Chains (Johnlock)

Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Sherlocks P.O.V.

Sherlock smiled softly as he crouched in the tree, listening to his blogger's letter.

"Why is losing you any different than seeing comrades fall in Afghanistan? Maybe it's because you mean so much more to me. 221B will not be nearly as good without you.

-Sincerely, your blogger

Dr. John H. Watson"

He watched silently until John was gone, and gracefully came down from the tree.

"I miss you too John." Sherlock muttered softly to himself as he swooped down to pick up the letter. He could tell John was a mess, and felt some unfamiliar cutting feeling in his stomach. Guilt? No, it couldn't be that, that would mean he had a heart. He chuckled lightly, remembering how John and many others had told him that he didn't even have one.

Gently tucking the letter in his pocket, he sat down behind his grave and went to his 'mind palace', trying to understand his feelings. I never like this around him before, or had I? His mind raced with possibilities. Regret? Guilt? Longing? Love?

He scolded himself. Dammit Sherlock, he thought, you don't 'love'. What is wrong with you? Love is just a human emotion, a distraction. Oh good god he needed a distraction. Being dead is quite boring, you know.

~~~~~~

Sherlock was going insane. Okay, yes he was already a sociopath to begin with. But 2 months with no case? He was about to kill himself, for real this time.

The only thing keeping him even slightly sane was John's daily visits. Yet at the same time, the visits made him fairly sad. To know that he was responsible for John's depression was awful.

He sighed reminding himself that it was for not only John's, but Molly, Lestrade, and Mrs. Hudson's own good. Oh yes, I need to thank Molly sometime soon for helping me pull off my 'death'. Why did Moriarty have to be such a prick? He just had to make Sherlock suffer, even when Moriarty was dead. "And thank god he is." Sherlock growled starring at his grave, where 6 feet below the very ground he stood on, James Moriarty lay dead. Someone had to be in that bloody coffin.

The detective noticed it was about 11 o'clock. John would come in about 2 hours, depending on how the day went by. Sherlock sighed and climbed up into the tree and lay on a particularly wide branch. Drawing out the fat stack of letters from his coat pocket, he plucked out a random one and began to re-read it.

Dear Sherlock Holmes,

I finally took a case today, merely because I need enough money to pay the rent. Mrs. Hudson told me I didn't need to pay the full price, that she would lower it for me. I couldn't possibly do that to her though. She needs money too, you know. Any who, the case was rather dull. Even I was able to solve it easily. It was sadly just a murder done by some amateur. The police can be so dull. All the good cases are gone now, people who tried to challenge you have nobody to challenge. Now it's just petty murders and an occasional robbery. Sherlock, I miss you so much. The cluttered table, your weird experiments, your brilliant violin playing, your mind palace, even your damn bored shooting. That yellow smiley face once made me smile back at it. Now days it just makes me choke up. Was it my fault you jumped? (Tear stains appeared in this area of the paper, showing that John had cried when writing) Maybe I didn't pay enough attention to you. Even if I didn't, I should have stopped you. You were my best friend, my only true friend, Sherlock. And yet you left. There was still so much I haven't said, so much I never will be able to say. Now I am left alone more than ever before, wishing you were still alive. And I can only hope to find some silver lining to this.

Sincerely, your doctor

Dr. John H. Watson

P.S. Who keeps taking these letters? Sometimes I wish to think it was you Sherlock. But that is impossible.

Sherlock read it over a few times, feeling a pang in his h- chest. No, Sherlock you don't have a heart. So what is this feeling that grows by each passing day? He was yanked out of his thoughts when he heard a weak voice from below.

"Good to see you again Sherlock" He smiled. It was John, who was sitting down directly in front of Sherlocks 'grave'. "I don't have a letter for you today, sorry. Nothing you would want to know happened anyways. Just me sulking, being bored and depressed usual I suppose." John smiled so slightly that it was nearly invisible. Well, not to Sherlock.

As John continued talking, Sherlock began to deduce him as well as he could from the distance. Unkept hair, and he hasn't shaved in 6 days. His clothing was soaked due to the rain, but he had changed fairly recently. And he was wearing one of Sherlock's coats. Interesting. There was a faint red stain on his right sleeve, though he couldn't tell what it was. "Also, someone keeps taking your letters, which I feel is quite rude. They have no right to take those. Oh well, at least someone is enjoying them. Have you listened to any of them yet?" He paused as if waiting for an answer.

Tears began to form in the corners of his eyes, but the army doctor fought to keep them back. "WHY DID YOU HAVE TO LEAVE ME SHERLOCK? THIS IS SO DAMN HARD WITHOUT YOU! I'm so lost, and I'm so angry, all the time unless I'm here. I don't sleep nor eat, I'm just a walking corpse. I'm so mad at you, but I miss you so much at the same time." John finished his shirt outburst to be greeted with silence.

Sherlock held back the urge to come down from the tree and comfort his John. His John. HIS John... No. Sherlock thought to himself, Stupid, Stupid! He isn't your John, he never was nor ever will be.

John took a deep breath to recompose himself. "Sorry about that Sherlock." He muttered and continued to talk until it was late in the night. Slowly John began to fall into a deep relaxed sleep, for the first time in 2 months. Once Sherlock was positive John was asleep, he put his blanket over John. "I'm sorry." Sherlock whispered so that even if John was awake he wouldn't be heard. Fighting the urge huddle under the blanket for warmth, he clambered back into his tree, and slept.

~~~~~~

He woke up with a start, nearly falling out of the tree. He had heard a loud noise. Sherlock looked down and saw John jolt upwards, wondering who on earth put a blanket on him. A panicked John began to walk back to 221B.

Sherlock felt his heart sink when he saw that John was using that damn cane again. Jumping down from the tree, he picked up his blanket and went to back to sleep curled up in a tight ball behind his tomb. Sadly, about 3 hours later, he was awaken by the feeling that he was being watched. Cracking his eyes open, he was only slightly shocked to see his older brother, Mycroft Holmes. "Hello brother dear." Sherlock said with acid in his tone.

"Hello Sherlock. Good to see you again." Came a formal response from the brother.

"I'm assuming you have known I was alive this entire time, yes?"

"Obviously. You know I have eyes everywhere." Mycroft droned, rolling his eyes.

"Well, what do you want?" Sherlock glared.

"Can't I say hello to my little brother?"

"Mycroft, you know you cannot lie to me. You have known where I have been for the entire three months, and you have that look you always do whenever you want something. So tell me, what is it now?"

"I want to help you come back."

"And how do you want to do that? If I do everyone I care about is dead. Moriarty has those damn snipers."

"Sherlock, I thought you could put the pieces together. Figure it out. You're good at that."

It clicked in Sherlocks head. "When do we start?"

*~*~*~* This one is slightly longer. I felt bad that the first chapter was so short, even if no one is reading this. xD. Oh well I'm just gonna keep posting because I enjoy writing this and it keeps my head on straight. *~*~*~*