Please come home. –JW

I miss you. –JW

Will you get some milk? –JW

Please, just answer me. –JW

These were just a few of the pathetic texts I had sent to Sherlock over the past three years. Trying to get a response. Even though every time I got the same message.

We are sorry, the number you are trying to reach is out of service.

I haven't yet accepted Sherlock's death, because I don't believe he is really dead. I know its just denial. He jumped, right in front of me. I still don't know why, and that's what I do when I don't know why something happened. I deny it.

But today was a surreal day; it is the third anniversary of Sherlock's 'death'.

I'm still not going to admit it.

Mrs. Hudson and I are going to Sherlock's grave to visit him. Because if he really is dead then I wanted him to know that I'm still thinking about him, about how much I miss him.

I hear a nock on the front door from my bedroom. I grab my jacket and cane, and head down stairs expecting Mrs. Hudson at the door. But upon opening the door I'm shocked to see Greg.

"Greg, how've you been?" I ask.

"I've been ok. How uh, how have you been?"

"I've, uh, I've been better." I say putting a blank expression on my face to hide the sudden rush of sadness that surged through me.

"It's today right?"

"Yes. It's today." I say. I hadn't seen Greg in a long time, almost a year. He went to Sherlock's funeral along with Mrs. Hudson, Mycroft, Molly, Angelo and myself, beside the priest that that was all of us. And after that we saw each other sporadically.

"Were you on your way out?" He asked eyeing my jacket in my hand.

"Yes, I'm going to the cemetery with Mrs. Hudson."

"I see. Well I just wanted to stop by and say hello, see how you were doing."

"Would you like to come with us Greg? I'm sure Mrs. Hudson wouldn't mind."

"No, no I have t get back to work. But uh thanks. Just uh, tell him I miss, and that New Scotland Yard will never be the same without him. Do that for me?"

"'Course. It was good to see you Greg."

"It was good to see you too John. See ya."

"Yeah. See yah." I watched Greg walk down the hall only to be stopped by Mrs. Hudson.

"Oh Greg! It's good to see you dear." Said Mrs. Hudson.

"Like wise Mrs. Hudson." Greg said giving Mrs. Hudson a hug and a kiss on her cheek.

"Would you like to come with us, to see Sherlock?" She asked.

"I would love to Mrs. Hudson but I have to get back to work."

"Ok dear, but don't be such a stranger!"

"Ok Mrs. Hudson. It was lovely to see you." He steps out of the door to his police car parked out in front of 221b. Baker Street.

"Ready dear?" Mrs. Hudson asks?

"Oh yes, sorry. Is the cab here?"

"Just arrived."

Sitting in the back of the cab with Mrs. Hudson made me think of all the times I had shared the back of a cab with Sherlock. Whether we had just been chasing a case, or were being chased by a case. We could always find a way to laugh in the back of a cab.

But now sitting in the cab with Mrs. Hudson, the only thing I heard was the sound of the engine. We didn't say anything the whole way to the cemetery.

When we got there we walked in silence up to Sherlock's grave. Mrs. Hudson placed the flowers she had brought, on the ground in front of Sherlock's grave. I never brought anything when I came. He'd say that flowers were unnecessary. Which they were of course, you don't need flowers when you're dead. The flowers are more for the person who puts them there. Makes them feel less guilty, but nothing would make me feel any less guilty.

Obviously Sherlock's death wasn't my fault. Even though it felt that way most of the time, especially today.

Mrs. Hudson sees me getting emotional and walks backs to the cab. She tells me to take as much time as I need, and I nod my head and walk closer to his grave. I just want to scream. I just want Sherlock to come back so I can punch him. Repeatedly. But what I really want is for him to come back.

I place my hand on his gravestone, as if it helps me communicate to him.

"Listen Sherlock. I know you can't here me, and even if you could you probably wouldn't listen, But I just wanted to remind you that it's been three years." I say, silent tears running down my face. "Three years since my heart was ripped out. Three years of agony. And if you are alive somewhere, you need to come home soon. Because if you wait too much longer I wont be at the flat when you return. Another thing, I'm only mad because I … I love you. So much. So much that it hurts. I just wish I had the nerves to say it to your face." I remove my hand, and turn away regaining my composure before returning to the car.

When I've stopped crying, I walk back to the cab, so aware of my newly returned limp. I don't know what happened. One day I was fine, and the next day it was back, and for the next few days all I could think of was that night. The night we went to Angelo's, when we were working on The Study in Pink, as I'd called it. It was our first case together, at the restaurant when Angelo had referred to me as Sherlock's date. I had denied it then, maybe if I didn't things would be different.

For one I would have never married Mary. Which wouldn't have been a big deal saying as we got divorced 6 months after. I would not have reacquired my limp. And I wouldn't be so alone.

I shake my head to try to rid it of these thoughts. Thinking about it will only make it hurt worse. I climb into the cab and the cabbie to take us home. Yet again silence fills the car and when we return home I walk straight to the flat with out so much as a good night to Mrs. Hudson.

I open the door and hang my coat up on the rack. I take off my shoes and get into pajamas. I make myself tea and then sit in my chair. I take out my phone, half expecting a message, half knowing that that's completely crazy.

Of course there is no message but it doesn't stop me from sending him another one.

You 'died' three years ago today. Just give it up already. –JW

I sip my tea and wait for the error message to pop up on my screen. I wait a while, but the message doesn't show up. I don't think that much of it. Technology doesn't always work. I put my teacup in the sink and head up to bed, even though it is only half past 7. I climb up the stairs to my room. It's very difficult to get up the stairs with my limp, but I couldn't take Sherlock's room.

I climb into bed and put my phone on the charger, and place it on he bedside table. I turn off the lamp and close my eyes.

*Buzz*

I lift my head off of my pillow and see that my phone screen is lit up. I turn the lamp on and take my phone off of its charger. Hope runs through me. Giving me a kind of adrenaline rush. Moments ago I was falling asleep, now I was wide awake. Could it be him?

New Message: Mycroft Holmes

I knew it was too god to be true.

I just wanted to say I was sorry for not being able to go to day. I had a very important meeting. Hope you are doing well. We should catch up over tea sometime.

–MH.

I reply:

Don't worry about it; Mrs. Hudson and I only stayed a few minutes. Come over whenever for tea. I'll be here. –JW.

*Buzz*

I look at my phone expecting it to be a message from Mycroft. But instead what I find makes my freeze.

New Message: Sherlock Holmes.

Unlock the front door. –SH

I'm still frozen. I just lay there blinking, thinking that soon the text will turn into a text from Mycroft and that I was just imagining it was from Sherlock. But it doesn't change, and after a few minutes there is another message alert.

Are you going to let me in? –SH

I rip off the covers and dash out of my bed. Leaving my cane behind no longer needing it. No longer needing anything other than to see him, to touch him. Make sure this isn't my imagination acting up on me. Make sure I'm not crazy and that Sherlock had really returned from the dead.

I stand in front of the door panting. I take a few deep breaths. I can't make myself open the door, because if he's not there and this is all a sick joke, or it really was my imagination, it will crush me. It will destroy me.

"John?" I hear a voice, his voice says from behind the door. I whip the door open. And as much as I want to wrap my arms around him and never let him go, I can't move. I'm frozen in place. He looks just as he had that day, dark navy blue trench coat. Scarf tied in his signature way, his hair unruly, yet perfect.

I regain the use of my body and grab him in a tight embrace. I hold him so tightly that he has to tell me to ease up a little, that I'm hurting him. But I can't help it. My fingernails dig into his back. I can't let him go. He's back and I can never lose him again.

"John look at me." He says grabbing my shoulders and shoving me back a little, but not in a harsh way. "I'm fine John. I'm never going anywhere ever again."

"Three years."

"I know."

"Three years Sherlock." I say getting more and more mad as the seconds tick by.

"I know John. But I couldn't risk losing any of you. You, Mrs. Hudson, Lestrade, he was going to kill you all. I had to die. Trust me I wouldn't have left you if it weren't completely necessary. I love you John, and I'm not going anywhere."

"You love me?" I'm stunned. I didn't think Sherlock Holmes knew such an emotion as love. But he'd said it, so it must have been true, because there is one thing Sherlock is not, and that's a liar.

"Yes John. I love you." He said taking my hand. I shake my head and let a smile touch the corner of my mouth. Sherlock can't contain himself and laughs a little, because he knows what I'm thinking. Molly is going to be so pissed.

"I love you too." I say. He stops laughing and his face inches closer and closer to mine. When we kiss I can't help but let out a sigh of content. I've been waiting for this for so long. Waiting for him for so long. And now that I had him in my grasp I was never going to let go.