Johnlock One-shots

262.Get To See Him

I see a bunch of things on the internet and I think "Oh, won't my fans like that?" And laugh evily, petting my cat Pixie slowly like a really badboi because that's what I am. I'm so manly and hardcore, people stop me in the streets and say "Yo dood" and I stop and I wait, then they say something like this:
"What kind of fanfic did you make today? Is it fluff? Lots of cuddles?"
So I stop and I put my shades on and walk away like a boss. Sorry, I'm just rambling. Move along, nothing to see here but my embarrassing personality.
Also, I totally didn't cry while making this.
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John settled down in the chair, resting his hands on his lap and sighing softly. He'd had another one of his nightmares last night that left him crying.

"John," his therapist said, smiling gently at him. She leant back and stared at him. "those pills will really help you get some proper sleep."

John crossed his legs and sighed. "I'm sorry, I can't, I won't."

"Why don't you want your nightmares to stop?" She asked, leaning forwards. John sighed again and looked away.

"Because..." He whispered, then frowned. "It's only through my nightmares that I get to see him again." John remembered the face of his sweet detective, staring at him with a smile, a sparkle in his eyes. He turned on his phone and clicked his gallery, staring at the photo of Sherlock.

He needed to see his face again, not just the fragment that his mind gave him and then wisped away until it was left only a memory. A tear dropped onto the screen and John wiped it away quickly, then wiped his cheeks as well. Sherlock looked so peaceful in this picture. It was a picture he took of the man only moments before something tragic happened.

The setting sun and crunchy snow on the ground made Sherlock stand out, he looked like an angel with the gorgeous reds, oranges, and yellows mixing in the sky behind him. He had on his hat and his coat, gloves, and scarf. He had the widest smile on his face for the picture, and they took it because a bird landed on his finger.

John had went up to him after taking that, the bird fluttered away and landed on a tree. He leant up to kiss Sherlock, but before he could, he felt something sticky splash all over his face.

Sherlock yelled John's name and then his body collapsed. John saw the hole in his head and covered his mouth. He looked around for whoever shot him, but was unable to find anyone.

John called an ambulance, but Sherlock was already dead.

Now, he was in a room with his therapist, remembering him. He was meant to marry, actually. He had been engaged with Sherlock, and their wedding was going to happen later that month. They hadn't expected that day, that peaceful day, to be their last together.

"John." The therapist's voice cut John from his thinking. He looked down to his finger and twisted around his ring.

"I loved him," he whispered. "We were supposed to marry, and adopt children..." John put his face in his hands.

That was something his therapist was used to hearing by then. "John, can you say his name for me?" She asked.

John barely got out the 'Sh' part of Sherlock before bursting out in tears.

"No... I-I can't. It's too painful, it's too painful." John looked back at his ring. It was beautiful, with a blue diamond and pretty designs. Sherlock said he got him the diamond because it 'complimented his beautiful eyes.'

John smiled fondly at the memory. He stood up and cleared his throat.

"This is going to be our last session together." He said and looked down to his therapist.

"John, sit down. Changing therapists won't help you."

"I don't want to change therapists!" He yelled. "I want to be with Sherlock!"

He started running out of the building and he heard his therapist behind him.

"Sit down, John." She said, grabbing his arm. She wasn't supposed to touch him, but she couldn't just let him run out there and kill himself.

"I can't." He shook his head. "I'm going to go to sleep." 'and never wake up,' John added in his mind.

He waited the day out, then walked into the drug den Sherlock used to go to before John helped his addictions. Bill Wiggins, Sherlock's past dealer, shook his hand and greeted him.

"Hey," John said in a sort of depressed voice. He'd been crying all day, sitting in Sherlock's chair and staring at pictures of them. "I need something strong, please. We're being watched." He looked around, then shuffled a bit closer to Wiggins like he was scared. "They're watching me buy these..." John leant in, "put something poisonous in it. If I don't kill them, I'm going to be killed."

Wiggins nodded and ran off. He came back a few minutes later and handed John a bag of poison laced drugs. John thanked him and left. He walked like he was scared, looking around, until he was out of sight.

He went to the graveyard and laid down on the grass Sherlock was buried under. He spilled every single bit of those drugs in his mouth, then swallowed and closed his eyes.

It began to snow and John started shivering. He curled up and cried softly, looking at his ring.

He decided to say goodbye to everyone while he was waiting death, so he turned on his phone and dizzily made a group chat with everyone he knew, even Anderson and Donovan. He sent the message 'Goodnight, and goodbye. I'm going to be happy now. I'm going to see my Sherlock. JW'

Then, he turned off his phone and put in in his jacket pocket.

As he was slowly freezing to death and also overdosing, he started to feel... warm. He opened his eyes and looked up.

Sherlock set a hand on his shoulder and kissed his cheek. "Hey, Baby," he whispered.

"Hey, Babe," John slurred.

Sherlock laid down next to John. He was transparent and looked thin. He looked like he was rotting, too, but his face was alright. It was just his body that seemed to be decomposing.

Suddenly, Sherlock's figure got its colour back and John couldn't see through anymore. He looked all normal again.

Sherlock kissed John's lips and John leant into the kiss eagerly. He was feeling warm, and happy, and he could see the snow melting and the sun shining overhead. He sat up and they were no longer in the graveyard, but instead, sitting on a bench together, Sherlock was leaning against John's shoulder and talking to him about a case.

John remembered this moment. They went on a walk and talked for hours, then took a seat on a bench since they were getting tired.

As soon as it came, it left, and John was in the flat instead, sitting in his chair, looking at Sherlock stand by the window and play a gorgeous song on his violin. John could smell cake, and he turned around, the scene changing. Now he was in a bakery, standing by a very excited Sherlock who was telling the chef what they wanted for their wedding cake.

John visited so many other memories, sad ones, and happy ones, and ones he nearly forgot about. They all had Sherlock in them.

Sherlock was his life.

That's why he was seeing him now, at the very end.

John became suddenly aware of the freezing cold around him as he slipped into consciousness. Sherlock was holding his hand, whispering nice words to him, complimenting him.

John remembered this. When he couldn't get to sleep one night, Sherlock stood up the entire time just whispering compliments so he could sleep, but now he was helping John die. He was helping John enter his eternal rest.

And then, John's eyes closed and he fell asleep. He felt the warm feeling of Sherlock's hand disappear and instead he felt their lips pressed together, he felt everything slip away as he accepted the kiss, yet he was satisfied.

Now he was with Sherlock.