“Mary, would you marry?”
Yup, John Watson was proposing to Mary Morstan. It was pretty hard, though. He would only hear Mary babbling about how exciting it was that he had proposed to her. Somewhere, neatly buried inside his mind, was a man. But it wasn’t any average man. His name was Sherlock. And he was dead.
“John, were you listening me?”, Mary´s voice broke into his thoughts.
“Oh, sorry Mary, could you repeat it to me again?”, John asked politely.
“I was saying that we should properly arranged this. And not only the wedding, also our relationship. There are some crazy married couples out there that barely know about each other”, she laughed about that thought but her tone went serious again”.We have been dating for a long time, John. So, are you sure you want to marry me?
“Of course I do, Mary. Nothing would made me happier”.
Except for the return of a certain man…
“Thank you. But I had darker times, you know. I was pretty nasty. That´s why I´m asking you if…”
“Mary, let´s skip that”, John cut her”. Everybody has their inner demons. If you want to talk about that, I won´t argue. But tonight is about the two of us”.
Honestly, John was actually hoping Sherlock would appear in that exact moment. Maybe disguised as a customer. Or even a French waiter, who knows? Sherlock was a bastard, but he was the most amazing bastard he had ever met. Sherlock was his friend. Sherlock was gone. How he was able to live with that? No idea. Two years of coping with Sherlock’s death. Two years of suffering. Two years without Sherlock.
John missed everything about Sherlock. His sass, his witty remarks, his intelligence, everything. Deep down inside, he was in love with Sherlock. But he couldn´t let himself have those types of feelings for a corpse. John wasn´t into necrophilia. Or homosexuality. At least that´s what he thought.
He had never thought he would befriend Sherlock. Sherlock sometimes wasn´t distant with him, and John hoped it was due to a possible requited love. ‘Unlikely’ he thought. But it was rather more unlikely to stop thinking about Sherlock.
Sherlock, Sherlock, Sherlock. Why did he loved him? Sherlock was an ass, a dick, a first rate smartass. He was all those things and even more. A genius, a badass, a true friend.
There he was, John Watson proposing to Mary Morstan, and thinking about how much he was romantically biased toward a dead person.
Yeah, totally normal of him.
John would never admit that his inner demons had the fantasy of having a homosexual relationship with Sherlock. It would be inapropiate, wrong, and abnormal. But so pleasing for him.
The wedding didn´t felt right. There was a certain emptiness in the place. The guests were bored, Major Sholto (his friend) seemed uncomfortable, and the Best Man’s speech, who was Lestrade, was awkward as hell.
Until he mentioned Sherlock.
That´s when hell broke loose.
John asked for a moment and went straight into the men’s restroom. He couldn´t bear remembering who painful it was loosing him. In fact, John felt he was the one dying. Sherlock had saved him, but he felt he had destroyed him. It was only a matter of time when the tears were already streaming down his face. They knocked the door one, two, three, four times. No response. It was supposed to be a happy day. But without Sherlock nothing would be happy anymore.
At the end, Mary decided to make the wedding more private. Their attempt was a complete fiasco. The guests started leaving when they knew the husband wasn´t coming out of the bathroom. To make things worse, Major Sholto died that night. He was announced dead from a stab wound, but no weapon and escape route were found. Officer Lestrade wasn´t able to unravel how it happened. It was somehow connected to the murder of a stalked Guardsman named Bainbridge.
Only Sherlock would have been capable of solving the case. Only Sherlock would have been able to pull John from his misery.
The graveyard held a downcast aura. With Sherlock’s dead, that aura had intensified. John barely talked in Sholto´s funeral. Still no murderer found. In mid a soldier´s speech, he fled.
Everything reminded him of Sherlock.
He found Sherlock´s tomb.
It looked quite preserved, even though two years had already made their way through the whole graveyard. In white letters, Sherlock Holmes was imprinted. No birth or death date. Only his name.
“It´s funny. How there´s no death date and you are still dead”, John started “.Why did you left us? Why did you left me? You were Sherlock Holmes, Moriarty was never going to beat you. I admit I hated you. So much. But it didn´t lasted long. You were my friend. And I will never be able to repay you for such a wonderful feeling. The war affected me. There were some times I had considered suicide. But you were the reason of why life wasn´t that cruel with me. Meeting you was a blessing. Sure, you were a dick sometimes. But it was a pleasure to have you at my sight. I hated you, I befriended you, I even loved you. And I still do.”
He was about to leave, when he added:
“Besides, I recall that I asked you to stop being dead”.
And he left.
Unknown to him, there was someone listening to him. That someone was always keeping an eye on him. That person highly wished to encounter John again. But it wasn´t a good moment, though. ‘Not now’, Sherlock Homes thought. He watched his love step away from his burial.
And for the first time in a very long while, Sherlock Holmes cried for loosing John.