There was a bit of an awkward silence, and finally Mr. Holmes took a deep breath, preparing to start some sort of sentence.
"Sherlock, are you feeling any sort of fever, weakness, pain? Anything that could suggest that you were coming down with something as well?" Mr. Holmes wondered, and Sherlock looked up at him with sad eyes, as if he were already counting down the days until his imminent death.
"I have a headache, one that hasn't gone away for a while, but that could just be stress, or lack of sleep." Sherlock decided.
"Haven't' you been sleeping well Sherlock?" Mrs. Watson asked worriedly.
"I haven't slept since I got back. Maybe it's just because I was asleep for four days straight, a nice little hibernation I suppose." Sherlock shrugged. Mrs. Holmes cleared her throat, a sad little sound that she always made when she was trying to hold back tears. Obviously she was more affected by this whole disease thing that Sherlock was. That made sense though, because in a way Sherlock was like her adopted son, he was at the Watson house more than he was at his own.
"Are the other risen people acting the same way?" Mrs. Watson wondered.
"I'm not sure, we didn't talk about that at the meeting today, but I'm sure we'll cover it next time, if there even is a next time." Sherlock said with a shrug.
"Why wouldn't there be a next time?" John wondered, looking over at Sherlock and trying to keep a straight face, trying not to look too depressed, for Sherlock's sake of course.
"I don't know how many group members will be alive in two days, if this is going to be the reoccurring theme." Sherlock shrugged.
"No, no, Sherlock don't talk like that, you'll be fine, it'll all be fine." John assured. Sherlock just nodded, but he looked away quickly, as if not wanting John to see the lie that was only too obvious. Another silence reined, the table sitting quietly and all glancing awkwardly at each other, as if wondering who the first one to suggest leaving would be.
"Well, you two can go upstairs I suppose, Sherlock you're welcome to stay over if you feel you need someone to talk to." Mrs. Watson decided with a reassuring little smile.
"Ya, um, thank you Mrs. Watson, I think I will." Sherlock agreed, getting out of his chair and looking around rather awkwardly.
"Alright then, I'll call your mother." Mrs. Watson decided, running over to pick up the phone. John got to his feet as well, stretching out before saying goodnight to his parents, walking up the darkened stairwell with Sherlock close behind.
"Where were you two? And why are there so many cop cars out there?" Harry asked, poking her head out of her room with a confused frown on her face.
"It's nothing Harry, go away." John snapped, letting Sherlock into the room first before walking in and shutting the door behind him. Sherlock walked over to the corner and turned on one of the lamps, illuminating the otherwise dark room in a warm orange glow. Something about lamp light made John feel same, made him feel at home. Sherlock sat on the bed, pulling his knees to his chest and starting at the end of the bed with a blank expression on his face, obviously deep in thought.
"Do want some Tylenol?" John offered, the first thing he could think to say.
"I'm sorry?" Sherlock asked, looking up with a polite little look of confusion on his face, closely resembling a little puppy.
"I asked if you wanted any Tylenol, for your headache?" John wondered.
"Oh, no thank you, I'm alright." Sherlock assured, and John just nodded, even though that sounded very suspiciously like a lie. So he just walked over and sat on top of the bed along with Sherlock, propping up a pillow and sitting back against the headboard, looking over to see that Sherlock was once again lost in thought. He was so beautiful when he was thinking; it seemed to be his natural state, it was when he was in his most natural state. His eyes were squinted, his fingers perched under his chin as if he were praying, staring at nothing with a glossy look in his beautiful green eyes. But however beautiful Sherlock may look, John knew that his thoughts were ugly. There was only one thing that Sherlock was thinking, he was thinking how long it might take until he loses control, he was considering what he should do, who he should alienate himself from, if he should just avoid it all together. And John didn't want him to think those horrible thoughts, he didn't want Sherlock to consider the what ifs and the negatives, he wanted him to have an open mind, to think positively, to hope for the best. So John scooted closer and wrapped his arms around Sherlock's shoulders, pulling him closer and sighing deeply.
"What are you thinking about?" John wondered, talking softly and slowly, trying to be at peace.
"Nothing." Sherlock lied, dropping his hands and leaning into John's embrace.
"That's a lie." John decided.
"Nothing you need concern yourself with." Sherlock corrected, and John nodded in agreement.
"That sounds suspicious, but I'm going to let it slide." John decided, smiling softly at Sherlock and pressing a small little kiss to his cheek for good measure, just to watch that same cheek turn completely red. "What are we Sherlock?" he wondered.
"Is this a psychological question about the meaning of life, or the complications on our relationship status?" Sherlock wondered, craning his neck so that he could see John, their faces so close that it was almost pathetic.
"I mean relationship." John agreed, holding Sherlock ever closer. "What are we?"
"Boyfriends." Sherlock decided, nodding as if very content with his answer.
"We're going to ignore all of that breaking up stuff?" John asked hopefully.
"I'm willing to forget it if you are." Sherlock agreed, and John nodded with satisfaction.
"I wish I could forget it. The worst mistake of my life, if I had known what would happen, I would never have..." John stopped his own sentence, fearing that it was going to be too emotional for the moment. They were having a moment; at least he thought they were.
"It wasn't your fault John, I know you blame yourself, I know that you think that your breaking up with me motivated me to take my own life, but it's not true." Sherlock assured. "It was never that." John softly took Sherlock's hand, lacing their fingers together and lifting up Sherlock's arm to see the white scar across his wrist, the only evidence that he had ever been dead at all.
"What was it then?" John wondered, tracing his thumb across the scar ever so lightly.
"I felt like you were only going out with me because you pitied me..."
"No, Sherlock, never." John assured, pressing another kiss to his cheek for reassurance.
"Let me finish John. You said you broke up with me because everyone was making fun of me, that I was the lowest of the low, that you didn't want to put all of that pressure on me and that you didn't want me to go through that torment. I realized then that you were going to suffer as well, and I didn't want to drag you down with me. By being my boyfriend you were subjecting yourself to their torment as well." Sherlock muttered.
"That's a terrible reason to kill yourself Sherlock." John insisted with a small little laugh, and Sherlock chuckled as well, as if a bit guilty.
"It was so many things John, so many things. I felt that without you I was trapped, I was stranded in all of my problems, all of my worries. I asked myself what I had without you, what reason I had to live, and life was just...so difficult. Every day was its own battle and I had lost my right hand man. Death was so inviting it was almost peaceful, it was almost pleasing." Sherlock assured softly.
"I should've never left you." John muttered, hearing his voice crack with emotion as he pulled Sherlock as close as he could, trying to make sure that Sherlock could hear his heart beating through his chest.
"It's alright John, I know that you didn't mean it, I know that it was confusing, it was confusing for both of us, but now it's over. I'm back, we're back together, we have a chance to right our wrongs, something so many people are denied of. I almost feel like the universe was waiting until someone made a tragic mistake before raising the dead, almost as if someone up there was looking out for us. Maybe we're really meant to be." Sherlock muttered.
"You think that the universe was waiting for us?" John wondered in a disbelieving whisper.
"I think it was." Sherlock agreed.
"Those were the worse four days of my life Sherlock. The worst. Not only was I depressed, I was guilty, angry, and everyone pitied me, they told me how sorry they were and they made casseroles and they sent sympathy cards, but they had no idea. They knew nothing of death, off loss, the feeling you have when the only person that mattered in your life was gone forever, when you thought you'd never see them again." John whispered. "When you feel so lonely just because a world of seven billion people was missing one boy."
"I'm here John, again." Sherlock assured. "You're not lonely anymore."
"No Sherlock, not anymore." John agreed, pressing a third kiss to Sherlock's cheek and wishing that he would just turn his head just a little bit more. So he kissed his cheek, his forehead, his jawline, all while trying to turn Sherlock's head gently with his hand, pulling his face ever closer so that he could go in for the kill. But as soon as Sherlock's lips were easily accessible, he ducked away, pushing John away ever so slightly, looking sad and somewhat guilty, as if he hated to deny John the love they both needed.
"John, we can't, you know we can't." Sherlock insisted softly, but John didn't want to hear it.
"Yes we can." John assured, leaning in once more only to be pushed away more aggressively this time.
"John I'm sick, you know I'm sick, and I might be contagious. The last thing I want to do is give you this horrible disease." Sherlock insisted.
"I don't care, I want to be with you Sherlock, and if that means getting the same disease, limping around the world together as zombies, then I'll do it. I just don't want to be alone, not again. You said that I wasn't alone, now prove it." John insisted.
"I'll hold you John, I'll be here every step of the way, but I can't kiss you, I can't endanger your life like that." Sherlock defended, looking at John sadly but determinedly. John sighed heavily, but he knew that once Sherlock made up his mind there was no going back. Maybe this disease was passed through saliva, maybe it wasn't contagious at all, either way Sherlock wasn't going to take the risk, he wasn't going to destroy the one person he loved the most.
"Alright then Sherlock, stay with me, hold me as I fall asleep." John agreed, lying down and hearing Sherlock click off the lamp, plunging the room in a moonlit darkness. John felt Sherlock lay down behind him, feeling his thin arms wrapping around his chest and pulling him closer. John let his head fall back onto Sherlock's shoulder, not feeling any heartbeat, any pulse in his cold skin.
"Do you really think you're going to die?" John asked in a whispered after a while of silence, wanting to clarify before falling back asleep.
"Just go to sleep John." Sherlock whispered, not telling John the truth but not lying either. Because they both knew the truth, they just didn't want to think about it.

John parked the car in the middle of some dirt road, with not a house or a car for miles, all alone in the middle of some dry cornfield, the country sky stretched above them like a tapestry.
"Where are we?" Sherlock muttered, craning his neck to try to peer over the corn from the passenger seat.
"No idea." John admitted with a smile, looking over at Sherlock's pale skin, his beautiful face illuminated in the moonlight. "But then again, that's kind of the point."
"I'm parched, tell me you brought water." Sherlock muttered, sitting back in his seat and looking at John expectantly. John just frowned, not really the first thing he wanted to hear when he had just driven all the way out here for a romantic moment in complete solitude.
"I'll look in the back I guess." John decided, turning the car off and opening the door.
"Wait, John, where are you going?" Sherlock asked, scrambling out of the car as well as if worried John was going to take off running and leave him here all alone.
"I'm getting you a drink from the back, if I can find one." John insisted, walking up the dirt road and popping open the trunk, looking around for some sort of drink. Sherlock appeared at his side, looking nervously around at the cornfields as if worried an alien was going to peer out or something.
"John I don't like it out here, it's creepy." He decided.
"Well that's why I'm here, a big strong man to protect you." John said with a laugh, digging out an ancient orange soda from the dark depths of the trunk.
"How about this?" he asked with a shrug. Sherlock took the can rather reluctantly, as if expecting it to blow up or something, and examined it.
"Ya, alright." He agreed, stepping back as John closed the trunk and looked around. It was so silent that their footsteps sounded like gunshots, the only sound was crickets chirping, and the moon was the only source of light. There were no cars, no people talking, no distant lights of the towns or the stadiums; all was silent, dark, and peaceful. The perfect place to bring your annoyingly attractive boyfriend. John walked around the front of the car and examined the hood while Sherlock opened the car door and got back in his seat, opening the orange soda and taking one sip before pulling the most disgusted face known to mankind.
"What are you doing?" John called through the windshield, laughing as Sherlock shut his door and buckled his seatbelt. This boy was so oblivious it was almost sad.
"Aren't we going back?" Sherlock wondered.
"No, you idiot, we're out here to spend time together, to just sit in this quietness, it's romantic." John pointed out. Even in the darkness he could see Sherlock's cheeks glow bright red.
"Oh...romantic...oh..." he muttered, unbuckling his seatbelt very nervously and getting slowly out of the car. John jumped up on the hood, feeling the car shake beneath him as he crawled up and leaned on the windshield, his legs pleasantly warmed with the heat of the cooling engine. Sherlock stared at him with a very confused look, taking another sip of the soda just to give himself something to do.
"Well come on then, I didn't bring you out here so I could sit up here alone." John insisted, patting the empty space next to him so that Sherlock could know what exactly he wanted him to do.
"Oh, alright." Sherlock muttered, setting the soda down and clambering very ungracefully onto the car, shaking the entire vehicle and slipping over himself as he fell into the windshield and repositioned himself so that he was staring at the night sky. There was a bit of a comfortable silence and John looked over at Sherlock while he stared at the stars, his eyes gleaming with the light of thousands of constellations, a small smile on his face.
"I used to love the stars, astronomy, all of that stuff. My father used to have this magnificent telescope, and I used to peer through it at the stars and the planets for hours." Sherlock admitted.
"You nerd." John laughed, and Sherlock just smiled guiltily.
"We all have our passions I guess." He muttered. "See that there? That's the Big Dipper, and the Little Dipper with the North Star right on the end."
"Ooh, ya, I see it." John lied, staring blankly at the night sky and seeing all sorts of stars. He never really understood constellations, to be honest you could make any sort of picture you wanted out of the stars as long as you drew imaginary lines, but some of those pictures were just so farfetched it was almost sad.
"When is your birthday?" Sherlock asked. John just laughed, looking over at Sherlock in confusion.
"Why does that matter?" he asked with a smile.
"Your star sign, your Zodiac, I know where they all are." Sherlock pointed out. John just sighed, wondering how he ended up with such a brilliant nerd as a boyfriend.
"March 31st." he admitted. Sherlock thought for a moment, but smiled.
"You're Aries, the ram, see that line right there? That's you." Sherlock pointed out, pointing up at some stars, John didn't even bother following his finger because he knew there was no chance he was ever going to find it.
"I don't think that looks much like a ram." John decided.
"Well, just use your imagination, the line is it's back, and then it kind of curves right there, see that, that's it's back, it's sitting down." Sherlock pointed out.
"Alright then, that's very interesting, yes." John agreed.
"You have no idea what I'm talking about, do you?" Sherlock asked.
"No, of course not." John assured.
"Well, my birthday is January 6th, so that means I'm a Capricorn, which means that my constellation should be right..."
"Oh Sherlock, just shut up." John muttered, and with that he leaned over and kissed him, stopping his ramblings the most beautiful way possible. This kiss was more magical than any of the stars, more beautiful than any constellation, it was almost as if the moment their lips met they were floating in the night sky as well, illuminated by the stars and their pathetic pictures and lines. John pulled away ever so slightly, letting Sherlock regain his composure, and he was pleased to see that Sherlock looked absolutely shell shocked, sitting on the hood of the car and blinking extremely quickly, as if he still wasn't able to comprehend what had just happened.
"You...you just..." he muttered.
"Yes, yes I did." John agreed with a little smile, leaning on one of his elbows so close to Sherlock that he could hear all of quick little scared breaths.
"Why would you want to kiss me?" Sherlock asked in a small voice, as if wondering where John had made his mistake.
"Oh Sherlock, you oblivious idiot, who wouldn't want to kiss you?" John asked, and with that he kissed Sherlock again, rolling ever closer and holding Sherlock's face in his hands, letting Sherlock ever so cautiously put his hand on his shoulder. This was definitely the first kiss Sherlock had ever had, so John was determined to make it as memorable as he could. But then again, he was sure that Sherlock had been having a great time just blabbing on about the stars, unaware that he would soon be among them.