Johnlock Stories

Day 26: I Don't Remember

Angst :) I was going to make it super sad again but then I decided against it because I'm not that evil, it would've been very sad, and don't get me wrong, it still is a bit sad, but not to its full extent, cuz I don't need that angst in my life and I'm sure neither do you.

*****

There was a knock on the door to the flat, John sighed and pulled himself out of his chair, he reached the door and when he swung it open Sherlock stood there, looking around.

"Sherlock?" John's eyes squinted, Sherlock looked at him, wiping his palms on his coat.

"Who?" he inquired quietly and Johns brows knitted in confusion.

"Why'd you knock?" John asked, turning away from the door and moving back into his chair, Sherlock walked into the flat and looked around it.

"John?" John glanced over his shoulder, Sherlock appeared scared and confused, John twisted his body so he could look at the other man better.

"Yes?" Sherlock gave a fleeting smile, his face showing pain again after it had left.

"I remember you," he said exasperated and John raised his brows.

"Um, yes? I remember you too," John looked at the clock on the wall, "What were you doing out so late anyway? Its past midnight," Sherlock still stood by the doorway.

"I.. Don't know," Sherlocks stepped into the flat more and took a seat on the edge of the couch, watching John.

"Sherlock, are you okay? You don't look well," Sherlock shook his head.

"I can't remember anything," John furrowed his brows and Sherlock cracked his knuckles anxiously, "I can't remember who I am," he looked at John, fear etched onto his face.

"What?" John asked and the other man shook his head again, looking around the flat again.

"I woke up on the ground, I don't recall anything before that," John figured Sherlock was messing with him, how would he know where to go otherwise.

"Then how'd you know to come here?" he asked, Sherlock sucked in a breath.

"I haven't the slightest, after all this, I can't remember my own name, but you- Somehow I know exactly who you are and I know what your name means- What it meant," he caught himself and John licked his lips out of habit, refusing to believe Sherlock.

"No.. You-" he studied Sherlock, noticing his discomfort, his emotions showing, this wasn't his Sherlock, "you're being serious?" Sherlock met his gaze and nodded slowly, Johns breath hitched, he stared at Sherlock, his eyes welling up already, slowly he moved his gaze to the brown leather of Sherlock's chair, flexing his jaw.

"John?" Sherlock tested the name on his lips and John winced, a tear already sliding down his cheek, he pushed out of his chair and turned to the fireplace, burying his hands in his hair. He took large breaths, somehow not finding the air to supply his lungs.

"No," he whispered, "no, no, no, no, you're lying," he chest heaved and he didn't dare look at Sherlock, "This is just another one of your bloody experiments, it's not real," he put his arm out and grabbed the mantle above the fireplace, supporting his body.

"John, I'm sorry," John bit his bottom lip hard, tasting the blood, he scrunched his eyes shut as he shook his head.

"Oh my God," he whispered, he turned around and looked at Sherlock, his blank eyes held no emotion other than remorse, and John sank to his knees, his mind going back to his last conversation with Sherlock.

"Finish up the case, I'll meet you at home," John gazed at Sherlock, the taller man nodded, looking at the body on the ground, he met Johns eyes.