A/N: Hello, this is my first ever fanfic. And my first completed work. Which, really, isn't that big an accomplishment since it's so short. I know it's not much, but the other day I was watching A Scandal in Belgravia, and Irene's text made me think of this.
If you're reading this, thank you. I hope I don't disappoint you. But, I encourage (please) constructive criticism. I do want to get better, so, yes, rip this apart so that one day, I'll get better and revise it, and see how it goes.
Disclaimer: Everything belongs to that heartbreaker, Moffat. If this was mine, JohnLock would be canon. Alas, this is classified as fanfiction.
I'm not dead. Let's have dinner.
-SH
This one text alone made John's hair stand on end. He stops for a moment, letting his mind wander to the old memories. How he longed for it to be true. For Sherlock to be alive.
He ignored the text. He figured it was just some bloke pulling a nasty practical joke on him. Blinking back a stray tear, he deleted it. It was better not to be affected, anyway.
"We're out of milk again."
At first sight of the man, as the first wave of his voice reached his eardrums, John froze. Sherlock sat on his arm chair, phone in hand, seemingly nonchalant.
John stood near the doorway, his body slightly shaking. He scratched the back of his head absent mindedly as his eyes locked with Sherlock's. Then –
"Okay."
He left. He turned on his heel and walked out, closing the door behind him. Sherlock only sat there staring at the door, obviously baffled.
Meanwhile, John himself was puzzled. He stared at his feet the entire way to the grocery store.
Why now?
It's been a full week since Sherlock had returned to Baker Street. John was still paying him no mind. He was merely going about his day as usual. Sherlock was really confused now. His eyes followed John, scrutinizing every detail, and trying to deduce the reason for John's reaction. Or lack, thereof.
It was that morning when Lestrade burst through 221B's door.
"John," he bellowed. "We need you down at –"
He stopped mid-sentence, eyes widening as they spotted Sherlock. Mrs. Hudson followed him in at that moment. As soon as she did, her hand flew to her chest, the other over her mouth. Gasping, she managed to stammer a single word.
"S-Sherlock?"
John's eyes grew wide, small tremors shook his being, and cold sweat made his skin slightly damp. He turned to face the man reading the Tuesday paper behind him.
Tension grew and everything was quiet. Suddenly, there was only the four of them. The honking of cars silenced as their surroundings darkened. John was the first to speak, and what he said next caught everyone in the room off guard.
"Y-you can see him, too?"
A/N: And there it is. I really hope I didn't disappoint you too much. Again, I would really appreciate some criticism. Thanks. C: