Post-reichenbach. After the funeral, John walks home to discover that things is not as he thought they where.


1. Believe

John and Mrs. Hudson stands before the gates of the cemetery. They don't say anything, standing side by side lost in thought and sadness. A cab pulls up besides them , Mrs. Hudson gets in, John hesitates 'I think I'll walk home Mrs. Hudson. I need some time to think' he said slowly.

'All right, dear. Take your time.' As the cab leaves she turns to watch John walk away, clearly worried about him.

John feels hollow inside. It's like he has lost something of himself. Something important. He isn't paying attention and walks into somebody. He looks up and sees Sherlock's face with the brown curls and intelligent eyes, he blinks and an angry woman's face have replaced Sherlock's. She is saying something to him, but he isn't listening, he just looks at her, sad and disappointed.

John have been walking around for hours, but to him it feels like it was only moments ago he saw Sherlock jump. In his mind returnig to the day he saw Sherlock jump from the roof, falling through the air for what seamed like an eternity, John still remembers the sound of Sherlock's voice as he said good bye, he remembers the blood runnig down Sherlock's lifeless face.

He feels his stomach turn and throws up in a dirty alleyway. He is shaking, sweat dripping down his face and mixes with tears he didn't know he had shred. He starts walking again, hunched over, his hand over his heart, gripping convulsive at his shirt. His heart is aching and his feet's heavy as cement, through the tears he sees the door with the gold numbers, 221b, he is home. He's fumbling with his keys, hoping that it was all a bad dream and that Sherlock is in their flat working on some weird experiment. He tries to put the key in the lock but it doesn’t fit. He wipes the tears away and looks down at it. It is the right key, he tries again but it still won't fit. Mrs. Hudson must have changed the lock, John rings the doorbell, but why would she do that and why haven't she told me.

The door opens, but it isn't Mrs. Hudson that is looking out at him. It's a young man. 'Hi, are you all right?'

'Yes, of course I'm all right. Where is Mrs. Hudson?' John asks, looking confused for a moment before he gets his emotions under control and change to soldier mode.

'I'm sorry. I don't know anybody with that name.'

'Are you sure? She is the landlady.' The young man shakes his head. ' What about Sher...Sherlock Holmes?' John can barely say his name.

'No, I don't know him either. I'm sorry.' The young man closes the door, John mumbles something in return.

He stops on a street corner, not sure about what he should do now. Sherlock is dead, Mrs. Hudson have disappeared and no one at 221b have heard of them. He didn't have a place to stay and what happened to all of his things, all of Sherlock's things. It was all a bit too much.

John is a rational person and he is sure that there is a rational explanation to this. He had seen a cafe a little bit down the street and decided to go there and get a cup of tea.

The tea was nice and calming. But after the third cup, he hadn't come up with any ideas. And after the fifth he could see only two options.

1. He had imagined Mrs. Hudson's disappearances and the new residents of 221b baker street or...He was almost afraid to think of it, scared it might be true. Or 2. He had hallucinated for the past year and a half and Sherlock had been the illusion. No. He couldn't have imagined Sherlock. Not that annoying genius that had meant so much to him. No, that wasn't the answer. His heart started to ache again and his vision became blurred. It was getting dark outside. He got a cab and drove to the cemetery. He had to get prof. Even a dead Sherlock was better that no Sherlock at all. There was no light in the cemetery, but John had a torch with him. Following the yellow light through the cemetery, he became more and more certain that he was going to see Sherlock's grave behind the tree.

He found the tree and rushed towards it, but stopped before the grave appeared. Holding his breath, he walked around the three.

But there was no grave and there wasn't any sings of digging either. John felt his mind crack and fall apart. Hollow inside he sat down on the ground where Sherlock's grave should have been. He just sat there, starring into the darkness.

When the morning came John was gone. But he had left some thing behind. A word written in the soil:


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