Johnlock Oneshots

Falling For You

"It's what people do, don't they- leave a note?"

John gave a slight shudder as he stood in front of the dark, shiny stone, the name Sherlock Holmes engraved into it.

"Goodbye, John."

John straightened himself up, into a more soldierlike position. He needed to do this. It had been two years- and the pain was overwhelming. John Watson had seen his own best friend, Sherlock Holmes, commit suicide from St. Bart's Hospital.

"Look. I know you're... you're dead, and I know that, every single day, every single damn day, Sherlock, I always ask you to not be dead. I think, uh... It's time for me to be open to face the real facts..."

John shifted on his feet as tears began to brim his eyes.

"It's been hard without you, really, really hard. I miss the dead organs in the fridge, you playing the stupid violin at two in the morning, your experiments... and it- it kills me, Sherlock! I don't know what to do anymore, I'm just so broken inside, and I've just about figured why, now.

It's because I love you, Sherlock."

John paused, a tear falling down his cold cheek as he watched the unmoving stone. He sniffed, wrapping his jacket around himself more tightly. It was true, he did love Sherlock, right from the beginning. He just never told him; he knew Sherlock would never love John back- honestly, a sociopathic genius, loving an old, weary war doctor? Ridiculous, he thought. Absolutely ridiculous.

"God, Sherlock, it hurts so much," John choked out, beginning to sob, "How I could never just tell you the truth, waking up every single day just to know that you would never love me. But, that's alright. I... I can't do anything about it, anyone knows that, so..."

John reached his hand behind himself, taking out his gun shakily.

"I guess this is the only way. Because I want to be with you..." He began to slowly raise the gun up to his head, tears streaming down his face by now.

"I had a good time, yeah?" John paused for a second, "I still don't think you're a freak, or a fake. I do believe in you, Sherlock. I always will." The gun had reached John's temple, his finger ready on the trigger.

"...Catch you later, Sherlock."

John squeezed the trigger, yet at the same time, something blew him over, knocking the air out of his lungs as he fell over to his side. The gunshot rang out, but he had felt no pain, unless falling counted as pain.

"What...?"

John didn't exactly see what had knocked him over at first- he had arrived at the cemetery at nighttime, everything was hard to see. He heard a loud groan, and a figure laying a few feet away from him. It was a man, a few inches taller than him, and had dark, curly hair...

He caught his breath and scooted over to the man quickly, rolling him over. There was blood everywhere...

"Oh my God..." John stared at the man's face. It looked exactly like the dead person he was talking to only a few seconds ago.

The man wheezed, blood beginning to pool around him, "John, I-I don't have much time..."

"No. No, it can't be. You- you died..."

"John, j-just, just listen to me. Please." Sherlock reached a red, sticky hand up to John's own.

"How-" John grasped Sherlock's hand, confused, and unable to think clearly.

"Don't. Just, l-listen. Over the last two years- I know, I caused you unbelievable pain. Please, forgive me, John."

"Sherlock, I do forgive you, but, don't die on me now, you- you can't do that to me... not for real..."

"I'm sorry J-John, I just don't w-want to see you... dead." Sherlock coughed on a bit of blood, his body trembling and his chest heaving quickly.

"Stop it, Sherlock, we... we need to get you to the hospital... you're loosing too much... too much blood." John squeezed Sherlock's hand, his other moving to where Sherlock had been shot, the blood still slowly dripping out.

Sherlock shook his head, "No... John, I-" Sherlock let out a low, raspy breath as his eyes began to dim.

"Sherlock... wake up..."