They hiked up the mountain for the next hour or so until they finally reached the top. It seemed an impossible dream that the landscape could go anywhere else than up, so when they reached the crest of the mountain the flat ground almost looked fake. There were some rock outlooks that put the entire valley into perspective, and when John finally got to the top he saw Sherlock sitting on one of the rocks at the very edge, sitting with his head resting on his knees, looking so peaceful that John almost didn't want to disturb him. But nevertheless John dropped his bags, stretching out his arms and walking over to where Sherlock sat, so thankful to have that extra twenty pounds off of his back. John hopped from rock to rock to get out where Sherlock was sitting, not saying anything as he sat down next to him and gazed at the view. It was gorgeous, the houses were small little dots, the towns were little clusters surrounded by rolling fields of grass and wheat, forests stretching through patches where all John could see was the tops of the trees. The sun shone down on all of this with the perfect lighting, and if John hadn't been there in person he would've thought it was some scenic photograph, and not something you could just hike up a mountain to experience.
"I've never been this high up before." Sherlock admitted, clicking his toes together rather awkwardly. John couldn't help but smile when he saw that Sherlock was wearing those leather dance shoes of his, even on a hike through the wilderness. He never was one for practicality.
"Haven't you been on an airplane?" John wondered. Sherlock just shook his head.
"I've been higher than this, I assume, but that was never about elevation." Sherlock admitted with a small smile. John just groaned, never liking to hear about Sherlock's past drug habits. That had been before they became a couple, it had been Sherlock's way of dealing with the crushing weight of loneliness.
"It's a beautiful view." John decided, not knowing how else to respond to something like that.
"It is." Sherlock agreed.
"I think we'll stay up here for the night, I doubt there'll be any other hikers up here but just to be sure we can go off of the trail a little bit. We don't have a tent so I guess we'll have to make do with what we've got, blankets, pillows, sweatshirts." John muttered.
"And hope it doesn't rain." Sherlock agreed, and they both smiled a little bit. Sherlock's attention was mainly focused on the view and the landscape, but every once and a while John would look over at him, trying to preserve his face as long as he could, trying to appreciate him while he was still here. John had no idea how long this process was going to take, but he was willing to bet that it was well on its way, with Sherlock so sick, it might not be long at all. He knew that Sherlock wanted him to kill him, to put a bullet through his brain and be done with it, but that was easier said than done. Once Sherlock turned he wouldn't have the willpower to shoot himself, and John didn't know if he could look his boyfriend in the eye and pull the trigger, even if it wasn't Sherlock in there at all. He had already killed him once, why did he have to do it again?
"Are you feeling better?" John wondered. Sherlock shrugged, but nodded, probably only for John's sake. He was nice like that.
"I'm alright, I guess." He decided, keeping his gaze on the landscape in front of him instead of at John.
"Should I be worried?" John wondered. Sherlock just laughed, a sad little laugh with no humor at all.
"I think you'll be worried even if I say no." he decided.
"So is that a yes?" John wondered, and Sherlock just sighed.
"I don't feel right John, inside. Something is changing, something is...wrong." Sherlock muttered. John bit his upper lip to prevent himself from saying something on impulse, he knew that he had to plan his words, to try to keep Sherlock's spirits up for as long as possible. He had to keep his own sprits up as well, even though tears were pushing up against his eyelids.
"Is there anything you think we could do?" John wondered.
"No, of course not. This was bound to happen. I suggest you sleep with the gun tonight." Sherlock admitted.
"No, I don't want to kill you." John muttered weakly, knowing that Sherlock wouldn't hesitate to argue.
"You have to John, if you don't kill me then I'll kill you, and you'll suffer the same horrible fate I am." Sherlock admitted.
"Why, if it's your destiny to turn into a monster, why even bother with humanity at all? Was this all a trap to get us to get attached, to get us concerned, or was it God's gift before the apocalypse. To spend time with the people you love before the entire world burned." John wondered.
"I can't pretend to know what goes on in God's head, but I would say that it's starting to look more like a curse than a blessing. There is pain everywhere, not only physically but mentally, emotionally. The risen that are changing are racked with pain; their loved ones have to watch as they lose all humanity, they have to wrestle with the idea that they will have to put them down. If this was a gift, it was a terrible one." Sherlock muttered. "I think this is his way of ending our civilization, like the dinosaurs. I am the meteorite John."
"That's stupid, we can handle this, there were only twenty four risen in our town and about two hundred people in all, it's not like you dead people out number us." John assured.
"Think how many dead there are, compared to the living. Not even the risen, just in general. Humans have been alive for hundreds of years, and their average life span is at most one hundred. Think of how many humans have died, think of how many are waiting underground, buried under a layer of dirt and waiting to catch this disease. If the living win, they will have to fight down to the last man. They'll have to find a cure." Sherlock decided.
"This isn't a war between the living and the dead." John debated stubbornly, not wanting to admit that he was sitting on a rock alone with his potential enemy.
"What else might you call it?" Sherlock wondered, looking at John for the first time since their conversation had started. He looked terrible, black circles around his eyes, contrasting so wildly with his pale skin that he looked almost ghostly.
"I don't know, I just don't want to think that we'll be against each other." John insisted.
"Not yet John. Not yet." Sherlock assured, leaning back on the rock and taking one of John's hands in his own, staring at the outlook once more and sighing as if he were at peace. "It's a lovely view." Sherlock decided with a tone of finality.
"That it is." John agreed with a sigh, interlocking their fingers and pretending like nothing else mattered. John wasn't pretending to be excited for dinner; they might just try to have a can of the beans that Sherlock had picked out, to ration their food as much as possible. But as unappetizing as beans sounded, his stomach started to growl as they were sitting there on that rock, watching as the sun sank lower and lower, not a care in the world. John hoped Sherlock was going to suggest they eat because he didn't really want to break up this little moment they were having, a peaceful moment that made John feel like things might actually go back to normal. The thing about normal was he didn't know what it meant. Go back to the world before Sherlock rose from the dead, when he was buried in the ground and John was alone, or back to the world before Sherlock even died at all? Normal was such a confusing term at the moment that John didn't want to think about it. Maybe he can focus on canned beans instead.
"So, how does dinner sound?" John wondered, looking over at Sherlock, who was laying on the rock with his eyes half open, obviously not asleep.
"Like a made up word." He muttered, squeezing John's hand tighter as if he didn't' want to let go just yet. John laughed, shaking his head in annoyance and getting to his feet, letting Sherlock's hand drop to the ground beside him.
"I mean do you want to eat dinner?" he wondered. Sherlock's eyes opened then, at the mention of food, and John saw just how bloodshot they had become. The veins in those usually white eyes were bright red, making him look more like a zombie than ever.
"I certainly do want dinner." He agreed, getting to his feet and stretching out his back, wincing a little bit as if there was a pain he wasn't mentioning, but with a smile he started to walk back over to where they had left their bags.
"Alright, we've got green beans, chick peas, corn, peaches, and pineapples, so take your pick." John decided.
"Only one?" Sherlock wondered.
"Ya, sorry, got to be logical here. Maybe we can try to shoot something tomorrow." John decided.
"This is so stupid John, this is a hiked mountain, there's a trail, and you're going to try to shoot something and eat it. Like it could be diseased. Why can't we just go..." Sherlock groaned, but nevertheless he picked out the can of green beans and handed it to John, who looked at the can and frowned slightly.
"Well, we've been idiots." John decided, having to laugh at his own stupidity.
"What do you mean?" Sherlock wondered, sitting crisscross against the tree and looking adorable.
"Well, we got all of this canned food, but no can opener." John sighed, holding the can up so that Sherlock could see. Sherlock frowned as well, checking the bags as if they had been given a complimentary can opener, and sighed.
"Well, now I really want to go home." He decided. John looked around desperately, knowing that he wasn't just going to give up when they lacked all of the necessities, and grabbed a rather large rock from the ground and wiped it off on his shirt.
"Alright, let's crack it open." he decided, holding up the rock proudly.
"That's a stupid idea." Sherlock groaned, leaning against the tree and groaning even louder to show his disgust. Obviously Sherlock didn't think this expedition was going very well, and John had to agree. But it had seemed like the necessary move, it still was the necessary move, however illogical it may sound. John put all of their newly purchased supplies in one of the other bags and spread the empty plastic bag on the ground, so that if the can exploded they could still eat the beans. He placed the can on its side and placed the rock over the end, just to get good aim.
"Alright, here we go." John muttered, bringing the rock up and slamming it as hard as he could onto the can, making a very loud noise yet only denting the metal. Sherlock groaned again, getting to his feet, swaying a little bit, and clutching onto the tree for support. John watched him with worry, but Sherlock just waved his hand and started back to the rock, so that he could sit there while John struggled with their makeshift dinner. It took him about five more tries, slamming the rock onto the can as hard as physically possible until finally there was a hiss from the top, and he saw that finally a hole had been made. So as carefully as possible, John peeled the top of the can off and drained the beans out in the woods so that they didn't have to step in the bean juice and went over to join Sherlock on the rock, feeling very proud of himself. When he arrived the sun was just starting to go down, and Sherlock looked so beautiful there, silhouetted on the rock with an explosion of colors behind him, it made him wonder just how long he would have to cherish Sherlock before he was gone again. Gone for good this time.

    "Dinner is served." John said proudly, sitting on the rock and holding up the completely ruined can for Sherlock to see, smiling widely.
"Gourmet I see." Sherlock muttered, not looking nearly as excited as he should be.
"Are you alright?" John wondered as he plucked one of the beans out of the can, careful to avoid the sharp edges. Sherlock shrugged, eating a bean as well and staring over the overlook.
"No, course not." He muttered.
"What's wrong, what can I do?" John wondered, placing his hand ever so gently on Sherlock's shoulder just to comfort him.
"There's nothing you can do, nothing anyone can do." Sherlock muttered, looking somber and ignoring the can of beans, as if he had suddenly lost his appetite. "I'm alone and I'm dying."
"You're not alone Sherlock, never alone, I'm here, I'm going to protect you." John assured. Sherlock just shook his head, but he grabbed John's hand, holding it to his shoulder as if he was afraid John would let it slide off.
"You don't understand John, I know you want to but...death...it's terrifying, it's painful...I'm so scared John, I don't want to die again, I feel...everything." Sherlock whispered, and John could feel him shaking with fear, trembling at the thought of going back into the ground.
"What do you mean?" John whispered, scooting closer to him so that he could hear Sherlock's quick breaths.
"I could feel the blood draining out of my veins long after I was dead, I could feel my soul fade from my body, I could feel the emptiness inside, I feel it now...I feel hallow, and my brain...it's on fire, it's being eaten away, sometimes I can't remember what my own name is...sometimes I can't remember your face." Sherlock whispered. "There is no fate worse than death if death takes you away from me."
"Sherlock I won't leave you, if you want...if you want I could come with you." John offered.
"No, John no, I don't want you to...no." Sherlock insisted. "It would be no use, there's no contact among the dead, there is no heaven, there is no hell, you're trapped in your own dormant shell, watching as your personality, your memories, everything that makes you a human being just gets eaten away, disappears until finally you're just...there."
"Could you hear me? Could you hear the voices at your funeral; could you hear me talking to your grave?" John wondered.
"You came to my grave?" Sherlock wondered, turning his head as if that actually surprised him.
"Of course I did, why wouldn't I?" John asked.
"What did you say?" Sherlock wondered, and John just shrugged.
"I don't really remember, so much has happened between now and then that it all sort of faded away." John admitted. "Probably something along the lines of I'm sorry, come back, I love you."
"I came back." Sherlock whispered, as if that was the only thing that he got out of that sentence.
"Yes, I know. You answered my prayers." John agreed.
"But not in the way you wanted." Sherlock muttered.
"Of course I want it this way, I would have it no other way." John insisted.
"You would have me alive, happy, healthy, this isn't what you wanted. You wanted Sherlock, not just some chronic disease inhabiting a corpse." Sherlock muttered.
"You're more than that, you're still Sherlock, you've always been Sherlock. You're still the boy I fell in love with." John assured, stroking his fingers softly through Sherlock's curls. Sherlock just shivered a little bit at the touch, as if he wasn't expecting it, but didn't look affected. In fact he looked almost guilty as John pulled through the tangled hair, all knotted together from their hike and lack of hairbrushes.
"We haven't kissed since you got back." John reminded him.
"We can't, you know we can't, we already went over this." Sherlock pointed out, looking at John as if fully prepared to push him away again. John sighed heavily, but he wasn't just going to let that stop him. So what if he got some zombie disease, at least he and Sherlock would be together.
"It might be our last chance, who knows? Tomorrow you might be a zombie, tomorrow I might be dead, tomorrow the world might burn. Right now, you never know." John pointed out.
"I'm sorry, but I can't risk your safety." Sherlock insisted.
"I don't care about my safety, I care about you. Think of this as our goodbye kiss, because we never know when goodbye is going to be." John decided. Sherlock looked over at him reluctantly, but John was happy to see he wasn't already disagreeing.
"You'd risk getting my disease, just to kiss me?" Sherlock wondered. John just laughed, shaking his head with a smile.
"Oh Sherlock, you oblivious idiot, who wouldn't want to kiss you?" he asked, looking at Sherlock with a smirk.
"That's...that's what you said the last time." he pointed out, his cheeks glowing red with whatever blood was left in his body.
"Yes, I know, that's why I said it." John agreed, letting his hand slide down Sherlock's face and turn it towards him, just enough so that he could kiss him, a slow, gentle kiss that only lasted for a moment before Sherlock pulled slightly away. But it didn't matter how long the kiss was, or how passionate or how carefree it was, there was love passed between them that could only be understood when their lips met, love beyond words and beyond actions. After so long of being apart, and even though Sherlock had been on earth for about a week now, John just felt like they had been reunited. Finally they had that mutual love, that understanding that they had been lacking this whole time. Once again John felt that their hearts beat as one, and their souls were intertwined. Sherlock breathed deeply, pulling away and leaning up against the rock, watching as the sun sank finally into the horizon. John just smiled, leaning back with him and plucking another bean from the can.
"That was, well...um...amazing." He decided with a breath.
"No it wasn't, it was just one little kiss, you can't mess something like that up." John insisted with a little laugh, looking over at Sherlock and watching as his cheeks burned even redder.
"I probably did the first time." Sherlock muttered. John just laughed, but shrugged in agreement.
"In your defense I caught you completely off guard, but I just couldn't hear anything more about those bloody stars." John insisted.
"They're interesting, if you just find constellations in the sky it's fascinating to see what the Greeks and all the other ancient civilizations charted out so long ago." Sherlock defended.
"I can't tell if you're actually being serious or if you want me to kiss you again." John decided, squinting his eyes in confusion.
"I think they're fascinating." Sherlock decided, making up his own answer to that question. John just sighed, pretending to yawn and plucking more beans from the can.