Goodbye, Sherlock

Chapter 24

Goodbye, Sherlock.

Chapter 24.

The lying detective.

John's POV.

It was a feeling that not many people had felt, John thought, staring at your own tombstone. In some way, it didn't feel real. He felt like when he was young and went to the graveyard where his grandpa was buried, his mom always cried and he left feeling like he should have felt something else. He felt as if he didn't have feelings, because, who doesn't cry when they visit the place where their grandfather is buried? Apparently, John. And now, staring at his own name, he couldn't help but feel like there should have been something more. A pang in the chest, tears, or maybe a chill running down his spine. But there was nothing. Just the sound of the wind moving the leaves of the trees and some birds. But what can you expect from a graveyard? They're not supposed to be noisy places.

However, there was something that had surprised John. The tombstone. It was decorated with little papers, candles, flowers, pictures... if someone saw it they would have probably thought that John was a really beloved person, and maybe, judging by the fact that absolute strangers had taken the time to come to a graveyard and leave something in John's grave. That was the reason why John had been there for an hour now, reading what people had left.

Sherlock had asked him not to leave the flat, but John wanted to see it for himself, the place where he was supposed to be.

He picked up one if the papers, it was from some "fan" and it just said "You'll be remembered, John Watson." It was a simple message but it made John smile. He figured that, St the beginning, there were probably more messages, but after two years only a few would come. He remembered the little girl who had stopped him the day he found Sherlock. "Do the right thing". That's what she'd said. John still didn't know what that was. Coming back? Telling everyone he was alive? Maybe the simple fact that he was alive was the right thing.

He kept reading papers. Most messages were similar to the one he'd read before, telling him that his fans wouldn't forget him, that they believed in him and Sherlock. Until one wasn't. It was a small piece or paper; cut carelessly. It was wet, and the ink was kind of blurry, but still readable. "Come at once if convenient. If inconvenient, come anyway. It might be dangerous. SH". John felt a chill running down his spine. Sherlock had come. It wasn't like he had completely forgotten them. At some point, not that long ago, Sherlock had come and had sit in the same place he was. Sherlock had left the paper believing John was dead, believing he had lost him forever and that John didn't really like him. John took the paper, folded it and put it in his pocket.

On the way home, John entered in a cafe and bought a sandwich. He sat there, in a chair next to the window, and just stared at them. It was something he used to do as a child, just stare at people and imagine their life stories. More than once, he and Sherlock had played the same thing, but John guessed and Sherlock usually laughed and told him how wrong he was. It was lame, but fun. He imagined being Sherlock, and how hard it must be, knowing everything all the time, knowing all the bad things people did, and the good ones. John wondered what Sherlock knew about him that never talked about. Did he always know everything about John? Did he remember some of the useless stuff he had probably deduced about him at some point? Sometimes, John wished he could be Sherlock. He didn't want to be able to deduce everyone, definitely, but he did want to be able to read the reasons behind Sherlock actions, he wanted to know what went on his brain.

"Sorry sir, we are closing." The woman from the cafe said. John smiled and nodded. He looked at her while she cleaned the tables. Was she good? Was she happy? Was she a cat person or a dog person? Sherlock probably knew. She seemed nice to John, but maybe she stole money from the cafe, or she had a drug dealing business. Yeah, he definitely didn't want to be Sherlock, he didn't want to know everything, because, when you didn't know someone, they could be anything you wanted them to, but when you knew stuff, they became humans, they had limits.