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Picture perfect memories scattered all around the floor
Reachin' for the phone 'cause I can't fight it anymore
And I wonder if I ever cross your mind
For me it happens all the time

John laid in his bed at 221B Baker Street with red, crying eyes. Even after nearly 7 months of knowing Sherlock wasn't coming back, he still couldn't get over the fact that he was gone.

All the pictures of him and Sherlock were scattered across the floor like leaves in the wind. A small movement was felt inside of him and he rubbed his swollen stomach, containing one piece of the man that left them behind.

It's a quarter after one, I'm all alone and I need yo

Nine Months - Chapter 1 of 9 - BrokenSherlock stops running so abruptly I almost bowl him over. I take a look around the inner court of the derelict warehouses. The place is completely empty except from a few broken crates.

“Where did he go?” I ask, still breathing hard from the run.

Sherlock's eyes darts up and down.

“Door”. He points to a door hanging slightly askew on its hinges.

“It's the only other way out of the courtyard excepting the gate we came through.”

“Try to be careful this time Sherlock. Last time you wound up with several sprains and enough bruises to supply a heavy weight champion”. I keep my voice low, hoping

Sherlock and John - Omegle 5You're now chatting with a random stranger. Say hi!
You and the stranger both like Sherlock.

You: John opened the door silently, trying not to wake Sherlock - if he slept at all. It was about midnight, John originally wanted to stay with Sarah this night, but they had a dispute and he left. He slinked into his bedroom, sat down on his bed and sighed.

Stranger: Sherlock couldn't sleep at all. He never slept when John wasn't home, it just felt wrong. He still went to bed, but only kept looking at the ceiling for hours. When he heard the little noises, it made him smile a bit, but it instantly made him feel bad. Something was wrong, John shou

Sherlock and John - Omegle 6You're now chatting with a random stranger. Say hi!
You and the stranger both like Sherlock.

You: Sherlock stood in front of the window and glanced at the beautiful starry sky. He seemed absentminded and thoughtful, while the stars were reflecting in his eyes. "It's beautiful, isn't it?" He now muttered. Unclear if he was talking to hisself or to his flatmate.

Stranger: "Hmm?" John looked up from reading his book. "Oh... yeah. It is."

You: Sherlock seemed to smile for one second. Today he was a little bit weird, the whole day long. Smiling, enjoying the view of the starry sky, even being nice to other people. "You seem more interested in

2 years, 11 months, and 26 days Chapter 3John entered his flat, and his depression instantly returned. He sighed and walked into the kitchen to brew some tea that he wouldn't end up drinking. As he was filling the kettle with tap water, there was a crash from the direction of Sherlock's room. John dropped the kettle and dashed towards the noise. He stopped when he saw the dark figure sitting calmly on the bed. The man had curly hair, a very blue scarf, and a black woolen trench coat. His grey eyes bore right through John's soul, and his beautifully high cheekbones stood out against his ivory skin.

"Sherlock," John breathed, and that is when he lost it. John Watson, the soldier, the

Time Goes On 1 week later…
You told me once...that you weren't a hero.
There were times I didn't even think you were human, but let me tell you this- you were ... the best man, the most 'human' human being that I've ever known and no one will ever convince me that you told me a lie. So there.
I was so alone... and I owe you so much.
One more thing, one more miracle, Sherlock, for me. Don't... be... dead.
Would you do that, just for me? Just stop it. Just stop this!

1 month later…
Hey. It's been a while.
I've moved out of the flat. It was too much with you not being there. Mrs Hudson wanted me to stay, bless her. She said she'd be lo

Morning LipsGood morning you." John said cheerfully as he walked out of the kitchen to see Sherlock slumped in his armchair, his feet dangling over the edge and his head propped up on his hand.

"Hummm?" Sherlock asked, raising his head just enough to look at John. "Oh, Good morn-"

John came up to him and kissed him on the cheek. Sherlock, shocked, sat up a little more and watched as John went over and sat down in the chair across from Sherlock. John smiled, noticing he was staring.

"You okay?" John asked beaming.

"You just..." Sherlock began, then stopped mid-sentence and touched his cheek with his fingertips, smiling. "Yeah." He said. "Yeah. Perfect

ViolinJohn sat on the couch, looking as though bothered at something. Something not being the case, he was ferrous. He had always tried to get Sherlock to see what he meant. Every "brilliant" he muttered, every "bloody, that's fantastic" he whispered in his breath, every gaze he shot him; they all meant something more then just a job-well-done.

Sherlock always seemed like a hard person to reach, going off on his own path, doing things his way, being the lazy ass he was. But John never would have guessed that Sherlock could be so... -blind-! The great Sherlock freaking Holmes, blind.

Blind to feelings, adornment, caring and sometimes even loving a

Hospital'Sherlo-!' John hurried after his friend down the hospital corridor, apologizing as he passed a nurse that Sherlock had run into.

Sherlock's face was livid, but there was a hint of repressed emotion behind his eyes as he came down the hall quickly, John trailing behind him. Finally, he found the door and paused outside it, taking several swift, shallow breaths. Then, as John caught up and stood beside him, Sherlock breathed in deeply, composing himself, and opened the door.

She was sleeping. The wound on her head was exposed, surrounded by bruising and lined with stitching. And there was even more bruising on several parts of her face.

Sh

three years after reichenbach fall (1)It has been about three years, I think, but I still can't believe he's gone. I even can't believe that only about three years have passed by… for me it was about three thousand years.
Today – I believe – it was Monday. Or maybe Tuesday… I really don't know and I also don't care. I'd never care about weekdays since Sherlock fell. I only remember that I've visited his grave in the last two years every second day… but this year, I left it out. There was too much pain.
The last time I visited the graveyard was about a few months ago... I believe it was nearly Christmas, because of the lights and Christmas-decoration eve

Basil of Baker Street and the Post-Case Off DaySherlock strode into the apartment in a huff, thrusting his coat onto the floor and calling out to his partner.
"John!" He shouted as he walked through the flat looking for him. After casting a quick glance around the living room, he ran up the stairs to John's bedroom. "John!" When he reached the doorway he was greeted by the sight of John splayed out on top of his covers, his jumper still on, sound asleep.
It was the first day after the wrap up of their latest case. The day after was always slow and boring, and Sherlock usually demanded that he and John stay at the Yard all day, just to squeeze the last few drops of excitement from the whol

The Note: Gone

"Hey you." John said weakly, walking out to the living room and slumping down into the seat across from Sherlock.

"How are you feeling?" Sherlock asked, a little out of it, his fingers pressed together and raised to his lips.

"Not great... But well enough. Yourself?" John asked, closing his eyes and willing away the pain that pounded dully in the back of his skull.

"Like your lying to me." Sherlock said simply, lowering his hands and sitting up, looking deadly into John's eyes.

"Huh?" John asked dully, opening his eyes and staring at Sherlock quizzically.

"You're rubbing your temples, indicating a pain in your head; you're ey

Just Close Your EyesVivid pain, as if it was real. Worse than gunfire, worse than sirens, it was a desperate warning that there was danger. And yet there was silence. In his head there was destruction, the reek of love burning, trapped and helpless but to accept the truth.
The truth that he had watched him die.
The more he stared the more he realised that Sherlock wasn't there, that he never would be, that he was alone. That wasn't going to change.
Lying on Sherlock's sofa he could still catch the scent of him in the air, as if he'd just gone out for milk. He would be home any second. Of course he would.
But the longer John watched the door the longer he was

Cheating"I'm so bored!" Sherlock sighed and slumped into his armchair.

John has been gone for three days now and Sherlock hasn't even got a text from him. Should he text him? Would calling him be out of the question? Was he over thinking this?

Sherlock pulled out his cell phone and dialed John's number, placing it to his ear. It rang three times, and then John's voice picked up.

"Sherlock? Hi!" He was giggling.

"Oh, John! You're soooooo strong!" Some woman's voice purred faintly.

"Oh stop!" John giggled again, away from the phone.

"John?" Sherlock asked, his heart racing from anger and hurt.

John laughed a little. "Emmmm… Sherlock I…

Oneword: Romance

John sighed and eyed the coffee warily. So far, so good. His sister was on her best behavior, remarkably sober and level-headed, and had not (yet) slipped anything into her drink. The Watsons sat at a small table in the empty shop, conspiring over their brews as the barista leaned against the counter and ignored them with a loud pop of her gum. John brought his mug to his lips and savored the hearty aroma for a minute, patiently allowing Harry time to approach her reason for meeting. A sip or two later, and he was not disappointed.

"Clara called me today," she murmured, staring forlornly down into the opaque brown liquid. "After three and a

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2 years, 11 months, and 26 days Chapter 2"Sometimes, I talk to him. I see him in mirrors or in fog, but when I turn around he isn't there. I'm finally losing it, Greg," John murmured into his tea. Greg sighed and placed his own tea on his desk.

"Maybe you should see someone, John. You're ill." John shook his head sadly.

"I'm not ill, I just miss him."

"It's been 3 years."

"2 years, 11 months, and 26 days."

"What?"

"Nothing." Both men just sat there in silence for a while, Greg sipping his tea, John starring at his as if it held all the secrets of the world.

"I'll have Stevens drive you home. Get some rest; you need it," Greg pulled John out of his chair and sort of pushed him

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2 years, 11 months, and 26 days Chapter 1

by ~xdarkkissx, May 1, 2012, 11:40:10 AM
Fan Art / Fan Fiction / Romance

John Hamish Watson was sitting in his favorite chair. Sherlock's chair. He had a cup of tea at his side and the telly was muttering some nonsense, but John wasn't paying attention to any of it. He was staring at a skull over the mantel. He couldn't bring himself to throw it away, no matter how creepy it was. John couldn't bear to throw away any of Sherlock's things. It had been 2 years, 11 months, and 26 days since Sherlock had jumped off the roof, 2 years, 11 months, and 26 days since John had died inside. He had not shed a tear, neither had he cried, nor moaned. It was as if the man had simply turned to stone and crumbled. John didn't leave 221 B Baker Street anymore. Mrs. Hudson would bring him his groceries and do his laundry. Sometimes, Molly or Lestrade would pop in for a visit, and they would chat for a while. Mycroft even came to visit once, and gave John some money to help him continue living in the flat. They all looked at him with such sad eyes, like he was broken. John wasn't broken, he was dead. John heaved himself out of his thoughts and got up out of Sherlock's chair. He took his tea, now cold, and dumped it in the sink, something he found himself doing more often than not, which was strange for the tea obsessed, little man. He then went to the fridge to look for some food, sighing as he opened the freezer.

"Sherlock, why didn't you clean up your experiments? Leaving heads all over the place," John mumbled as he pulled a frozen turkey from the freezer and moved to throw it away. A hand suddenly grabbed John's shoulder, and he jerked away.

"John, dear, why did you throw away the turkey?" Mrs. Hudson inquired. He looked at her with a dazed expression, then glanced at the rubbish bin. He slowly pulled out the turkey and took it over to the sink, where he washed the grime off of the plastic coverings. Mrs. Hudson gently took the turkey from him and replaced it in the freezer, then led him over to the sofa.

"Oh John, you need to see someone. You're ill," John pulled himself away from her and scowled.

"I'm fine Mrs. Hudson, just a bit out of sorts. It will pass in a few days." John gingerly patted her hand and she sighed.

"You've been saying that for three years now dear," Mrs. Hudson stood up and began to pile up dirty clothes and rotten newspapers from the floor.

"2 years, 11 months, and 26 days," John muttered.

"What was that?" Mrs. Hudson paused and sat beside John again as he sighed.

"It's been 2 years, 11 months, 26 and days since…" Mrs. Hudson patted his leg.

"I know it's difficult, but he would want you to move on, to find something or someone that makes you happy. I bet if you got rid of a few of his things-"

"If I find one of his things missing, so help me I will…" John fell silent, and Mrs. Hudson put her arms around him.

"Of course, I wouldn't dream of doing anything to make you uncomfortable. Would you like me to make you some tea?" John wiped his brow on his oatmeal jumper and sighed.

"No, thank you. I think I would just like to be alone now." Mrs. Hudson gave him one last squeeze and left the room.

2 years, 11 months, and 26 days Chapter 1by ~xdarkkissx

Fan Art / Fan Fiction / Romance

This is my first fic. It is Johnlock, post reich. Um... it is a multi chapter story that is almost done being written. It is betad by a friend without deviantart. You can find it Here: [link] on fanfiction. Please review and tell me what you think.