'Sweet Return' Chapter 1.

"Don't do it." I said into the phone, pressed hard against my cheek. "Sherlock, back away."
"I'm sorry." He hesitated after a moment of silence. "John, thank you."
"No." I said, taking a few steps forward. "I'm not listening to this."
"Stay where you were !" The voice on the other line snapped. It wasn't an angry snap, but a heartwretching broken one. "Please .. Just keep your eyes fixed on me." And all in a flash, I watched him plunge towards the waiting ground below.

I jumped up panting and for the second time tonight, bathed in sweat. The only sounds in the silent house were the haunting ticking of the clock, my pounding heart in my ears, and my ragged inhalation of air. Moonlight poured in the open window like a reminder that not all was dark this night.
"Again." I murmured quietly to myself, making a small 'psst' sound a few times before a black cat with big, blue eyes ran in. "Hi Sher." I said, leaning down and picking him up as I ran a hand through my damp, now shaggy and unkempt, blond hair. "Its time again." I snuggled the cat, pressing him hard against my chest as I felt him purr. This had become a ritual that I wanted desperately to break, but it helped and I wasn't planning on abandoning things that helped. I descended the stairs quietly, looking around before turning and heading towards Sherlock's old room. I pushed the door open, his farmiliar scent still lingered in here, even after a year and a half without the man's presence. I set Sher down and closed the bedroom door, slipping over to open the window, feeling the night London hair slither around and envelope me, chilling my sweat beaded body. I looked to the bed before laying in it without another move. I inhaled deeply, feeling a small smile break my bleak face as tears welled in my eyes. It still smelled like him and that smell carried me off to sleep.
--
"John, dear?" Ms. Hudson called up the stairs and I popped up, swinging and falling off of the bed in an almost panic.
"I- um, in here Ms. Hudson !" I called, rubbing the back of my neck.
The woman appeared, opening the door with a soft smile. "Another nightmare last night?" She asked and all I did was nod. "Oh come here." She said, shuffling over to me and wrapping her arms around my tense shoulders. "You really should go back to that therapist, I thought she was helping." She offered softly and I heaved a heavy sigh.
"None of them help. I've been to six and I'm lucky to have found a job that will hire me after all of this psychological mess." I was gracious enough to have Ms. Hudson as a landlady. She'd put off my rent and paid my bills for me until I'd found a job, but I've been working in St Bart's for a while now and things are going pretty well.
"You're a smart lad, I'm sure you'll make it through this, John dear." She stroked my cheek, smiling kindly up at me before she turned to walk out. "Oh, I'd almost forgotten, I came up to tell you that you have a letter on the table."
I froze, fear prickling down my spine. I loathed letters, anything that had to do with mail I hated. I suppose my face showed this because Ms. Hudson clicked her tongue.
"Don't worry dear, it's just a letter." She smiled weakly and disappeared.
I shifted my weight from my left to my right, rubbing my bare arm softly.
Why would I get a letter? I could understand if it were another bloody bill but a letter?
Shuffling slowly down the hall I paused in the kitchen for a brief moment to set everything for a cup of tea. I spotted a red envelope on the table beside the chair Sherlock used to claim as his own and forgot momentarily about my tea, walking over I looked down at it. The only thing on the front was my first name in quite a nice script. I sat in Sherlock's chair and ripped open the letter, picking out a few sheets of paper.
"It actually is a letter." I said, a tone of surprise in my voice. "I wonder who.."
Feeling the papers in my hand I skimmed the words.
"Dear John,
Hello again. You're more than aware that I am now deceased and am no longer with you. After all, I specifically planned for this letter to be sent to you a year and a half after my suicide. I suspected you wouldn't have left Baker street entirely, only for a brief period after my death. I'm sorry things ended the way they did and you of all people had to witness my demise. Pity about Moriaty winning in the end, even if he too is dead. I wrote you to let you know that you were not only my colleague but my friend; my best friend and I have so much that I had left unsaid which obviously is the point of this letter. I'm quite bad with these sort of things so excuse the emotion. John I wanted to tell you that thoughout our short years together I can honestly say I'd never felt anything close to the emotion you'd brought out in me. I'm very well at keeping my emotions in check but around you, it wasn't that easy. The only way I can explain it is I felt more for you than I ever could have for Irene." Reading that name made the knot that had swirled and tightened in my stomach throb and ache. "You were the closest thing to a lover I could have imagined and I was lucky enough to also have you as a best friend. I realized you didn't feel the same after all the not so subtle hints I dropped so I dropped the situation completely. I suppose I wasn't made out to have a normal non-platonic relationship in my lifetime, though that's perfectly okay because at least I had you some way. John Watson, I love you. Don't be sad for me. Everything will be okay in the end. Goodbye, and I'm sorry. - SH."
The tears that flowed like a waterfall couldn't be contained, and I clutched the papers tight in balled fists. I sobbed loudly, bringing my knees to my chest and resting my head down.
"Why couldn't you have just told me ?!" I sobbed into my legs. "Damn it, Sherlock ! Why ?! Why didn't I notice your signs? Why was I so obvious ?! Why didn't you realize I loved you too !!!" My voice grew hoarse, raw emotion cutting deeply in every aspect of my being. The sting of Sherlock's failed attempts cut me like nothing I have ever felt. This was much worse than the war. This was much worse than getting shot. This was realizing I could have had everything I dreamed and I could have been with him. We could have loved. "I want you back .." I whispered, still sobbing. "I want a second chance. I want to do this right .. I want you back. Please come back.." Everything hurt as I snuggled into his chair, my sobs quieting down as drowsiness kicked in despite just waking from a tiring night. I wanted to stop thinking for a while, stop feeling, and sleep was the only option.

--

I awoke a few hours later feeling slightly better for about five seconds, until everything rushed back. My head was still buried in the darkness of my knees and I sighed deeply, slowly moving to set my feet on the floor. Suddenly fear and shock gripped me, digging its claws in deep as I came face to face with a dead man. My dead man. My Sherlock, sitting in the  chair I usually sit, staring back at me.