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"My condolences, John." Shut up. He's not dead. I know he isn't. He's not gone, or missing, or whatever. I know he's out there. Hiding. And for some goddamned reason, he won't come back. Why won't he come back? Why won't he come back to me? Was I not a good companion? Did I annoy him? I know that he's somewhere, anywhere. He's not calling, or texting, or anything. Just... anything, would be nice.
He can't be dead. He can't be. That body, that body there, they didn't even let me check. They didn't let me see it. He's not dead. I know that he isn't. Why won't he just...
I'm so damn tired. I'm damn tired of waiting for you, Sherlock. Just come back, come back, goddamnit... I glance over toward the window, the phone with it tucked away in an open drawer I hadn't bothered to close. The call log in my phone right next to my... That's right. I can just... end this, can't I? I can simply end my suffering by picking up that handgun and- No. I shouldn't. I couldn't. Not when I knew Sherlock was alive. What would he think, John? Damnit.
But...
If I... do, will he return?
If that's what it takes, then...
I reach for the revolver, lifting it and pressing the barrel to the roof of my mouth. Well... If he'll come back-
An idea.
What if instead of killing myself... I kill others?
***
Alright. 2 down. I wonder what I should leave here now? I ruffle through my bag of little... "momentos". Hm... I need to leave something that only he'll find. Here. Little pill bottle... Where should I put it?... Ah, yes. Over beside the fireplace. It's a dusty little abandoned house anyways, and as Sherlock said, the police are incompetent. Perfect... I made sure to have the exact same pill, too. Though it's harmless, of course, I don't want Sherlock to try anything... Again.
***
Red string connects pin to pin, wall to wall. A few dim lights illuminate the newspapers and maps and photos pinned up, making the light bounce off the metal ends of the pins and making the strings drip with crimson. Books and papers of the sort litter the ground, piling into mounds in corners.
Footsteps.
That means...
The door opens, revealing a familiar figure. Sherlock. My Sherlock.
I can't help but smile as I take in the man standing in the doorway. With his beautiful brown curls, and piercing blue-grey eyes, and that same dark blue scarf, and oh my god, he's just as amazing as the day I lost him. Except... He doesn't look so happy. Not surprised, honestly, considering I've been running around killing people. But, all of that trouble was obviously worth it, considering that my dear Sherlock is back here with me, in our home, together! Forever.
"Why would you do this?"
Of course he's asking that. C'mon, where's the great consulting detective I know! Go do your little deductions, Sherlock. Do it.
"Deduce me."
A beat of silence.
And then;
"Well... You're going around, killing people, and leaving notes and little items at every scene, but not just any notes, notes that correlate to our previous cases together, like the pink phone, and the lipstick of the same brand that Ms Alder used, and a replica of that teapot from the museum, as well as the HanZhou markings, so that means it was meant specifically for me and-..."
Well, seems like he's finally figured it out.
"You... You lured me like a fish. John, were you that desperate to see me again?"
Yes. Yes, goddamnit. Yes, I was, because you pretended to jump off a goddamn building and faked your death. Because you decided to leave me for a year alone, all alone in Baker Street drowning in grief over you. All over the sake of you. So that you'd come back and stay with me here. Forever. But... I can't say that.
"Yes. Yes, I was."
You know why. You don't need to ask. You know exactly why. You think you're such an important part in my life too. You know exactly why I'd go far enough to kill for you. It's not like I've done it before. Just that this time it's on the other side. We're bound by life and soul, Sherlock, one way or another. You can't change that. Ever.