Oh, Sherlock

But With A Whimper.

2 years later - to the day

I sit in Sherlock's chair looking at the boxes that surround me. John thought it would be would be best if I move out. There are too many memories of Sherlock here, he's afraid that I might start doing drugs again. I don't want to move out, but it probably is for the best.

There is a knock on the front door, so quiet I almost don't hear it. I stand slowly and make my way to the door. I open it and gasp. I step back and slam the door in his face. I hold my back against the door breathing heavily. "Violet?" He asks from the other side of the door. I open it again slowly, looking him up and down. He smirks and opens his arms.

"Sherlock!" I shriek happily. I jump onto him in a huge bear hug, nearly knocking us both over. I jump back, smiling brightly at him. My happiness soon bubbles up into anger and I slap him against the cheek.

He grabs his face and looks somewhat surprised, "Yes, well, I suppose I deserved that."

"Two years, Sherlock. You left me for two years!! How could you?" I say, the last part at a whisper. Tears well up in my eyes and a lump forms in my throat. "How could you?" I repeat, choking up.

He wraps his arms around me tightly and I cry into his chest, grabbing onto his shirt. "I'll never leave again," he says and holds me at arms length, looking into my eyes. "I promise," he says, hugging me again.

I pull away and smack him against the chest, "Well, what's your word worth if you lied about your own death?!" I shout at him. "You could have at least sent a- a letter, or an e-mail, or a text, or something!" I screech. I turn around and stomp to Sherlock's chair like a child and I plop down into it. I open the locket and see us together again, but now I can almost see sadness behind my eyes. As if I knew it wouldn't last forever.

Sherlock slowly strides into the room and sees all the boxes piled around. "You're moving," he stated.

I look up at him incredulously, "Of course I'm moving! There's nothing left for me here, or at least, there wasn't anything here for me after you 'died'," I say, using air quotes to emphasize the word.

"John moved out," he says and I nod.

"He moved in with his girfriend, Mary. I... struggled with a few things. I'm sure John struggled as well, but at least he had someone to take care of him. I was all alone," I say, looking at my hands. I look back up at him, "Sherlock, why did you do it? Why would you put us through so much pain only to come back two years later? What would make you hurt us so badly?" I ask, the hurt evident in my voice.

"Moriarty," he says darkly. "He threatened to kill you, John, Mrs. Hudson, and Lestrade if I didn't kill myself. He was the only person who could call off the shooters, so he shot himself in the head, to ensure that I would do it. So, I had to disappear. That actually was me lying on the street. I just didn't actually hit the pavement," he says.

I shake my head, "One word, Sherlock. All I needed was one word, to know that you were alive. You could have just texted me one damn word."

Sherlock shook his head, "No, you all had to believe that I was dead, Violet."

I look up at him, "Have you told John yet?"

"No, I'm going to tell him tonight. By the way, is he really going to keep that horrible thing on his face?"

I look at him incredulously, "No, Sherlock. You can't tell him tonight, he's going to propose."

"A pleasant surprise before his proposal is a bad thing?" Sherlock asks wrinkling his nose.

I stand up, "I don't think he'll take it as a 'pleasant surprise,' Sherlock. He has barely moved on, he has his own life now."

Sherlock smirks, "What life? I've been away," he says before leaving me, dumbfounded, wondering if I imagined it all.

'I can't believe him,' I think, smiling at the return of my detective.