Broken (Johnlock oneshot)

Broken

A/N - Hey guys! So it's the middle of the night and I'm sooooo hungry which means this is probably AWFUL, but I was listening to the TV and I heard Andrew Scott (fangirl moment!) saying "I will BURN you!" And I started thinking about Sherlock and then just like that I had a load of Johnlock feels that I HAD to get out. So here it is! Leave a comment if you want! Or, don't. Whichever. I'm good either way. I'd prefer cookies to comments actually... Enjoy!

John Watson walked slowly through the streets of London, not even noticing where his feet were taking him. His mind was elsewhere. Elsewhere being on Sherlock. Sherlock, his best friend, his flat mate, his crazy psychopath.

Sociopath, Sherlock's voice sternly told him inside his head, and John felt his lips curl into a smile for the first time in months.

He missed the detective so much. He missed his annoying quirks, his laugh, his random experiments all over the flat. Well, maybe not those quite so much. Hell, he even missed the accidental insults, the arrogant comments, the sound of his violin at 2 o'clock in the bloody morning. But the thing he missed most was being Sherlock's partner in crime (almost literally). Solving cases, watching the detective in awe as he observed, laughing at Lestrade's and Anderson's dumbstruck faces as they watched him work. And his smile. That gleam he got in his eyes during a case. The grin on his face and the sudden outburst of laughter when he reached an answer.

But not any more. All gone because of Moriarty. Even two years later, his face still haunted John's dreams. Those deranged eyes that laughed at the pain of others. But it wasn't only his face. Oh no. Sherlock was there too. John's mind kept replaying the moment he jumped, the moment he said, "Goodbye John," his voice thick with tears the doctor had never seen before, the moment he watched his best friend fall from that roof, the moment he realised that he would never hear that voice again.

Without realising it, John's feet had stopped walking. His cheeks were wet with tears, and Sherlock's name was on his lips.

"Why, Sherlock?" He sobbed, rocking backwards and forwards on the balls of his feet. John was broken, broken beyond repair. It felt like half of him was missing. His better half. The half that always looked out for him, the half that told him the right and wrong decisions to make. He was lost without Sherlock.

Soon he could cry no more, and he finally rubbed his eyes and took in his surroundings.

The sight was almost enough to reduce him to tears again. The familiar black door. The doorknob. The bold brass letters. He was back at 221B Baker Street.

He hadn't set foot in the place since the funeral. The day before he had come back to the flat, packed all of his things and left. He found himself a small B&B, just while he found a new place, and never went back again. He kept in touch with Mrs Hudson - she was the only motherly figure in his life and he knew she was hurting from losing Sherlock too. But he knew he couldn't go back to Baker Street. It would hurt too much.

But here he was. It hadn't changed a bit. As if not a day had passed. As if he could get out his old key right now, walk up the stairs and hear Sherlock playing something on his violin. John wiped his eyes again, ridding himself of any new tears.

As he reopened them, he started when he saw the swish of a familiar long black coat coming towards him. He blinked a few times, making sure he was awake, but there was no mistaking that mop of dark curly hair, those ridiculous cheekbones.

"Sherlock," he whispered, and before he knew it, he was running.

Sherlock held his arms open, and John ran straight into them, burying his face into the detective's chest and sobbing happily. Sherlock wrapped his arms around his doctor, tears falling down his own cheeks. The two stayed like that for a long time, until John pulled away, looking right into Sherlock's deep blue eyes.

"It's you," he whispered, and Sherlock nodded. Before he knew what he was doing, before he could even stop to think, John leant in and their lips met.

Sherlock stood still for a second, but slowly reciprocated, deepening the kiss and pulling John closer to him.

After a few seconds they pulled apart, and John grinned sheepishly when he saw the tears of joy in Sherlock's eyes.

"Um..." John said awkwardly, looking at his feet.

Sherlock gently lifted his chin back up, and leant in for another soft kiss.

"I've wanted to do that for such a long time," he smiled, and John chuckled.

"So have I." He looked back up at Sherlock. "It broke me, you know. I had no idea what to do after you left. I was lost. I couldn't talk to anyone because no one understood. No one realised how much of a mess my life was without you in it."

A pained expression crossed Sherlock's face as he listened to John's words.

"I'm so sorry, John. I truly am. Can you ever forgive me?" He asked, biting his lip.

John nodded. "Of course." Sherlock visibly relaxed at his words. He pulled his best friend in for another hug, wrapping his arms around him protectively.

"I'm never leaving you again, John. I promise. I love you so much," he whispered, kissing the top of his doctor's head.

And just like that, John Watson's heart, which he had believed to be broken beyond repair, was whole again.