Johnlock One-shots

244.Sad Memories

John frowned as he looked over to the empty chair where his husband used to sit. He shifted a little, the guilty pang pang pang of loneliness and sorrow gripping his heart. It was too much to handle, ever since last year when Sherlock killed himself to save John, he was never able to stop thinking of him.

Running his hand over the scrapbook on his lap, John sighed. He leant back and looked around, spotting their pet cat, who's name was Insimbuis, on the couch. He got her while he still had Sherlock and she was good at making him happy. He called for her and she jumped on his lap. He stroked his hand through her soft orange fur and wiped away a tear that already ran down his cheek.

He pet her gently, turning open the first page of the book. This book has pictures all over of the two of them, Sherlock and John, and their good memories. John looked through the pages, tears running down his cheeks as he saw how happy they had been. He was hysterical by the point he got to their wedding.

“I-I love you… Sherlock…” he whispered, crying more and wiping away the tears. He stood up and went to Sherlock's chair, picking up his coat. John laid down and curled up, draping the coat over himself.

He heard the clicking of claws against the floor as Insimbuis jumped onto the armrest. He pulled her down to where he was and pet her. Having a cat was definitely calming, but he couldn't stop crying.

Mrs Hudson knocked on their door. “John,” she whispered as she walked inside.

John curled up tightly, shaking his head. He wanted to be alone right now. He needed to be alone, with only Insimbuis.

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“Come John, quickly,” Sherlock said, pushing John's back. “I want to get you out of here.”

“I'm not leaving.” John said, looking up through the smoke to what was only his sad imagination.

“Joyn, you can't die. You NEED to get up!” Sherlock tugged on John's shirt, trying to get him up.

“I'm going to die in here. Maybe then I'll be with you.”

Tears seem to well up in Sherlock's transparent eyes. He set his hand over John's and cried. “John,” he whispered. “get out. Please.”

“This flat has all my precious memories, it's my life, Sherlock.” John stood up, looking at the fire that had started for unknown reasons. Everyone else in the building had already ran out, even the cat ran downstairs and out the building.

John stayed inside, the storm of smoke surrounding him, the fire whizzing through the flat. The kitchen had already been demolished, and the living room was on it's way. It seemed his room with Sherlock was safe.

“I love you.” Sherlock choked out.

“I love you, too.” John wrapped his arms around his imagination, sobbing.

When fire men and women rushed to the scene, they were too late. John was already dead, nothing but ashes. But he was happy.