Just a Dream (johnlock)

Chapter Four

As I woke, I felt empty and gone. I trudged from my... Sherlock's... bed and threw on his silk robe. Why am I doing this? I thought to myself. Why am I still holding on? He's gone... Why do I still try? But then I remembered, Harry. She would be so disappointed to know that mum raised a coward.

"Get ahold of yourself, John. This- what you're doing- is rubbish." I told myself. I slid into the kitchen and made coffee. Black, the way that Sherlock usually took his. You're obsessing, John.

Today was Tuesday. The day I usually go to see Sherlock. His... grave. I dressed in all black. Black trousers, black boots, black coat. I walked from 221B all the way to the graveyard gates. I met Hannah there, a woman in her mid-twenties who sold roses for the grieving. I always bought a dozen white ones.

"Nice to see you, John. Do you want the usual?" She inquired. I nodded and handed her the money, then sadly sulked into the graveyard.

Looking up into the sky, it was looking like rain. I had to hurry, if I didn't want to get wet.

I places the roses on top of the grave, right next to the old ones. They were beginning to get brown, yellow, and withered. I brushed off the falling petals and put them into a small grocery bag. I always kept the grave clean.

"Hello, Sherlock." I said. Against my conscience, I sat on the ground, on top of the plastic bag of rotting flowers. "I miss you."

There was no response. Only the howling of wind picking up. It blew my blond hair into my face. I needed a cut, desperately.

"Well, this week Harry called. She said I needed to get my life back together." I looked at Hannah, who had begun to pick up her stand, and wheel it away.

"She yelled at me for drinking, again. Sherlock, its so lonely in 221B all alone. Mrs. Hudson comes to visit sometimes. But not much anymore. She's been so sick lately. She's getting old.

" It scares me, Sherlock. I'm afraid of losing Mrs. Hudson. I don't want to. I've already lost you. And Molly is married now, with a little boy of her own. His name is William Sherlock. After you, Sherlock. We miss you.

"William is the cutest thing. He's almost two now. He can talk, and he's so intelligent. He has the fluffiest brown hair and darling green eyes. And he actually prefers to be called Sherlock. I babysit him sometimes.

" If you call him William, he will ignore you. He likes violins. A lot. He reminds me of you every day. I have a picture of him on my... our fridge.

"I promised him I would teach him violin when he got bigger. He likes biscuits and strawberries, and he calls me Uncle Watson. Sometimes he asks me what you were like. I tell him, and he beams at me.

" Oh, Sherlock. Why won't you just come back?" I began to cry, and just as I did a clap of thunder sounded. It was loud, and shook the ground. As I walked away from the grave, I could have sworn I saw Sherlock.

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*A LETTER TO SHERLOCK*

Dear Sherlock,

I write every day now, because I cannot see the grave every day. I do regret not being able to. But I have a job to attend to.

Oh, friend. I miss you so! Sometimes I hear you in the wind. Sometimes I hear you in the thunder that sounds in the distance. Sometimes, I see you in tufts of smoke. I take a second look and you are gone.

Oh, friend. I'm doing poorly, and Mrs. Hudson had to go to the hospital today. She is too sick now Sherlock. She will be gone soon, and I will be all alone. By myself once again.

Why won't you just come back already? I've been waiting so very long. Its been three years. Sherlock, if you don't return I might just have to join you.

But then, Harriet would miss me. And so would little William. Molly would have to pay an arm and a leg for a baby sitter. So I have to stay.

It gets quite lonely here in 221B. But sometimes, in the corner of my eye, I swear I can see you smiling at me.

But sometimes I wonder if you were really there at all.

Or are you really... Just a dream?

Yours Forever,

John.