The siblings lay huddled together in bed, clinging to each other as if it was the only real thing left. Which to them, it was.
A lover, a friend, was dead.
Far too long. It had been far too long since the death of Sherlock Holmes. And it pained the Watson siblings to no end. The genius was close to them both. They loved him far too much. And it was beginning to kill them.
John pulled you closer in his arms, still slumbering away in the darkness. You, on the other hand, couldn't subject yourself to the nightmares sleep brought upon your troubled mind. They were always the same. Always. Not one detail ever changed. How could it when it really happened?
You fought the tears that began to build in your eyes, hoping your dear brother stayed at rest. His face showed how old he truly was now. How much he had aged. It was painful.
But John, John may have felt terrible, but he was sure it was double for you. As much of an ass Sherlock could be, he could be just as wonderful, if not more. And his sister, you, and his friend had become quite close during your days. So much so that Sherlock let someone in.
Maybe it was a Watson thing.
While thoughts of another dreadful day filled your senses, you didn't seem to notice the looming shadow in the room. Realizing that the sun would be visiting soon, you burrowed your way into John's chest to hide away from reality.
Reality wasn't so appealing anymore now that he was gone.
Letting out a soft sigh, you whispered to your brother, fully knowing he wouldn't hear you.
"I love you. But I do not know if I can take this anymore," fingers curling tighter into your brother's shirt, you squeezed your eyes shut. "I just can't take it. I miss him more than you will ever know. I need to be with him.. I do.." You paused to breathe, heart pounding in your ears.
When you went to continue your speech, a hand pressed over your mouth. You were about to scream, but the hush. That hush...it sounded like...
"Sherlock?" It was more of a quiet mumble than anything, the hand still pressed firmly to your lips. Though, the hand didn't move as a voice rang through your ears, a voice you never thought you would hear again.
"(R/n). You must be quiet. Do nothing stupid. Stay close to John. One day, we will be able to return to normal. I promise. Remember, always remember me." And with that, the hand was gone and so was the voice's owner. It sounded just like Sherlock. But he was dead. Unless...
You and John were in the kitchen the next morning, sipping at some tea.
"How'd you sleep? I swear I heard you talking last night."
You shook your head, a small smile playing on your lips. "Slept fine. I... I had a dream. It was about.." Pausing, you tried to gauge the reaction of John before continuing. His nod gave you the signal to go on. "Sherlock visited me. It was so different than the others. It was... It was good. H-he promised me.. He promised." John reached for your hand, his way of showing his understanding.
Unbeknownst to the pair of you, Sherlock Holmes was watching the exchange with a soft smile. His Watson's. He would return to them soon.
"Don't forget me, my dearest (r/n)."