My Love
The moonlight casted shadows through the prison bar windows. It left black streaks on Sherlock's face as he laid on the uncomfortable bed, staring up at the pale ceiling. He had been in there three weeks on a false charge. Everyone thought he was someone he wasn't, even after pleading that he was in fact Sherlock Holmes. They laughed at him, saying that Sherlock Holmes was a dead man. He had just been at the wrong place at the wrong time.
His eyes moved to stare at the full moon, the light almost matching the colour of his eyes. He longed for home, to be with John. Breaking John's heart was the hardest thing he had ever done. He tried to divorce himself from feelings, but John had somehow found his way into Sherlock's cold heart, and there he stayed, bringing warmth to it. All the warmth disappeared when he saw John cry at his grave; just a cold dead hollowness replaced it. That was three years ago, and nothing had changed. He felt numb, hollow, dead, cold. He was lost without his blogger. His was nothing without his doctor. He had forgotten how powerful feelings could be, how devastating yet beautiful they could be. He wasn't an emotional man before he met John, and he wasn't after his 'death'. But John had made him feel emotions he couldn't understand. After the fall, he couldn't bear to feel the pain that tried to swallow him up, so he went into an emotion coma, so to speak. Better to feel nothing than anything at all, he had told himself. The only thing he did feel was the longing to be with John again.
Sherlock Holmes didn't cry. He wouldn't cry. He kept telling himself that as a tear trickled down his cheek.
John stared absently at Sherlock's chair as he sat in his. No one sat in Sherlock's chair. No one. The only thing that sat there was the cushion with the UK flag across it. John had only just moved back into 221b. Mrs Hudson welcomed him gladly, even lowered the payment of the rent. It didn't matter to him; nothing mattered to him since Sherlock had died. Everything reminded him of the eccentric detective, and everything clawed at his heart. It hurt even more that every said he was a fraud and a freak. John refused to believe them, ignoring them. He knew from the bottom of his heart that Sherlock Holmes was the greatest man to have ever lived and ever will lived, and the most human person he had ever met. Lestrade and Mycroft were even starting to believe him. Molly and Mrs Hudson believed him straight away.
John hadn't smiled since the fall, and when he did it wasn't real, there was still pain. He had somehow gotten back to normal life, working and whatnot. But it never felt normal. Normal was running about and investigating with Sherlock. Normal was with Sherlock. At least John had stopped crying himself to sleep.
John barely even heard his mobile ring. With reluctance he picked it up after seeing who it was.
"What is it Mycroft?" John asked as politely as he could.
"I need you to go investigate something for me," Mycroft replied.
"Why can't you do it?" John asked.
"Because I think you'll want this one. There is a man in America claiming to be Sherlock Holmes," Mycroft answered. John froze. He didn't know whether to be excited that Sherlock could be alive or angry that somehow was walking around with his name. "John? Are you there?"
"Hmm? Ah, yeah, I'm still here," John replied.
"So, will you investigate it?" Mycroft asked.
"Yes," John said.
"Good, I'll organise everything," Mycroft replied.
"One question though, why won't you go?" John asked.
"Because I thought, if it is him, you'd want to be the first one to see him," Mycroft answered, "If not, I know you'd want deal with the imposter."
"Okay, thank you Mycroft. Goodbye," John said. He heard a goodbye from Mycroft before he ended the call. John ran a hid through this hair. Someone was using Sherlock's name. John didn't know what to think about that. His love couldn't be alive, he had watched the detective fall and crack his skull open. But what if it was all a trick? What if he was actually alive? John rested his elbows on his knees and rested his chin on his hands. He didn't know what to make of it.
Sherlock sat in his cell, reading some dull book about crime and mystery. He had already figured it all out, but it was the most interesting thing there. He longed for the thrill of the case almost as much as he longed for John. He had a cell to himself because he had pissed of every prisoner there. He had humiliated every single one of them with his deducing abilities, even the guards. Every one hated him, but he was used to that.
He heard the sound of footsteps coming closer until they were at his cell. There was a knock and the door swung open, a tall well-built bald guard stood in the doorway. Sherlock looked up with a bored expression on his face.
"Igor Caprioni," the guard said. Sherlock sighed.
"I told you, it's Sherlock Holmes," he corrected.
"Igor Caprioni," the guard scowled, "You have a visitor."
"What?" Sherlock asked; full attention on the guard.
"A visitor of high standards. Have you heard of Mycroft Holmes?" the guard said.
"Yes of course, he is my brother," Sherlock frowned, his interest depleting, but not entirely. Mycroft would get him out, and then he could see John.
"Yeah I bet. Well, come along. And no using that trick of yours," the guard growled, grabbing Sherlock buy the arm and handcuffing him from behind.
"It's not a trick," Sherlock frowned as they walked towards the visitor's room.
"Sure Caprioni," the guard replied.
"For the millionth time I am not that bloody Italian gangster! I'm English anyway!" Sherlock snapped.
"Yes, you used to study methods of acting when you were younger," the guard replied. Sherlock sneered. There was no point in talking to these idiots, but had to try, at least one of them would realise their stupidity. He wished they were like John, he would know, he wasn't stupid. Maybe Mycroft could convince them, but it didn't seem likely. The guard unlocked Sherlock's handcuffs and shoved him into a chair. He stood behind the detective, watching him closely. Sherlock looked up when the door on the other side of the glass window opened. A slim tall blonde guard walked through, and a shorter sandy blonde man followed from behind. As soon as he made eye contact with Sherlock, they both froze. It was John. Sherlock felt his heart flutter in excitement, but he didn't let it show it on his face, and neither did John. He was pretending to be Mycroft to get Sherlock out of prison. If John came as himself there would be no way he would be able to get Sherlock out, but Mycroft could. John sat in the seat on the other side of the glass.
"Hey Sherlock," John smiled, his voice coming through the small holes in the bottom of the glass window.
"Hey Jo – Mycroft," Sherlock corrected himself, grinning. John chuckled.
"I can't believe it. It's you, it's really you, you're alive," he beamed, trying to suppress tears.
"I can honestly say it's good to see you," Sherlock replied.
"It's weird seeing you in a prison uniform," John chuckled, eyeing off Sherlock's dress code.
"It's not the first time," Sherlock shrugged.
"I can imagine," John smiled. Warmth was squeezing through Sherlock's heart. "I just can't believe you're alive…and…and…and fuck you for not telling me!"
"I'm sorry J – Mycroft, I needed to protect you," Sherlock replied, "If I didn't die, you would've."
"W-What?" John asked in surprise.
"Moriarty's men would've killed you, Lestrade and Mrs Hudson. I couldn't let that happen," Sherlock replied, "and I couldn't go back until I knew his men had truly forgotten about me and you. I took the fall for you."
"Oh, ah…thank you, I guess," John frowned, thinking it over. It disappeared when he saw Sherlock's kind smile. "I missed you like hell."
"I missed you," Sherlock said. He frowned in concern as he studied the doctor. "You haven't been sleeping well. You've been…crying."
"Ah, yeah," John chuckled awkwardly. Sherlock wanted to touch John, to comfort him. Seeing him just wasn't enough, he needed to touch him, to feel him, to kiss him. He need all of him. "So have you."
"I've missed you, that's all," Sherlock grinned, "How are the others."
"Well, Mrs Hudson is distraught, but she's dealing with it. She misses you like hell," John replied, "Molly, she's okay, I guess. She acts strange around us, especially me, like she's worried she'll say something she's not supposed to. The guys from the Yard, they act like they don't care, but I can see deep down inside they miss you just a bit. Lestrade has found comfort in your brother. They're together now, you know. They've got each other to help them get through it. They're alright I guess. None of them think you were a lie. I refused to tell any of them that you were a lie, refused to believe it, even think it, even if it was your dying wish. I couldn't, I just couldn't, and I'm not sorry."
"I don't expect you to be. I did it so you could forget about me, to try and deal with it all," Sherlock said, leaning closer. He lowered his voice to a whisper. "I love you."
"I love you too," John replied.
"Okay, time's up," said the blonde guard.
"I'm going to get you out Sherlock, don't worry. Tomorrow, you'll be free, I'll promise you that," John smiled as he stood up. Sherlock smiled back, watching John leave.
"Alright you, back to your cell," Sherlock's guard said as Sherlock stood up. He put the handcuffs back on him and shoved him out of the door. They made their way back to Sherlock's cell.
"You seem puzzled," Sherlock said.
"Just wondering why the hell someone like Mycroft Holmes would be interested in some gangster would," the guard frowned.
"He's my brother, that's why," Sherlock replied.
"Sure didn't look like you're brother," the guard said. As soon as they were at Sherlock's cell, he took the handcuffs off and shoved him in, locking the door behind him. A smile spread on Sherlock's lips. Tomorrow, I could be with John. Tomorrow, I will be free.
John sat in the waiting area impatiently, trying to distract himself. He had read all the magazines there, even the boring ones, had at least three cups of tea and some biscuits, but still couldn't settle his anxiety. Mycroft has sorted out all of the paperwork as soon as he heard that it was really his brother, he even seemed a little excited. Lestrade was certainly happy. They hadn't told anyone else, they needed to keep it quiet. Mycroft had convinced the judge that Sherlock was the infamous Italian gangster Igor Caprioni, but Sherlock Holmes. And with that Sherlock was free and his name cleared.
John looked up when he heard footsteps. Sherlock walked out wearing all his normal clothes, including his beloved scarf and coat, into the waiting area, with a large guard escorting him. John stood up, his heart feeling like it might explode from his chest. He ran into Sherlock, wrapping his arms around him. Sherlock chuckled.
"At least don't kiss me, you are my brother after all," he whispered into John's ear.
"I'm just so happy you're alive," John smiled. The guard grumbled something under his breath.
"Ignore him, he's just a spoil sport," Sherlock grinned. The let go of their embrace. He turned to the guard. "You have been exceptional guard sir, your superior would be a fool if they didn't promote you."
"Oh, ah, thank you sir," the guard replied, looking rather surprised by the compliment. Sherlock chuckled and with that he left with John next to him. As soon as they were in the car Mycroft had hired for them Sherlock kissed John with need. John kissed back with just as much eagerness.
"I've been wanting to do that for so long," Sherlock smiled in between kisses.
"Someone's getting lucky tonight," John chuckled. And with that Sherlock started the car and they drove off towards the airport to return home.