The Game Is On

Chapter Three: Not Dead

"No..." I breathed. "NO! STOP. ITS NOT YOU. YOU'RE DEAD!" Sherlock stared at me. "It can't be..." All the cold, numbing heartbreak, all the pain, turned into a burning rage. Sherlock smiled, his white teeth glinting in the dim light. He opened his arms, stepping forward. "YOU... YOU COCK!" I shouted, jabbing my finger in his face. His smile disappeared, hurt flickering in pale his eyes. "TWO YEARS SHERLOCK! Two years I believed I had lost the very best person in my life. Two years I mourned you, wondering if I was the reason you had jumped off of that building. For what? For you to walk back in my life like nothing's changed!?"Sherlock lowered his arms. "Mycroft warned me about this..." he said quietly to himself. "MYCROFT?" I shook my head in disbelief. "Who else?" "Hm?" "Who else did you bother telling that YOU WEREN'T DEAD?!" He dipped his head, his raven black curls falling over his eyes. "Molly Hooper.... and a few of my homeless network," he answered, clearing his throat. I lunged at him, pushing him against the fireplace. Sherlock raised his hands. "John..." I curled my fingers into a fist and stuck him across the cheek. The impact sent him to the floor, accompanied with a loud thud. Footsteps rushed up the stairs.

"John, you're making an awful lot of noise... everything all right?" Mrs. Hudson asked, opening the door. Her eyes locked on the body resting by my feet. She placed a hand over her heart. "My god..." she gasped. "Not quite," Sherlock said winking. I kicked him in the chest. Hard. Sherlock let out an audible groan. Mary held me back as I jumped forward again. "John... no violence." "Oh no he's entitled," Sherlock said, pushing himself to his feet. "I ruined his wedding," he said sadly. I looked at him. "Get out Sherlock." Mary turned towards me, failing to hide the surprise on her face. The detective collected himself, sighing sadly. "Mycroft was right... I shouldn't have come back." He left without another word, slamming the door behind him.

I lowered my head into my hands, tears beginning to fall down my face. Mary walked over to me, wrapping her arms around my fragile frame, the only thing left holding me together. The tears turned into rivers as I knelt to the ground sobbing. Mary rubbed my back, Mrs. Hudson poking her head out from the kitchen. "It's okay John," she said, raising her hands to cradle my neck. "It's not okay." She placed her cheek against the top of my head. "No," she agreed after a moment. "But it is what it is."