the only one he would never kill, so I can't imagine that you're going to be the one to die." Greg insisted. John nodded in silent agreement, but he kind of thought that if this disease does take hold that it wouldn't really care who Sherlock loved or despised.
"Do we know all of the people that died?" Greg wondered.
"There's a list somewhere, but I don't have it, and I doubt they'd make it public. I know Sherlock came back, and Mrs. Turner, and Carl Powers. There's twenty four though, one for every hour." John pointed out.
"But they all rose at two o'clock." Greg pointed out.
"I don't know, maybe they're internally wired to go rogue at a certain hour, that way the attacks don't seem linked." John shrugged.
"Ya, maybe." Greg agreed. "So do you know how Mrs. Turner died? I know Carl drowned in the pool, but who could we blame for that?"
"I don't know, maybe his parents, for not keeping a better eye on him?" John suggested.
"Or maybe it was murder." Greg said in a spooky voice, making John roll his eyes.
"Who would ever want to kill Carl Powers?" John wondered with a laugh.
"I don't know mate, just someone. Maybe the parents wanted the insurance money." Greg suggested.
"And kill their own son? That's barbaric." John insisted.
"Just an idea." Greg shrugged. "But we all know how Carl died, it was big news, Mrs. Turner went quietly, she was older, so how did she croak?"
"Mix up in the medication, I think she overdosed or took the wrong pills or something, but she died in her house." John remembered.
"Alright, husband, pharmacist maybe?" Greg suggested.
"Well, if she's getting possessive of the local pharmacist we'll definitely know something's up." John decided with a laugh. Greg chuckled a little bit, but obviously his brain was working for once, and he had no time for humor.
"And we all know who's to blame for Sherlock's death." John muttered. Greg was silent again, but this time it was uncomfortable, as if he were trying to think of something to say to somehow comfort John.
"That's rubbish John, it wasn't your fault." He insisted. John just sighed, shaking his head.
"It was, we all know it was. He warned me." John pointed out. Greg looked at John in surprise, as if he hadn't known this part of the story.
"He did?" Greg asked.
"Ya, his last words to me before I left. If you walk out that door, I will kill myself." John whispered, feeling his eyes start to burn even though he had no reason to be sad. Sherlock was alive; there was no reason to be guilty. But still, somehow, he was.
"Aw man, I never knew that part." Greg muttered. "I'm sorry."
"It's over now. He's alive, it's fine. One mistake, but it's fixed, it's okay." John shrugged, trying to concentrate on the TV.
"Have you guys, you know, talking about it?" Greg wondered. John shook his head silently, watching as the little men on TV kicked the soccer ball around. "You should." Greg muttered.
"Ya well, Sherlock's already at therapy, he doesn't need another session when he comes home." John insisted.
"But all that weight, that might be why you two still feel uncomfortable around each other, that's a pretty enormous elephant in the room, and you can't just ignore it." Greg pointed out.
"I'll talk about it if he wants to talk about it, but until then, watch me ignore it." John snapped, and Greg just sighed, knowing when enough is enough.