Love is a Mystery (A JohnLock Fanfic)

-Chapter 4-

John's POV

That was two year ago. I can still smell the scent of blood- the scent of Sherlocks... blood, on the pavement. Today is Sherlocks birthday... Happy birthday mate.

I sat up in bed, and walked downstiars to his room. It still smelled of him. I sometimes fell asleep in here, due to the constant nightmares he always needed to haunt.

I miss him so much... Bloody hell, I even miss his constant need to be an ass.

I ran my hand over his still soft sheets. Laying in his bed made me feel safe... like he was still protecting me in a way.

I layed down in his bed, not covering myself with the sheets, and fell back asleep.

When I woke back up again, Mrs. Hudson was knocking on Sherlocks door.

"John, dearie, please get out of bed today... of all days."

"Yes Mrs. Hudson."

I rolled out of bed, then fixing the sheets, and walking out the bedroom door, to a teary eyed Mrs. Hudson. I hugged her, and asked if she would like a cupa. She nodded, and walked to the kitchen.

"John, you seem... different this year... more under control of your emotions..."

I shrugged while making the coffee.

Oh God... I still remember that morning... Sherlock...

No John, get a hold of yourself! For Sherlocks sake.

"I have started to accept it. Everything dies sooner or later. In this case it was... sooner."

She looked surprised. Probably because of what I was like last year today.

I wouldn't come out of Sherlocks room all day. I cried and cried, not even getting up to eat anything. I have lost quite a lot of weight since Sherlock died, though a do intend to get. back on the right eating path.

I handed her the cup, and drank mine fast, wanting to get ready, and spend all day at the cemetary.

I dressed fast, putting on a green sweater, jeans, and my coat. My hand lingered over Sherlocks coat and scarf...

His damn scarf...

Pull yourself together John!

Rushing out of the falt, I hailed a taxi, and was off to the cemetary.

When I arrived, I was greeted by the cold wind, which wrapped around my face, and hands. I stuffed my hands in my pockets, releaving the cold a little.

Sherlocks grave was close.

I walked to it, and stood at the front of the tombstone, staring at the words;

Sherlock Holmes.

It was still hard to get my head around.

I placed a hand on top of the cold stone, wishing I could feel heat. I closed my eyes, and prayed for his soul.

"Hey mate." I said, opeing my eyes.

"Happpy birthday. I got you a gift, even though you cant use it-" Gosh I could already hear his voice; John, dont be ridiculous, the dead dont need objects like this. Your grandmother is not going to need a silly spatula when shes dead anyway.

He said that when I told him I wanted to visit my grandmothers grave on her birthday.

"But I still want you to have it, Sh-... mate." I couldn't bring myself to say his name, or I would break down in tears again. If I said his name, it would be real. Reality is hard enough to bear without him, so I like to imagine I'm dreaming.

I placed the wrapped gift on the ground infront of the tombstone, and stared at the letters engraved on the cold stone for awhile.

Until I heard footsteps coming closer towards me.