Okay, this is me warning you. A pretty depressing drabble. This almost brought my best friend DakotaBeor to tears so... Y'know, Kleenex to hand... I may continue this on in latter drabbles (: I apologise for my laggy uploading /: Forgive me?

~~~oOo~~~

Title: Grave Expectations

Set: Post-Fall
Pairings: Sherlock/Charley
Style: Angst/Sad/Depressing/Oh, did I mention angst?
Words: 387
Dedicated to: DakotaBeor seeing as it almost made her cry... ((Don't worry MagicWhispers, I've got a special one coming up for you!))

"You told me once," John cleared his throat to stop it from breaking with emotion, "That you weren't a hero. Um, there were times I didn't even think you were human – but let me tell you this," John paused in an attempt to withhold his tears, "You were the best man, and the most human, human being that I have ever know and no one will ever convince me that you told me a lie. So, there," The Doctor placed his hand on the headstone lightly, "I was so alone, and I owe you so much," John waited a moment longer then turned to stride away quickly but spun around changing his mind, "No, please. There's just one more thing, one more thing, one more miracle Sherlock, for me. Don't. Be," and finally his voice cracked from grievance, "Dead. Would you do – just for me, just stop it. Stop this," John Watson crumpled, a few beady tears trickled down either cheek and he brusquely brushed them away after sniffing loudly. Regaining his composure he straightened himself and walked away from the grave as restrained and orderly as he was taught in his army days.

Sherlock stood in the shadows of some grand tomb, in the distance he heard a twig snap. All his mind could do was numbly relate the sound to that of his heart snapping in two at John's heartfelt speech and torn expression. Now as a rule Sherlock did not feel emotions – he was a high function sociopath of course – however, this did not mean he didn't feel them, he would just rather silence or ignore them. Yet Sherlock found the door to his emotions being flung open by his flatmate, and that is why he had to die.

Maybe his death would force him away from the doctor, safely slamming and locking the door shut. But lo, the one problem the great consulting detective could not defeat or solve – even after he cheated death – was that of his first and closest friend.

Ever since Sherlock had met John that first day in the labs he felt a certain tugging at his gut, a magnetic pull. Yet he ignored this and after one set of brief deductions he felt he knew all he needed to about the ex-army doctor. Oh how he was wrong.