Author's Note:Hello Sherlock fandom. Well, this is my first attempt at writing for Sherlock though I've been reading the fanfics for -let's just say quite some time, because I can't remember a specific date. I have written fanfiction before for Glee, and I still do, even if I don't watch it anymore.

It goes without saying that no characters belong to me, and even this idea is hardly original, but I like to think that I gave it my own twist.

Important- I hope the formatting is pretty obvious, but in case it isn't John's texts are normal and Sherlock's are in italics. Texts in brackets haven't been sent, and line breaks mark the start of a new conversation. If you get confused remember that John is essentially having a one-sided conversation with Sherlock's inbox, because he can't see any of Sherlock's replies if they're not being sent.

All mistakes are mine, but I am English so it's not exactly likely that any Americanisms are going to pop up. Reviews are much appreciated, even if they are just to tell me that you hated it. Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoy it.

I think I'm going insane, and I don't mean that it a good way. –JW

(I hadn't realised there /was/ a good kind of insane. –SH)

I'm not insane in a Moriarty kind of way either though. –JW

(No one's insane in a Moriarty kind of way. –SH)

That's something, I suppose. –JW

(Yes, that's always good. –SH)

I don't think I'm the psychopath type, really. Maybe it's the jumpers? –JW

(Psychopaths aren't allowed to wear jumpers? –SH)

Sally would argue that psychopath was more your area. –JW

(Actually, I believe 'psychopath' was more Anderson's preferred word of choice, but yes, she would. –SH)

I disagree. –JW

(I know. You always were loyal to the point of stupidity. –SH)

I never did like Donovan. –JW

(Didn't you? She was /such/ a lovely woman. –SH)

She was too quick to judge people, and I hated how she used to call you 'Freak'. –JW

(I don't see why: it never bothered me. –SH)

…She was a bit of a bitch, come to think of it. –JW

(She…? Are you alright? –SH)

You're not a freak, Sherlock. –JW

(Given that the technical definition of a freak would be someone that wasn't normal, there'd be many people disagreeing with that statement. I appreciate the comment, however. Thank you, John. –SH)

Honestly, I don't even believe that you're a sociopath. But I do believe in you. –JW

(Again, loyalty… Why don't you give up on me, John? –SH)

I believe in Sherlock Holmes, and I always will. –JW

(Always is a long time. –SH)

I just wanted you to know that. –JW

How long is it supposed to hurt like this? –JW

(Please don't. –SH)

They say that everyone deals with grief in different ways, but that's just the thing: I'm not dealing with it. -Not at all. –JW

(I'm not good with emotion, John. You know that. –SH)

There's this dull pain in my chest all the time, and I never smile anymore. Ever. It doesn't feel like I have a reason to: it's not as if I'm ever happy. –JW

(John… –SH)

Hell, I'm never even content. –JW

(Don't. –SH)

Ella says I've got depression (it wouldn't be the first time), and that combined with the PTSD is making me feel absolutely awful. Yet there's nothing I can do about it. –JW

(Forget about me. Stop this. Stop hurting yourself. I'm not worth it. –SH)

I can't stop thinking about… well, about everything, and it won't stop hurting. –JW

(You don't need to tell me all this. I'm not the right person to talk to. –SH)

Why won't it stop? –JW

(Because you care too much –SH)

You remember Ella, don't you? –JW

(Vaguely –SH)

What am I saying? Of course you don't, you couldn't even tell the difference between my girlfriends. –JW

(That's hardly fair: neither could you. It wasn't as if they were interesting. –SH)

Then again, sometimes, neither could I. –JW

(My point exactly –SH)

Ella's my therapist. Ella Thompson, if we're going to be specific. –JW

(Oh yes. Mycroft said you were back with the therapist. Waste of time, John. I don't see why you bother. –SH)

You wouldn't like her. –JW

(I can barely tolerate most people, John; of course I wouldn't like her. For one thing, she chose therapy as a profession. –SH)

I thought that I'd never have to see her again, after I met you. You cured my psychosomatic limp (which has now returned with a vengeance) without really meaning to, yet Ella's been trying to help me for months and I don't think it's helping at all. –JW

(It isn't. –SH)

It doesn't seem fair. –JW

(Life isn't fair. –SH)

I'll be paying for her new kitchen refurbishment at this rate. –JW

(You probably already have. You've attended enough sessions. –SH)

It still scares me that I somehow managed to deduce that. –JW

(It's hardly difficult, it was obvious. –SH)

And no, Sherlock, it's not obvious. –JW

(-You know me so well. –SH)

Maybe I learnt something from you after all, huh? –JW

(I didn't doubt it for a second. –SH)

I probably only go to see Ella for the company, seeing as it's obvious that she's not doing much in the way of helping me, despite her honest attempts. –JW

(You've been thinking about this a lot. Don't you have anything better to do? –SH)

Yes, I've been thinking about this a lot. –JW

(What…? –SH)

No, I do not have anything better to do. –JW

(…Okay, /that/ was impressive. –SH)

Sad, isn't it? –JW

(That you have nothing better to do? Yes. –SH)

I guess it's just nice to have someone to talk to, even if the conversation /is/ predictable and irritating (at least in your eyes). –JW

(Of course it's predictable and irritating: she's a therapist. They practically have every response written down in an instruction manual. All they do is ask stupid questions and try to ultimately blame everything on your childhood. –SH)

-But it's too quiet at the flat. I don't like it. –JW

(You always did prefer the danger. –SH)

The quiet, that is. Not the flat. –JW

(I assumed. Do remember who you're talking to, John. –SH)

I promised myself that I wouldn't go back to 221B, but I couldn't help it. It makes me feel closer to you, I suppose. Sometimes, I can almost convince myself that nothing's wrong. I can sit in my room and pretend that you're lounging around on that sofa, trapped within the confines of your mind palace, or sulking about your lack of cases. –JW

(I do not 'sulk'. –SH)

Once, I got so carried away with my imagination that I swore I could hear you playing the violin… –JW

(You really need to stop saying things like this. –SH)

I can't really explain what it feels like to be back in Baker Street, but I suppose it's both a comfort and a form of torture at the same time. There are so many memories attached to this place, yet whenever I do remember them I just seem to burst into tears. –JW

(Stop it. –SH)

I hate crying; I doubt there is anybody out there that actually likes it, but I'm so sick of it. I shouldn't feel like this. I shouldn't be so affected by what happened. I was in Afghanistan. I was a soldier. There were injured people dying around me time after time, and sometimes there was nothing I could do; there are problems that even an experienced doctor can't fix. –JW

(I refuse to read any more of your messages. You're being ridiculous. Don't cry over me. –SH)

…Or a therapist, apparently. –JW

(John. I mean it. –SH)

But you made me watch, Sherlock. Why would you do that to me? –JW

(I had to. It was the only way you'd believe it. You have to understand that. I didn't want to hurt you. –SH)

I keep seeing it, over and over again. The image keeps replaying in my mind, and there's never anything that I can do. I'm just standing there, helplessly watching you plummet to your death, knowing that I was powerless to stop it. –JW

(You're pushing me closer towards saying something sentimental, John. –SH)

Sleeping doesn't provide a relief. All is does is bring back the nightmares. You don't always die, in the dreams, but you're always hurt, always, and it's always my fault –or at least that's what it feels like. One time you took a bullet for me, multiple others you were being tortured, and the worst, by far, you were on top of that bloody building again, yet it was me pushing you. –JW

(Don't be an idiot; you're much smarter than that. Of course it wasn't your fault. –SH)

I wake up gasping for breath, and it's no better than the restless sleep. All it does is remind me that my reality is a nightmare too. –JW

(Now you're just being dramatic. –SH)

It's your fault and I want to hate you for doing this to me, but I can't. I just can't. I could never hate you, and I hate that, because it would be so much easier otherwise. –JW

(So do. Hate me. Detest me. It's that easy. Lots of people have managed it. –SH)

A part of me wants to move on and forget all about this, yet I know deep down that it's never going to happen, that I won't let it. –JW

(Let it. What is it going to take for you to move on? –SH)

I've probably told you in person before and in a different context, but I genuinely think you've driven me to insanity. –JW

(Stop thinking about me –SH)

For instance, only the other day, I swore that I saw you. I know, it's completely crazy and irrational, but I was so convinced. It was just a glance, nothing more, only a flash of dark curly hair and a tall figure. Looking back, it could've been anybody. –JW

(I didn't realise you'd seen me. I'll be more careful next time. –SH)

Yet it felt so real, at the time. So real that I allowed myself, just for a second, to think that you were alive, that this whole thing had been an elaborate trick and that you were somewhere out there waiting for things to be safe for you to return. –JW

(I'm dead. –SH)

What are the chances of that happening? It's all denial and wistful thinking. –JW

(If only you knew the irony –SH)

I'm not entirely sure of exactly what followed, but I must have worked myself into such a state. Mrs Hudson found me, collapsed in a heap on the stairs leading up to the flat and sobbing uncontrollably. –JW

(Oh, John –SH)

I can't even remember it. –JW

(I'm sorry. –SH)

I don't know what I'd do without Mrs Hudson. Ever since 'The Incident', as she likes to call it, she's constantly stopping by to check up on me. She'd never say so, but I think she's making sure that I'm still alive. –JW

(I didn't mean to do this to you. –SH)

I know that I've lost a considerable amount of weight recently from not eating, and I'm always tired, but I can't understand why everyone seems to be tiptoeing around me as if they're scared that I'm going to break. –JW

(You're stronger than they give you credit for, you always were. –SH)

Depression isn't the same thing as being suicidal. Admittedly I've caught myself looking a little too intently at my gun lately, but I don't think I'd ever be brave enough to end it all. I just don't think it's worth it. To me it would be like taking the coward's way out, when having the strength to carry on is a much greater test of courage. –JW

(I'd never forgive myself if you committed suicide. –SH)

Christ, now I'm talking like a bloody philosopher or something. I really have been thinking too much. Maybe I should just go to bed. –JW

(It's probably for the best. Look at what you've reduced me to already. –SH)

Harry's starting drinking again. –JW

(Oh, is that what they've told you? –SH)

Or maybe it's just that she never really stopped in the first place? –JW

(Now you're thinking logically. –SH)

You'd know. –JW

(I do know. I'd just rather watch you figure it out for yourself. –SH)

I should be concerned for her health and willing her to stop doing this to herself, warn her of the risks of abusing alcohol and support her in recovery. That's what a good doctor –hell, a good brother would do. I should know: I've done it before. But I'm done. I don't care anymore. –JW

(You're almost beginning to sound like me. –SH)

I've been there for her time and time again, and I feel like it keeps being thrown back in my face. Nothing I can say or do is going to convince her to stop once and for all, so why bother? I have my own problems, and I don't see why I should be obligated to fix her every time she screws up. It's not as if she'd do the same for me. –JW

(What /have/ I done to you? This isn't the Watson I know. –SH)

Does that make me a bad person? –JW

(You could never be a bad person. –SH)

I know you're not the best person to ask for advice about feelings; you like to pretend that you don't have any, but you don't fool me, Sherlock. You're only human. –JW

(So I've heard. Maybe you're making me start to believe that. –SH)

(Happy Birthday, John –SH)

I may be wrong, but I think it's my birthday. –JW

(Oh good, you've caught up then. –SH)

That's a first; I didn't think it was possible to forget my own birthday. –JW

(You've had a lot more on your mind, I'd imagine. –SH)

Honestly, it doesn't feel any different than any other day, other than the large amount of cards I got in the post and a couple of text messages. Even Anderson sent one, surprisingly, but I'm pretty sure it was just out of sympathy. –JW

(Urgh, Anderson. Don't thank him. Be sure not to talk to him too much either, if you're not careful he'll lower your IQ to the point that you start using emoticons. –SH)

I don't need their pity, and I certainly don't want it. –JW

(No, I know. –SH)

Mycroft sent cake. It took me a while to figure out who it was that had sent it seeing as there was some kind of confusion with whoever delivered it and I was originally told that it was from 'Microsoft'. I guess I should thank him though, it actually made me smile. –JW

(Well of course Mycroft would send cake of all things. –SH)

-Though that was probably the mishap more so than the actual cake. –JW

(At least you're smiling again. –SH)

If what you say about your brother is anything to go by, he has a lot of experience in the cake area so it should be good, but I don't feel much like eating it. –JW

(He does have a lot of experience with cake. Don't you believe me? –SH)

I don't really feel like doing anything anymore. –JW

I got a late birthday present in the post. Someone sent a deerstalker. –JW

(Why is it always that hat? Honestly, I don't understand the obsession. –SH)

I didn't know whether to laugh or cry. –JW

(Oh. –SH)

You're killing me, Sherlock; both figuratively and literally. –JW

(Literally? –SH)

I tried to go back to work today; tried being the operative word. –JW

(What happened? –SH)

I'd convinced myself that I could handle it, but it turns out that I can't. –JW

(I'd managed to deduce that part already, don't be dull. –SH)

My first patient was a little old lady called Mrs Moriarity. –JW

(Whose idiotic idea was that?! –SH)

I read her name wrong. –JW

(Well of course you did, the surname was one letter away! Whose fault is it? Who sorts out the schedule? That's it, I'm calling Mycroft; someone is losing their job. –SH)

Things went progressively downhill from there. –JW

I never realised how much I dislike the tube. –JW

(On the positive side, you are allowed on it when none of the cabs will take you. –SH)

I'm currently sat between a serial adulteress and an abusive father. Directly opposite is a hysterical weeping minor who has not only just found out that she's pregnant, but that her boyfriend is cheating on her. –JW

(Your deductions are improving. That is, assuming that you're correct. –SH)

It's always nice to see people who look just as happy as I feel. –JW

(…John? –SH)

…Bit not good? –JW

("Bit not good, yeah" –SH)

I'm bored. –JW

(Is that your way of saying that you miss me? –SH)

I realise the irony. –JW

Did you know Ella's official occupation is as a 'Mental Health Therapist'? –JW

(It's the job title, yes. I had Mycroft run a full background check on her once I realised that she was doing poorly at her job. You were right, I don't like her. –SH)

Of course you did, but I only noticed today. –JW

(Is that so? I would have thought that it was obvious given the fact that you started going to her with the PTSD and psychosomatic limp. –SH)

That also means that I am officially classified as having 'mental health issues'. –JW

(I wouldn't use those words, exactly… -SH)

Told you I was insane. –JW

(You are not insane, John Watson. The sooner you get that ludicrous idea out of your head the better. –SH)

I know, I know, I'm over exaggerating at least slightly, but I've definitely not been in the right state of mind lately. –JW

(You're grieving; of course you aren't going to be entirely rational. –SH)

These texts alone are proof enough. –JW

(No, they're proof that you're not willing to let go, even after being told that I was dead. That says a lot about you. –SH)

Oh, God. Remind me never to go drinking with Lestrade again? –JW

(I hardly see the point; you'll only go and do it again. It'll do you good to get out of the apartment anyway. There's a reason Mrs Hudson is so worried about you. –SH)

Surprisingly, not because of the hangover that follows. –JW

(I wasn't judging. –SH)

I don't have a hangover. –JW

(No, you wouldn't be awake at this time of the morning if you did. –SH)

I realised that if I carried on much longer Harriet wouldn't be the only Watson suffering with alcoholism. The limp, PTSD and depression are more than enough problems to deal with. –JW

(See, you're being sensible John again! This is a good sign. Don't become an alcoholic. –SH)

Anyway, please, please, don't let me go near Greg the next time he's drunk –or ever, for that matter. I don't even think I can ever look at him the same way again. –JW

(What did he do? Stuff his face with a repulsive amount of doughnuts? It's Lestrade; surely it can't have been that bad. Don't you think you're overreacting just a little bit? –SH)

He has the habit of sharing way too much information when he's had too much to drink and –well, I would have never thought your brother was so kinky. –JW

(…You didn't just text that. That's a typo. Tell me that's a typo. –SH)

I'm far from homophobic, but, there are just some things I'd rather have gone through life not knowing. –JW

(And you didn't think that I might not want to know them either?! Look at what you've done, John. I just started a sentence with 'and'. Quit it now before I start using emoticons. –SH)

It's hard to get rid of the mental images. –JW

(Shut up. Stop typing. I don't want to think of my brother doing that. Or anyone, for that matter –SH)

…Probably could have worded that better. –JW

(I hate you. O_o –SH)

Sometimes, I really hate being nice. –JW

(I know; I have no idea how you can keep it up for so long. –SH)

Harriet went and got herself thrown in hospital, and I, being a caring and forgiving idiot, am stuck in an uncomfortable chair at her bedside, waiting for her to wake up. –JW

(You're not an idiot. You care about her. –SH)

She's just sleeping, and her doctor didn't tell me anything I couldn't already figure out, but maybe this will be the final wakeup call that she needs to quit alcohol for good. –JW

(You don't honestly believe that, do you? This is Harry we're talking about. –SH)

Somehow, I doubt it. –JW

I don't know what you did before me, because that skull is bloody horrible at conversation. –JW

(He's an excellent listener. –SH)

Molly has a boyfriend. –JW

(Dull. Apparently so does my brother, but I don't go around telling people that. –SH)

I've met him, and he's a nice guy: clearly adores her. He's probably exactly what she needs. –JW

(Since when has anyone 'needed' a relationship? –SH)

-All I could think about when I saw him is that he is absolutely nothing like you. –JW

(What does that have to do with anything? –SH)

Optimistic to the point where he seems naïve, tanned, openly expressing emotions, friendly to everyone, wearing glasses… –JW

(He sounds terrible. What must Molly see in him? –SH)

She must have noticed something, because she pulled me aside and said that she felt like it was time she started moving on. –JW

(Oh, good, follow her example. –SH)

(Well, don't get a boyfriend, obviously, unless you want to, it has nothing to do with me who you chose to date. –SH)

(Though from the number of times you've insisted that you aren't gay I'd say that wasn't very likely anyway. –SH)

(You know what I mean. –SH)

That's easy for her to say. –JW

(Of course it's easy to say things; it's actually following through with what you've said that's the difficult part. –SH)

(Though honestly, you don't seem to be making anything about this easy. –SH)

Mycroft's been paying the bills, hasn't he? –JW

(Who else did you think who have been paying them? You spent months out of work, so it certainly wasn't you. –SH)

I didn't realise he cared. –JW

(It's probably guilt more so than anything else, but he does seem to be capable of caring despite his belief that it isn't an advantage. –SH)

I think I'm the only one who isn't consistently referring to you in the past tense. –JW

(That's because everyone else believes that I'm dead. It's just you holding out on the hope that I'm not. –SH)

(I wish you were more pessimistic. –SH)

Stop being dead, it doesn't suit you. –JW

(Sorry to disappoint. –SH)

"When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth." That's what you said, right? –JW

(Unlike some people, I don't keep a record of every line that I've ever spoken, but yes, that sounds right. Why do you ask? –SH)

Well, here's what I know: you're not dead. You're not. So that's the impossible. –JW

(What's so impossible about it? Everyone dies eventually. It's what people do. –SH)

Yet the fact still remains that I saw you jump from the top of that building, and I saw you lying on the floor at the bottom of it. –JW

(John, what are you doing? Is this going somewhere? –SH)

I didn't see you hit the ground. That's the important part. –JW

(You're really doing this, aren't you? I must say, I'm impressed. –SH)

I took your pulse, but you knew I'd do that, I'm a doctor. I've been looking into things like that. There /are/ ways of stopping your pulse, if only for a few seconds. That's all you would have needed. –JW

('All'? –SH)

…That and a well-timed bike accident. –JW

(John Watson, you never cease to amaze me. –SH)

Improbable, sure, but that doesn't mean it can't be the truth. –JW

(It certainly doesn't. –SH)

Wrong? –JW

(Don't doubt yourself. –SH)

Oh. –JW

(Was that really worth sending a text just for that one word? It barely even classifies as a sentence. –SH)

I got a new phone. –JW

(How interesting. –SH)

There was nothing wrong with my old one, and I kept the SIM card, but this was for an experiment. –JW

(You hate experiments. –SH)

I'm still getting the results right now, actually. –JW

(Again, you hate experiments. –SH)

It's proving to be very successful. –JW

(What are you up to? –SH)

Confused yet? –JW

(Surprisingly, yes. –SH)

I'm surprised, to be honest, that you didn't think of it. After all, you do like technology. –JW

(It's useful; that's not to say that I like it. –SH)

It started because I realised that my texts were still being sent; that your phone hadn't been disconnected, and then I was out yesterday and… –JW

(What? –SH)

Did you know you can get phones with a feature saying when your messages have been read? –JW

(Of course I did, but what does- oh. –SH)

I'll take that as a no comment, then. –JW

(You…? No. You couldn't possibly have done that. Even I didn't think of that.–SH)

You arranged so many things: the phone call, the bike, stopping your pulse... I don't care how you did it, I honestly don't, but there are a few things that you didn't anticipate, that you misjudged, and one of those is me. –JW

(I did. It seems I underestimated you. –SH)

You didn't honestly expect that I'd give up, did you? –JW

(I hoped. It would have been for your own good, really. –SH)

I know you're reading this. –JW

(You honestly never gave up on me? –SH)

Hello, Sherlock. –JW

John, you're amazing.–SH