I Don't Deserve You (A Johnlock Fic)

Chapter Five

Where are you now? Are you lost? Will I find you again? Are you alone? Are you afraid? Are you searching for me? Where did you go? I had to stay. Now I'm reaching for you, will you wait? Will you wait? Will I see you again?

~Red, Hymn For The Missing

*John's POV*

I opened my eyes regretfully and stared at the ceiling as the detailed memories of my dream came back.

Something's wrong though. I frowned at the ceiling for a second longer before sitting up and looking around.

I'm in the old flat. Why am I in the old flat?

Huh, I must have come back here without realising it. Like muscle memory. Sort of.

I yawned and stretched, I almost forgot how much better this bed is compared to my new one.

I checked the clock, it was 9am, and got up with another yawn.

I closed my eyes and smiled as I allowed myself to remember the dream for just a few more minutes.

I was startled out of my memory when I heard some thumping from the direction of the living room, which was followed by a low curse.

I froze, who else was in the apartment?

The thought that someone could be in here stealing some of Sherlocks old things occurred to me and I became angry, no one, and I mean no one, touches Sherlocks things without his permission.

I made my way to the living room and froze in the doorway when I saw who had made the noise.

It was Sherlock, dusting the shelves.

"So sorry John, I didn't mean to wake you" he apologised as he continued to clean up the books that he had evidently knocked over as he cleaned.

He looked up again when I didn't respond. "John?" he sounded worried now "what's wrong? Did I do something?"

"Last night.... wasn't a dream?" I questioned, feeling very light headed.

He smiled sadly "no, I am truly alive" he put the duster down and gestured for me to sit.

I sat down and saw that he had a pot of tea ready on the table, still steaming.

"How did you know when I would wake up?" I asked as he poured two cups.

He coloured slightly "I have been making a fresh pot every half hour or so" he admitted and handed me one.

I went to take a sip, then hesitated after remembering last night. "Did you drug me?" I asked accusingly and he averted his eyes, giving me the answer immediately.

"You needed rest. I am sorry". He did look like he truly felt bad and I couldn't bring myself to be angry with him, not after he was gone for so long.

Which brought me to my second question. "Why?" I asked, feeling ashamed when I felt tears prickling in my eyes. I quickly blinked them away and looked at him for the answers I have been searching for all this time.

He didn't need any clarification. "I was on the rooftop, with Moriarty." He began without looking at me. He just kind of stared at his tea.

"He had three snipers. One pointed at Mrs. Hudson, one at Lestrade and... And one at you" he gulped and shook himself slightly as if trying to dispel a very bad memory.

"Anyway, he said they would only not shoot you if I killed myself. I knew Moriarty wasn't stupid, he would be able to call them off if he wanted to. He also knew that I knew that, so he shot himself in the head. Before meeting him on the rooftop I knew that there would be several outcomes, most of which resulted in my death. Mycroft and I prepared for all the outcomes we could think of, but for our plan to work you had to believe I was dead."

He paused again and I silently waited for him to continue. "The street was blocked off and I had some people from my homeless networks around to help out. As soon as Moriarty died I texted Mycroft, who set the wheels in motion. The only thing that really could have gone wrong is if you had moved, where you were standing your view was blocked by the ambulance station but if you moved the game would be over. There was an airbag that I had to hit, that was the other thing that could have gone wrong but luckily didn't. Speed was the most important thing, we had to be gone before you cleared the station. Like clockwork, we went one way while you went the other."

He paused again and took a big gulp of the tea which was now lukewarm and continued while still looking in a different direction.

"The next problem was you needed to see a body - that's where Molly came in. She threw a body onto the pavement - one that at first glance would look like me. Then my well timed cyclist put you out of action for a few minutes, giving me time to switch places with the corpse on the pavement. The rest was just window dressing. We used blood from the morgue - again thanks to Molly. The final touch was a squashed ball under the armpit, apply enough pressure and the pulse is briefly cut off."

He smiled faintly "Our scheme worked, of course. You believed I was dead, as did the snipers. Their view was also blocked and they didn't see the airbag"

I silently digested what he had said. "Alright then, that's how you did it, but why did you let me believe you were dead? For 6 months Sherlock!"

His face fell again "I was hunting down Moriarty's network, making sure that no one would come after you. Once I succeeded I came back. I bided my time for a week or so, trying to think of a way to let you know that I was still alive. Then you came to the graveyard and I saw what you had done and... it is all my fault. Please, is there anyway you can forgive me?"

He looked so sad and I felt my heart aching in response. "It wasn't your fault Sherlock. I just... I didn't know what I was doing and I blamed you because you were dead. Blaming you was easier than facing what I had done. I was weak and I was stupid. Never blame yourself for my mistakes."

Unfortunately this didn't seem to make him feel any better and he got up, put his tea down and strode over to me.

"Let me see" he voice was quiet but commanding. I didn't have a choice in the matter.

I stood up and reluctantly pulled my sleeve up. The two cuts didn't seem to be infected but hadn't really started to heal yet and stood out on my pale arm like blood in snow.

Sherlock frowned and grabbed my wrist, pulling it towards him to examine my arm more closely.

Luckily he appeared to be too focused on his task to notice my colouring face. "Is this the first time?" he asked sharply and I nodded.

"Yes" I said when I realised that he hadn't seen my nod. He sighed and let my wrist go.

"Promise you won't do it again?" He asked softly, looking at the ground.

A sudden burst of affection for the detective rose within me and I remembered with sudden clarity how much I had wished Sherlock would come back, and how much I wished I had told him how I felt before I lost him.

"I won't" I told him softly. "As long as you promise you will never leave me again".

He looked up, his eyes shining with unshed tears, and nodded. "God I missed you John" he whispered.

I noticed for the first time how close we were standing and looking at Sherlocks face, so full of emotion, I knew exactly what to do next.

I took a step forward, grabbed the front of his button up shirt and pulled him towards me.

Saying Sherlock was surprised would have been the understatement of the century.

He stumbled forward and grabbed my shoulders to steady himself just as I crashed our lips together...