I really wanted to write something for the series finale and this stuck with me through the school say, so I had to write it. Hopefully it's not too upsetting and just one more reminder that his does have spoilers, so turn back if you haven't seen it.
P.S. I know it's short, but the longer version I wrote wasn't as good or effective in my opinion, so I went with this one.
Sherlock could believe that he'd just killed someone. It had been the last resort in order to fulfil his last vow. It had been called for, so he had answered. Standing beside you would have expected the splatter patterns of blood from a great big spurt of it to have hit you from the shot, but nothing hit Sherlock.
Magnussen stayed still and the bullet pushed through. Just like it did for him. Except this time, there was an exit wound.
He knew he'd always been different, but no one probably ever thought of him as a killer.
He'd had his reasons for the action. He'd done it for John, his best friend, his only real human friend.
"I'm not a hero, I'm a high-functioning sociopath." People needed to get it right and do their research. Hadn't he said that enough? Obviously not. Should he be crying? Probably. Never going to see John again? Most likely. So crying, human response and yet he felt as though he was. Internally at least, returning to the young child he had been when he lost his only friend and shut away sentiment. Now, as a thirty five year old, he was doing the same, "Get away from me, John! Stay well back!"
Really though, it changes nothing to Sherlock. It didn't change a thing, he was still a high-functioning sociopath, still Holmes the younger, still the best friend of a very good man, still Sherlock: who had kept his last vow.
Mycroft couldn't believe he'd witnessed it. He'd just seen his younger brother murder a man in cold blood. Even from a distance and in a helicopter, the action was no different. The view from which you saw it, couldn't possibly change the truth or what happened.
Sherlock had disobeyed direct orders to move away and shot a man in the head. Not just any man either, but Magnussen.
Sherlock had always been different, but Mycroft had never thought of him as a killer.
Of course, he'd done it for John. You could tell.
"Oh, Sherlock." If Mycroft was one for sentiment, he was sure he would be crying. The question – even though he knew the answer – just fell through his lips, needing to be asked as though it would make things different, "What have you done?"
Really though, it changes nothing to Mycroft. It didn't change a thing, Sherlock always would be, and was still his brother: who he failed to protect.
John couldn't believe Sherlock went to such an extent for him. His best friend who he could always trust and rely on. The short distance had left the shot ringing in his ears for a moment before he fully processed that Sherlock had definitely just done that. John couldn't believe what he was viewing. Sherlock had just killed Charles Augustus Magnussen. Shot him straight through the head, killing him instantly.
Sherlock had ignored his brother and told John nothing of his plan, keeping him in the dark until that last moment, where a lump formed in John's throat as he knew the inevitable was coming.
Sherlock had always been different, but John had never imagined he could be a killer.
He'd done it for Mary and himself - for their future. It was obvious.
"Christ Sherlock!" It was all he could do, all he could say that explained his shock at the action of his companion. He felt as though he should cry, but his desperation for things to work out well was stopping him, "Oh Christ, Sherlock!"
Really though, it changes nothing to John. It didn't change a thing, Sherlock always would be, and was still his best friend: who he had failed to stop.
Shock.
That was it. He was in shock, they all were.
Yes, shock, true. Situation, true. Sherlock had just killed a man, true.
When John first met Sherlock, he'd told Anderson to do his research and he told Magnussen the same.
He'd told John once that he wasn't a hero and he told Magnussen the same.
At the wedding, he made his first and last vow in front of every single guest. A vow he had taken to the extreme. His Last Vow indeed.
He'd told many that he was a high-functioning sociopath.
A sociopath with one weakness, one pressure point: John Watson.
Unbeknownst to all, Molly had told Sherlock from the confines of his Mind Palace, it wasn't like the movies.
No it most certainly wasn't.
He'd done so for his best friend. He'd killed for John, for Mary, for their future.
And that was it, the action was done and so changed everything. He was a killer, a murderer.
Yet strangely, it didn't change a thing.
He was still the world's only consulting detective. He was still Sherlock Holmes, not a hero, but the high-functioning sociopath, the younger brother, the best friend.
It didn't change a thing.
There you go. Sorry if I made anyone become upset by this. Thank you for reviewing, favouriting and alerting my other stories and for this one in an advance and of course, thank you for reading, it means a lot to me.