I Don't Deserve You (A Johnlock Fic)

Chapter Four

I may seem crazy, or painfully shy. And these scars wouldn't be so hidden if you would just look me in the eye.

~Plumb, Cut

*Johns POV*

I stared at him with my mouth open, probably looking even more stupid then usual.

"John" he said softly when I didn't say or do anything.

"You-" I waved at the grave and then at him, unable to comprehend what I was seeing.

"You're not really here" I decided eventually "nope, you're dead. This is it, I've finally gone mad. I'm hallucinating" I felt on the verge of another panic attack, or becoming extremely hysterical.

"I am here. I'm alive, I swear" he said gently, never moving from his position crouched beside his grave.

"I don't, I don't understand" how could he be alive? I saw him fall, I saw the body and I checked his pulse.

"Could we discuss this at home? You look freezing" he stood slowly and I realised I had almost forgotten how graceful he was. Was, is?

I also realised that in my hurry to get here I had forgotten my coat, and yes, it is freezing.

I started shaking violently, from either shock or cold. "Lets go home" he repeated, gently grasping my arm again.

I jerked it away from him and his face fell slightly. He shrugged off his coat and passed it to me, sighing and wrapping it around my shoulders when I just looked at him blankly.

It wasn't until he began removing his scarf that I really noticed what he was doing. "Stop" I said faintly "you'll be cold" 6 months he has been 'dead' and we're talking about weather. Of course.

"I've been living here for a week or so, I've adjusted to it" he tied it around my neck, ignoring my noises of protest.

"Come on" he walked out into the street and I followed behind numbly.

He stuck out a hand without looking at the road and as usual a cab popped up out of nowhere and pulled up beside us.

He held the door open for me and I got in, still shivering despite Sherlocks warm coat and scarf.

Sherlock gave the cabbie our address and we took off, traveling quickly in the early morning quiet.

Sherlock spent the whole ride watching me with a strange look in his eyes, something like sadness and hopelessness.

I stared back and I know my eyes are filled with all the pain I have felt since I lost him.

He opened his mouth as if he was going to say something but the cab stopped and he looked away to see what had happened.

We were back at Baker Street.

He payed the cabbie and we went inside to the warmth of our old flat. I didn't even glance at my current one just across the hall.

The flat hasn't changed in 6 months. The only difference between then and now is a thick layer of dust covering everything.

Sherlock immediately began rifling through one of his old boxes on the coffee table.

He glanced nervously at me before withdrawing a leather bound book from the box and shoving it into his pocket.

I frowned "what's that?" I was beginning to feel a little less numb and more at peace then I have felt since I lost him.

To my surprise his cheeks coloured slightly. "Nothing" he mumbled, averting his eyes.

I decided it wasn't worth questioning - I might as well enjoy this dream while it lasted.

"Tea?" Sherlock offered with a forced grin and I nodded. He walked into the kitchen and bustled around making tea while I considered what to do next.

Should I tell him? I really should have told him before he committed suicide but I chickened out too many times.

Then it was too late. Sherlock was gone and I never had the chance to tell him how I feel.

Oh. I see now.

At first this seemed to be a dream, the best thing I could possibly imagine coming true. Now I realise that it's just another nightmare.

Sherlock comes back from the dead, I tell him how I feel and he rejects me.

Or maybe he doesn't reject me. Maybe he returns my feelings and just as he begins to say so a something happens and he dies again.

That would be even worse, to have a taste of what could have been just to have it snatched away again.

"John?" Sherlock had come back into the room and put a cup of tea in front of me with out me realising it.

"Hmm?" Nope, I'm not gonna do it.

"Please say something" he pleaded and I look at him in confusion, "what do you want me to say Sherlock?".

"I don't know!" he exclaimed while running a hand through his hair violently. "Tell me I was stupid! Ask me why I did it, yell at me for hurting you, tell me you hate me, cry, anything! Just, please, don't just sit there looking sad. And drink your tea"

Drink my tea? He probably wanted to make me feel better.

I took a sip to humour him and considered his words. What can I say that wont give away what I feel?"

"I missed you" I said at last, taking another gulp of my tea to cover up the hitch in my voice. It was slightly bitter but he had tried and saying I missed him was safe, missing him is something I would have done even if I did just think of him as a friend.

"Really?" he sounded so surprised that I almost laughed. "Really" I confirmed and his sad expression lightened slightly.

"I missed you too, John" he replied so quietly that I almost missed it.

I felt the first genuine smile since I last saw Sherlock appear on my face just before my vision began fading.

I dropped my tea cup as my limbs stopped working and it smashed against the floor as I looked at Sherlock in panic.

"I'm sorry John" Sherlock sighed "it was necessary" I lunged towards him with the last of my energy, reaching my hand out.

"No, please. I'm not ready to wake up yet." Sherlocks apologetic look turned confused as he rushed over to catch me.

"John! What.........?"