Johnlock Oneshots

One Last Time

I sit at his grave one last time. I stare at the headstone mine will soon lay next too.
"I keep asking God for miracles Sherlock, if only God was willing to make a deal." I sigh wiping away a stray tear.
"I'd trade anything to be with you again Sherlock," I pull out my revolver, "I love you Sherlock". I grasp the revolver in my hands, debating between a bullet in the head or one in my chest.
"John! John! Stop!" I hear Greg's voice as the air rushes past my ear and the wind is knocked out of me. I'm on my back with an angry Greg over top of me.
"Where's my gun?"
"I'm reposing your gun John."
"It's my goddamn gun!" I shout, Greg's obvious surprised by my tone.
"I'm trying to help you John." His expression changes to a look of melancholy and his tone is soft. He eases off of me, my revolver in his hand.
"I just want to be with Sherlock again."
"I know." Greg sighs.
"Everytime I close my eyes I see him jump. Everytime I remember I never got to tell Sherlock I love him, I didn't get the opportunity to stop him. He was my best friend."
"Killing yourself won't solve that John." He says strictly.
I turn to look at Sherlock's headstone.
"I know; I just don't know how to go on." I can't help the tears streaming down my face.
"I'll take you home John but I refuse to leave you alone until I know you won't do anything stupid."
I don't know how to respond so I just nod.
He helps me to my feet and hands me my cain. My limp returned after Sherlock died.
Greg hails a taxi, the ride to 221b is awkard and quiet. Mrs.Hudson greets us at the door, slightly surprised by Greg.
"Another raid?" She tries to joke.
No one laughs.
She bids us good night and we head up to the flat. I open the door for Greg.
"Haven't moved anything?"
"Just the eyeballs from the fridge."
"Do you think you'll ever move anything?"
I think about it for a second.
"Never."
He nods thoughtfully.
"Do you mind if I take the couch tonight?"
"Of course. Good night Greg, thank you for...everything."
I make my way into Sherlock's bedroom. I sleep in his bed almost everynight, at first it smelled like him and I could pretend he was alive. I have a cd player and a stack of classical violin cds on the dresser; it's the only thing I've changed. The violin music is shit compared to Sherlock playing. God, I miss him.
I crawl under the comforter of Sherlock's bed and close my eyes.

POV Shift to Greg
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I can't stand to see John like this.
He's been like this since Sherlock 'died'. Sherlock has made it clear I can't tell John, that John's in danger. But if Sherlock doesn't come back soon I'm scared of what John might do. I hear John snoring and know I'm in the clear. I call Mycroft.
"Greg?"
"John's tried to off himself."
"Bloody hell, what happened?"
"He was sitting at your brother's grave with his revolver in his hand, I stopped him and took him home. I'm at 221B now keeping an eye on him."
"Thank you for handling...things." His thank you's are always in an odd choked tone. I don't believe he's fond of the word.
"You need to tell Sherlock what happened; for John's sake, please."
"I will."
"Thank you." He hangs up the phone and I allow myself to fall into dreamless sleep.
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End of Greg POV shift
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I awake to Sherlock in my arms. I kiss him; I see him sometimes when I'm conscious but I know it's not real. Sherlock Holmes will never really be in my arms. I kiss him once more and slide out of bed. He follows taking my hand. How I wish this was real. I walk hand and hand with my imaginary Sherlock into the living room.
"Sherlock?!" Mike's shock startles me.
"You can see him too?" Mike nods. My face goes white.
"I've missed you John." Sherlock's eyes meet mine.
I faint.