Unbelieving (A Johnlock Fanfiction)

Mirror

Chapter 3:

Hey Sherlock,

I had a meeting with Ella today. Not much came out of it, as usual, I just sat there, denying, and she just sat there, trying to get something out of me. I couldn't. Yeah, I'm not strong enough.

You know, I still live at 221B. I wait for you all the time. I even speak to you like you're there, but it doesn't help. Just come back, you idiot.

Sherlock.. There are so many things between us that are unsaid, and also many things that we do understand, but never say. Well, I don't know when you're coming back, so I'll just attempt to.. sort of... write them down in letters. Apparently, this should help. Now what I don't know if by help they mean help get you back home or just.. help cope with the newly discovered.. hollowness.

I wish you were here.

I miss you. You tell me that sentiment is a chemical defect, but after all, we're just human, and sentiment then comes as an occupational hazard, I guess. You've been away for almost two years now, and I still see your face, hear the violin as if it were just yesterday.

This morning I woke up, and made two cups of coffee. One mine, and one black with two sugars. I sat down as I drank, and called out to you. You didn't answer. It seems very.. obvious now, but then it wasn't. It wasn't obvious at all. It was all just gut wrenching, when I realised there was no one at home, that you weren't at home, and I couldn't bloody change that.

I still listen to those pieces you had recorded. They're beautiful. They're comforting, like you. I feel like you're there, and only the thought of you being just fills me with a strange happiness, which I can't explain. I applauded myself over my knowledge about humans and my ability to understand sentiment (better than you, at least), but I can't explain this. I haven't felt it very often, and I can confidently say that such a thing.. this has never been inside me, but then again, you just.. leaving... has never happened before either, so I really can't say.

I don't know what I'm going to do with these letters, Sherlock. I definitely can't keep them here with me. It's too much to handle. Maybe I'll.. I'll give them to you. Drop them off at your grave.

Yours only,
John

*****

My hand was shaking as I wrote the last words, and a wet blotch appeared on the paper as I wrote 'grave'. Everything was just moving too fast and I was failing to catch up.

Finally, with a heart weighing more than some thousand pounds, I put the pen down shakily.

"Oh no.. oh god.."

As I rubbed my eyes to dry the tears, Mrs. Hudson entered the room with some tea.

"John.." She said timidly.

"Uh.. oh hi. Hi.. Mrs. Hudson, I.. I was just-" I stuttered, trying to hide my tears.

"Oh dear.. let it all out. It's okay to cry, you know. You haven't cried half as much as we have, and I know you loved him so much, it's hard for you to move on I know, so-"

"Mrs. Hudson.. Uh.. Sherlock is not my boyfriend." My heart skipped a beat as I said these words. Just imagining the scenario tickled me from the inside. His face appeared in front of my eyes. His beautiful, smiling face. It was one of those genuine smiles he rarely gave. I've never seen him give it to anyone but me. I felt.. happy and warm.

"John.. darling, was. Sherlock was. I'm sorry. Really, I am," She sniffed back a tear, "but you have to start believing, at least. You'll never be able move on this way.." She snivelled, rubbing my shoulder.