You were standing in front of Sherlock’s grave. You smiled faintly as you remembered the memories you had shared with him. You met him when John invited you to move in with them after you lost your own place. He always looked out for you because you were his little sister.
You remembered how Sherlock dragged you on a case and showed off his observation skills. It was a little trick that you loved. Sherlock didn’t really talk to you much, but when John started working again, Sherlock began to take an interest in you.
You both shared numerous talks and dinners. You never admitted it, but you had fallen for Sherlock Holmes.
On the day Sherlock jumped, you had admitted to him how you felt and he had given you a baffled look before simply taking off. Your heart had been broken, but it was completely destroyed when you heard about his death.
It had been two years since that day and you were standing at the grave to place new flowers. You hated the idea of simply leaving flowers to rot away. You were a strong believer that they should be regularly replaced out of respect. You were still living at 221B Baker Street with Mrs. Hudson, for fear of leaving her alone. John had moved out long ago and was living with his girlfriend, Mary, somewhere else. You said goodbye to the grave and returned to your flat.
John was there talking to Mrs. Hudson and you noticed a figure in the corner. You chose to ignore it because you didn’t recognize the person.
“John,” you smiled, “It’s been ages. What did Mary say?”
You knew of your brother’s plans to propose. In fact, you had helped him plan it. You noticed he still had his ridiculous mustache, but you chose to ignore it for a minute.
“She said yes Y/N. I’m getting married,” John responded.
“Congratulations, brother,” You squealed and hugged him.
Mrs. Hudson clapped.
“But you are shaving that thing off, right?” i asked.
“Why does everyone want me to shave it?” he asked, touching it.
“It just doesn’t suit you, dear,” Mrs. Hudson spoke.
I nodded in agreement.
“Hello, Y/N,” i heard a familiar voice behind me.
I shivered, remembering who the voice belonged to. But i knew it wasn’t possible. Sherlock was dead. I slowly turned to see Sherlock in front of me.
“This is not possible,” you stammered.
“I’m back, Y/N,” Sherlock said.
You poked his chest and looked at John. John nodded at you with sad eyes. Sherlock was real. And alive. He had faked his death and tricked you all. You were angry.
“How dare you?” you shouted, punching him in the jaw.
You watched Sherlock stagger back and look back at you in shock, while holding his jaw. It was growing red by the second. You got ready to pounce on him and do more damage when John grabbed you around the waist and held you back.
“Tell her why, Sherlock,” John said, not letting you go.
Mrs. Hudson went to examine Sherlock’s face.
“I lied to protect you. All of you. And now i’m back for the same reason. And for you, Y/N,” Sherlock said.
You gave Sherlock a confused look. John let you go as Sherlock walked over and grabbed your shoulders roughly. He yanked you close to him and slammed his lips to yours. You kissed back, matching his quick and hungry pace. You pulled away and gave him a blank look.
“That was way overdue,” Sherlock said.
“Agreed,” you nodded.
“Now back to the subject of John’s mustache,” Sherlock smirked.
Mrs. Hudson, John, Sherlock, and you all began to engage in a deep conversation about the unfortunate facial hair, with Sherlock holding your hand tight the entire time. You never wanted him to let go.