I am not dead, are you? (SherlockXMoriarty PostRBF)

He retrieved his hand from Sherlock's hair as he felt a little rejected by the detective. This was, in James's eyes, a step of committing he'd done something wrong. Otherwise he'd be still ignoring him.

"Fine." He said and called out for the hostess to order some fine Irish coffee.

"We're landing soon." He mentioned.

The idea of landing soon made Sherlock feel sick, maybe he hadn't slept enough. He felt so queasy. It was hard to go back to his usual rationality, and he felt he wasn't himself any more.

"Should we... mm... maybe wait a few days before visiting John? I think it might be a good idea to clear things up between us before..." he muttered, and looked outside the window. "We could stay in a hotel..."

"You're still planning on telling John about us?" He asked insecure. By now he'd assume Sherlock would knew what to tell the ex soldier. Though, the fact he was trying to wait longer might mean he wasn't sure just yet.

"It might be a good idea, but I'm not standing in your way. If you want to see John as soon as possible I will not hold you back." He didn't want this to become one of those endless discussions.

"I am not sure..." he admitted, looking at his hands, his eyes closing for a moment, he wished his thoughts would run as they did once, he used to be so confident. "I have no idea how he will react to my being alive..."

"But maybe I should go visit him on my own first..." he whispered, worry was clear in his voice, he really didn't want John to keep being miserable, and he wanted to check whether he was alright, he wanted to see him with his own eyes.

"I understand." James nodded.

The plane was going down, it had started to land and James could see the foggy city center of his previous home city. It made him shiver. London had always been the center of everything he had. He'd so much here, though he felt as of he also had nothing left of it.

"So, an hotel then?" He asked.

"Yes, somewhere where no one will ask questions or recognize us," he muttered, he knew the papers would have a field day if they saw them together, the stories they would come up with! It had been a long time though, the chance for that to happen were slim.

He reached out for Jim's hand, squeezing it slightly. "Jim, I need you," he whispered, a confession that sounded uncharacteristic to his ears.

"I know exactly where to go." He said, picturing an hotel just outside the city center. He raised his hand to stop a taxi.

His other hand entangles with Sherlock's and a warm feeling washed over him. He enjoyed the little things Sherlock did, such as this, just grabbing his hand and squeezing it. His eyes traveled down and looked at their hands for a few seconds. Sherlock's words made him shiver and Jim was uncertain why.

"I'll be here for you." He whispered back.

Sherlock couldn't possibly describe the feeling of relief and happiness that spread in his chest when he took the other's reply.
I will be there for you...
No one had ever told him anything of the sort.

"Thank you, Jim," he whispered, turning around and placing a kiss on the other's shoulder.


((Should we skip to when Sherlock goes to John? Should Jim go with him but stay outside and listen in?))

((Hmmm yes I think we should. And for the first time I think Jim will let Sherlock go in on his own (even though, he isn't liking the idea. But he will.) And then I can roleplay John for a moment? I don't know. ))

((you want to RP the meeting as John? It might be quite dramatic, being the reunion and considering John is suicidal and all ^^ if you are up to it, of course I would love it~ but I feel bad for Jim to be away XDD ))

(( Well I can do both? Or we both move John around. It doesn't matter but I figured Jim might not have much lines to say while John and Sherlock were being reunited.))

((What do you prefer? I am okay with doing Sherlock and John for a while and you can insert Jim at times... and you can choose whether you want to move him or we should do it together... I guess it depends on whether you have a good idea on how he will react ^^ ))

(( Well I guess it will also depends on what Sherlock is going to tell. Because if he decided to not involve Jim for now, he doesn't have much to do and it will be just you playing both Sherlock and John and Jim won't have much more then a few lines to say each time. If you know what I mean.

And I don't prefer anything really, I could do them both. My idea about John was that he'd be mixed up. He'd be both happy and relieved but also devastated and angry at Sherlock.))

((Sherlock wants to see how John will react before deciding what to do, he doesn't know whether John will be happy or hurt and he is not good at predicting him at all... he wants to get Jim involved eventually, but first he needs to check whether John will be in good pshycological shape for it ^^ I feel bad about asking you to play a character that is not yours, but if you are up to it ^^ we could also skip the reunion and play once John is a bit more used to the idea of Sherlock being back o.O ))

(( Nahhh that wouldn't be the same if we skipped it. At least to me it doesn't feel right. But I can try to do John, I mean unless you want to because after all I think you know better how to do so.))

((Well, it would be me doing the whole scene, which I think that might be a bit boring for the both of us XD so I guess it's better we play it? Should I start with Sherlock getting to the hospital room or you want to start with John being sulky and depressed?))

((I'd prefer is you started, if you don't mind. ))

((Anything for my dear wife-to-be <3 ))

Sherlock was nervous, terrified, he wasn't sure what to expect and it was a state of mind that usually led him into troubles.
He would usually find himself drugs if he got into this state, but at the moment he just couldn't, he knew John wouldn't approve.

He was moving through the hospital as if he was a normal visitor, he knew John was in a private room Mycroft was paying for, and hell was going to break lose once his brother would realize he was alive.
It didn't matter though. Nothing mattered at the moment but the sanity of his best friend.

He knew there was no way to do this smoothly, so he knocked on the door and slid inside.
His heart was beating fast in his chest, but he realized quickly that John was asleep.
He looked... so thin and fragile. Half the size he used to be.
It was painful.

He moved closer, sat by the bed, held his hand, and waited.
"I am so sorry, John..." he whispered at times, trying to calm his conscience.

John sat alone on his new flat's floor. He'd considered moving back to Baker Street, but something stopped him every time. Even more things would remind him of his best friend. He felt empty, even after 3 years. It still felt as if yesterday was the day he tossed himself of that roof. Those mental images were killing him. He could hear Sherlock's voice, he could feel him interrupt his personal space he could see him in his nightmares. More than once he'd woke up screaming the detectives name while he was drowning in his own sweat. It was enough for the back to break.

The small blonde man walked over to his kitchen to get himself a glass of water. He was determined on doing it right this time. The previous time he'd been far to imprudent and he made sure tonight nothing could go wrong.

On a small piece of paper he scrabbled some last words. He did not need to write much, his life had no longer a meaning, he was alone and he could not overcome this empty feeling.

"You all know why. It's better this way.
Don't take this personal, you all have been amazing.

John Watson."

He took the small piece of paper and folded it, gently inserting it in the grey envelope. He left it on the small coffee table next to his sofa. For a moment he just stood still, thinking, but then he inhaled deep and turned on his radio before he went to sit down on the sofa.

Out of his pocket he got a small box of pills. His knowledge taught him enough that 3 of these were enough to make his heart stop. He'd just fall into a comatose sleep and never wake up again. Eyes scanning over the small tablets as he held them in his hands. With a smooth movement he tossed them in his mouth, sticking his dry tongue out just a little bit. The water washed them away, there was no turning back now.

The next half hour was spent by just lying down on his sofa listening to the music on the radio. It played a song John could rely to. "And I sat watching a flower, as it was withering. I was embarrassed by its honesty. So I'd prefer to be remembered as a smiling face, not this fucking wreck that's taken its place"

The accurateness of the songs's lyrics made John shiver. A while later he could feel himself getting lightheaded and the room slowly began to spin around him. He felt peaceful and he stared at this wooden ceiling. This was it, this was the end of his suffering. When he opened his eyes he'd be reunited with his best friend.

--

John felt a sudden touch, a voice that was so familiar he'd recognize it after centuries apart. His plan had worked, he wasn't here anymore and Sherlock's voice spoke apologizing words that appealed him. How could he feel angry as this what all he dreamed of ever since the detective had been gone. "It's alright Sherlock." He muttered, as if he was in a slumber between dreaming and reality. "We're together now."

It wasn't until the next few seconds that he became awfully aware of other noises. Beeping machines, a distant voice somewhere on the end of the corridor. His body was not floating through some thin air, in fact it was lying down on soft surface, a bed. He was not gone, he had failed. Again.

His mind had once again pulled a painful trick on him. Letting him here Sherlock's face in order to get him back from where ever he'd been in the past hours, days, weeks? He did not even know. His body stirred slightly, telling him to wake up and open his eyes, but he was not willing to face the painful reality of waking up all alone in a hospital room once more. Not this time, not again.

Sherlock's eyes opened suddenly when he felt John's breathing pattern change, he knew it meant only one thing, his friend was finally waking up. His thoughts were put to a halt, all his senses turning on John.
The despair in his chest gave way to a single spark of hope.

"John," he whispered, the reply was quick, but it tasted surreal. John had no idea where he was, he had no idea what he was saying.

He squeezed the doctor's hand, he wanted him to know he was here, he was real, even though his own body was betraying him, ketting tears slid down his cheeks. "I am here John... look at me... I am back..."

Something hit John, something crushed his chest and made all his muscles tense up. The squeeze in his hand, that never happened before. It couldn't be? No it's impossible...

John slowly squeezed back, he could feel this. His mind responding faster than it was allowed.
"Sher..Sherlock?" He whispered while his eyes blinked to open. The vague contours of Sherlock's face slowly became visible. "How?... What?... " John did not know what to say, he felt sick and weak.

A few seconds later emotions started to kick in. Anger washed over him, quickly followed by relieve and happiness but also pain and doubt. Was this one of his dreams? It surely looked real but perhaps the pills he took were only making him delusional, they tend to have that effect.

"Sherlock?" He whispered once more with a very weak and shaking voice. A wrinkle of disbelieve formed on his face. He was now looking into the detective's eyes. This was a dream, this was a lie, this just could not be true.

Sherlock looked into the other's eyes, John looked so different and it broke his heart in too many ways. There was nothing of the passion he used to read into his gaze, the pools of blue were empty, sad, and the flickers of emotions was too quick for him to follow.

"It's me, John... I am sorry... I am not dead... I... I had to disappear... and I faked my death... I am so sorry..." he tried to explain, not sure where he should start from.
How could he really disentangle this?
It was insane.

"I had no idea it would do this to you... I am so sorry..."

john once again kept silent. He needed some time to let his brain process this. How was it possible? Why didn't Sherlock came back sooner? Or a letter? One text? There were so many thing he wanted to ask and say but the words just did not come out. He swallowed loud and noticed his throat was painfully sore and dry.

John's eyes moved restless over Sherlock's face. He was crying, sherlock Holmes, dead until a few minutes ago was crying on his bed side. Why wasn't John overwhelmed with happiness? Why did this feeling of confusion and anger had to win the battle from the fact that he had never been more happy to see someone in his life.

He cleared his throat before he was able to speak. His voice was raw and weak. "What did you expect then? I'd dance around the place?" A twitch in his lips gave away how emotionally he actually was about this. "Did you /deduced/ I'd just carry on as if nothing ever happened" his head shook slightly and he was fighting his tears off.

"What was it huh? "Oh it's John Watson, he's a soldier, he's used to these things?" Or more like "Oh well, John will be fine in a few. No need to mention the tiny detail that I actually did not die."" John spoke the words in a higher voice. He was visible hurt and heartbroken. He was torn by his own emotions.

Sherlock took in the yelling silently, he knew he deserved it, as much as he told himself he had had his reasons to leave John, he knew that the damage he created was greater than what he could ever imagine.

"I thought it would sadden you," he muttered, and looked at him sincerely. "I thought that it was going to take you... 12 months at best to get over it... and then, you would find yourself a new place, you would start a new job, get a girlfriend, get married... I thought you were going to be happy by now," he admitted, the pattern had been so clear in his head.

"I had to stay away... and even now, I am compromising your safety by being here... no one knows I am alive, John, not even Mycroft, my own brother," he explained quickly.

"I know it's no excuse, and I regret it, I regret everything, I wish I knew better... I am sorry..."

John listened closely, processing every bit of information Sherlock threw at him. It was a lot to take, a lot to believe and John was tired, dizzy and weak. If only he could find the right words to describe how he felt. Sherlock would not understand though, he was immune for these kind of things.

Even though could not move much, a sarcastic smile filed the thin air. "I tried to, Sherlock, I did. But I failed, I could not live up to what you had expected me to. The great Sherlock Holmes was wrong, there's something new." His voice still shaking. On the inside every inch of him was screaming out how much he'd missed the person standing in front of him right not. But he could not say it out loud, not yet. Sherlock was not getting away with this easy, he needed to know that was he did was wrong, no matter the circumstances.

"How can I possibly be in danger now?" He frowned. Non of Sherlock's words were making any sense to him. Not that they ever really did, but this was different. He got the feeling that he was missing something here. Something Sherlock was not telling him. Something more then just a cheap excuse for disappearing more then 3 years.

Sherlock's words of appology hit John's straight in the face. He could tell just by the detective's voice that he was meaning this. That this was hard on him as well. John's wall of defense slowly started to crumble down. He felt so weak.