A Series of Johnlock One Shots

1 - Retirement

Retirement

(A/N: This is angsty, I know, what a horrible way to start. There are two endings. If you want to sleep well only read the first ending, if you want to cry read the second ending. It isn't brutal angst, just sad.)

Sherlock sat in his black leather armchair which had seen better days but he refused to get rid of it, falling prey to sentiment. Again. John was asleep in his newer, comfier armchair, only the top of his grey hair visible. He sighed, bored in retirement. He missed his job, he missed crime, he missed London, hell, he even missed Anderson.

The retired detective slowly got to his feet and reached for the violin, quietly tuning it after going so long without playing it before playing a soothing melody. It was something he hadn't played since Hamish was a baby. He drifted off into his crumbling mind palace, feeling rather sorry for himself. When he stopped playing he found there was the sound of a classical music coming from somewhere else in the house.

Sherlock followed the sound to the Watson-Holmes bedroom where John was shuffling around, dancing by himself as he tidied up what little mess they made these days. Sherlock smiled as he watched, despite himself. When John spun around Sherlock swooped in so that he wasn't alone anymore. They leaned into each other, their breathing and steps falling into sync. As they danced they discussed their day.

“Did Castiel come today?” Sherlock nodded, his still bouncy, curly hair brushing against John's cheek. Castiel was their grounds keeper who kept the gardens and tended to the bees.

“Was that Hamish's lullaby you were playing earlier?” Sherlock nodded again, feeling himself relaxing as if he was about to fall asleep, his face buried in John's shoulder. John guided Sherlock to their bed and laid him down before snuggling next to him. The long retired soldier watched his peacefully sleeping retired detective as his breathing slowed and relaxed. This is why they moved to the Sussex Downs, you couldn't hear any traffic, there was less crime and all John could hear was peace.

(A/N: Read on for the alternative ending. Warning: It's not exactly pleasant so don't read it if you are triggered easily.)

The long retied soldier watched his peacefully sleeping detective as his breathing slowed, and then continued to slow. John shook Sherlock, trying to wake him up but couldn't. He felt damp trails on his cheeks and his vision was blurred by tears but he ignored them when Sherlock's chest no longer rose and fell. He closed his eyes, water bursting its banks and splashing down his cheeks. John held onto his husbands wrist, subconsciously feeling his pulse slow to a halt. John snuggled closer to Sherlock who still felt warm as John fell asleep and didn't wake up.

(A/N: I told you not to read it. I'm sorry. It's so morbid and not a good way to start a new set of one shots. I promise they aren't all going to be like that. At least I let the first ending end happily, right?)