Show: BBC Sherlock
Pairing: John/Sherlock
Rating: T for language
Warnings: None
Disclaimer: I don't own the characters, they belong to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle originally. These versions belong to Steven Moffat, Mark Gatiss and the BBC.
A/N: No idea where this came from but I hope you like it. This is un-beta'd so excuse any typos and sorry for bad writing. Constructive criticism welcome
Saved As Draft
365 days exactly. That's how long it took for Sherlock to tell John that he wasn't dead. Not that 365 days was picked on purpose, it was by mere coincidence. John just so happened to count the days. Well, he didn't really count. He just knew it. Because grief makes you do very silly things indeed. John had always imagined that if Sherlock was to return from the dead he would be full of remorse and show some actual human emotion. How foolish of him... When Sherlock, did in fact return, he didn't seem sorry at all. He didn't even seem to care that for a whole year he had left John in a complete emotional meltdown.
3.37pm. John had been sent home from Barts on the grounds that he was unable to work about an hour before. He had protested with half-hearted attempts to say "Look, I'm fine...I can work... I can..." but to no avail. He sighed and trudged home, leaning heavily on his cane. And when he got home he went through the usual routine of making tea for two by accident and the grief hitting him in a new way.
He just forgot sometimes that he was alone, he forgot that he didn't tag along and solve crimes, he forgot that he wasn't his blogger, he forgot that he was now only 'tea for one' and for a very brief moment he forgot that his best friend was dead. So for the second time that day, John poured away the unneeded cup of tea and sat down to drink his. Sherlock had even ruined that for him. Sherlock, even in death, completely affected his life. He ruined even the simple pleasures in life - like tea.
And at that moment, when John was reflecting on tea and such, a man in a tailored suit walked through the door.
"Hi John, yes I'm not dead. Good to - you know - see you too" The man said awkwardly putting his hand on John's shoulder, smiling and walking into the kitchen.
All John could do was sit there, mouth open and blindly following him with his eyes.
"W-Wha-What did you say?" He stuttered.
"Not dead. Good to see you. Do try to keep up"
"No" John said, his voice breaking slightly.
"What do you mean no?"
"No" He said more firmly, "Sherlock is dead. He's dead. He's not coming back.. He left me. NO"
"Referring to me in the third person. Interesting" Sherlock seemed to be cataloguing information.
"Shut up. Shut UP" John was shouting now, "YOU ARE NOT HIM."
"Hm denial, very interesting" Sherlock added to his mental notes.
John's breathing was picking up, getting heavier and deeper. His hands were shaking and the man with steel nerves had dropped his guard. Tears had made their way from the corner of his broken eyes to the bottom of his face.
"Ah tears, wasn't expecting this sort of reaction"
"Wasn't expecting this sort...Sherlock you let me believe you were dead for a year and you didn't expect me to be upset, affected at all?"
"John, calm down"
"Calm down? Fuck you! Do you have any idea what my life has been like since you ju- since you left?"
"Well, Mycroft said you had been moving on.. He said you were back at work?"
"He obviously wasn't thorough enough. I got the sack. Too distracted."
"Oh"
"Look, Sherlock. I really need to be alone right now"
Three days passed. John couldn't look at Sherlock in the eye, let alone speak to him. He needed to figure this whole thing out in his head. When Sherlock jumped his whole world fell apart. When he came back, it felt as though everything was broken beyond repair. Men don't come back from the dead. Life isn't like it is in movies. Things don't just work out. If Sherlock was just a vision, surely he would have faded by now. But that meant.. he was real. But if he was real, that meant everything he said - that was real too. He really didn't care about anything. Wow. Sociopath Sherlock Holmes...
John continued the day as normal; watching crap telly, making tea for two and pouring the second cup away. Except when he went to pour away the cup of tea, he noticed Sherlock's phone on the side. He wasn't sure what he thought looking through the phone would achieve; maybe it would hold some answers.
The inbox held nothing significant, a few brief texts from Mycroft. What was most interesting was the drafts box. Loads of unsent messages, all for him...
[SAVED AS DRAFT]
I'm so sorry John. -SH
[SAVED AS DRAFT]
I know you won't understand why I had to do it, but it was all for you. -SH
[SAVED AS DRAFT]
All of it was for you. -SH
[SAVED AS DRAFT]
Mycroft says you're back at work, I'm glad you're moving on. -SH
[SAVED AS DRAFT]
I miss you. -SH
[SAVED AS DRAFT]
I didn't even know that I could miss people. -SH
[SAVED AS DRAFT]
I want to come back and tell you I'm alive. -SH
[SAVED AS DRAFT]
Among other things. -SH
[SAVED AS DRAFT]
The girl at the checkout was ugly. Good thing you didn't ask her out. Mycroft told me about her. -SH
[SAVED AS DRAFT]
Don't forget me. -SH
[SAVED AS DRAFT]
I really am sorry. -SH
[SAVED AS DRAFT]
I think I love you John -SH
[SAVED AS DRAFT]
I definitely love you -SH
[SAVED AS DRAFT]
Love is a dangerous disadvantage. -SH
[SAVED AS DRAFT]
I want to come home -SH
[SAVED AS DRAFT]
I'm trying to destroy Moriarty's web. It's for you, you know. -SH
[SAVED AS DRAFT]
Moran, the assassin who had the gun on you, is dead -SH
[SAVED AS DRAFT]
I love you. -SH
[SAVED AS DRAFT]
I'm sorry -SH
[SAVED AS DRAFT]
I'm coming home today -SH
[SAVED AS DRAFT]
I don't know what happened, I froze. I, Sherlock Holmes, froze. I suppose it's easier to write than to say. -SH
[SAVED AS DRAFT]
Why won't you talk to me? -SH
[SAVED AS DRAFT]
I'm sorry -SH
And suddenly, John couldn't breathe. Why didn't he send these?
"Why are you looking at my phone?" came Sherlock's voice.
"I-I was just-" and apparently the ability to form a coherent sentence was lost. And with that Sherlock snatched the phone back.
"My drafts. Those were personal"
"They were addressed to me"
"Unsent. Suggests I don't want them to be read."
"Too late now"
And then the most uncomfortable silence known to man swept over 221B.
"So, you love me?"
"Well, preferably I would have liked you not to have known. But yes"
"Why didn't you want me to know?"
"John I understand that you do not have my analytical brain and have not mastered the art of deduction but even Anderson can see that you are a heterosexual man. And I have the understanding that unrequited love can make a working relationship awkward"
"Take it" John said slowly passing his mobile phone, "Read them"
"I assume you mean the drafts?"
"Yes"
"I can't believe you would do this to me Sherlock. I was so alone and I owe you so much. Nobody will ever convince me that you told me a lie. Why did you leave me?"
"And the next one"
"Do you know what they're saying in the papers? Sherlock Holmes: Fake Genius. It's all lies. All of it. They're still saying we're an item you know. Maybe they're right."
"Go on"
"I don't know how much longer I can take this. You have no idea how hard it is. Do you know what makes it worse? It hit me the other day why I still feel so terrible. I'm in love with you. I'm in love with a dead man without human feelings"
"So yeah" John finally said.
"You're in love with me"
"You're in love with me"
And with that, they were laughing like in the old days. Memories flooded in of the two of them when it was like this. Like that time at Buckingham Palace. When the laughter died down, they were left looking at each other with no words to say.
John stood on his toes, leaned in and...
"John deary, you need to wake up. It's today" Mrs Hudson said gently tapping his arm.
"What's today?" He said blearily rubbing his eyes.
"1 year" She smiled sadly.
"Oh"
"I'll leave you to get dressed"
John put on the same outfit. The one he had been wearing the day it happened. They made their way to the graveyard in silence, looking straight ahead. And as he had done every day for the past year, John stood at the headstone reading 'Sherlock Holmes' and cried.