Hello everybody, I'm back!
I have here the start of the sequel to Falling Apart In Your Arms Again, that you all demanded. :P
That being said if you are reading this and you haven't read the previous story, I highly recommend that you do or you may be a little confused. I just want to say thank you for all your support with favorites, kudos and reviews. Although I may not get the time to reply to all of them, I do read them!
Thank you my beta, sethrox9730!
This first chapter is dedicated to Myr who gave me the main idea for this sequel, and to Lapus_Lazulli, I hope this lives up to your expectations.
Also a quick thank you to Hannah, who let me rant and rave at her over this sequel and listened to all my deluded ideas even though she is not an obsessed fan of Sherlock. :)
So shall we begin? Please bear in mind this is an AU!
Watching John limp down the road, Dr Sawyer was slightly sad to see him go. He hadn't been at the doctor's surgery for long and he was already leaving. There was no denying that John was a great man and an amazing doctor, but it seemed that after the suicide of his lover, the job didn't give him a buzz anymore. However there was also another reason for leaving; there had been an influx of fake patients. Journalists in disguise trying to get an interview out of John. There had been too many occasions where John had almost battered these people in the surgery. On top of that John was far too paranoid about the return of Moran if he chose to resurface, the police were useless in their attempt at finding him. It was like the man had never existed. Sawyer moved away from the window blinds as John disappeared out of sight.
Night after night John sat in the dark, listening for a man that wasn't there. The funeral of his lover hit him hard, it wasn't a great turn out but John had expected as much.
John took one final last look at that shiny headstone before turning his back in order to find Mrs. Hudson. The card sat heavy in John's pocket as his mind became preoccupied with it.
Both John and Mrs. Hudson sat in silence in taxi as they traveled back to Baker Street. John's mind was clouded with his new decisions which he had to make about his future.
The taxi came to halt outside the flat, Mrs. Hudson kindly paid for the both of them. John entered the property, in favor of continuing straight up the stairs without conversation about the funeral with Mrs. Hudson.
John instantly took the card out of his pocket. He considered taking a lighter and burning it, but he quickly diminished the idea. Re-reading the text on the card, he considered his options.
John Holmes, male prostitute.
Days before the funeral and old client had gotten in contact with John with an offer of a change of direction in his life. Legalized sex.
It was an offer of paid travel and accommodation and an income in exchange for making movies. It was an attractive offer, he'd get to leave behind the haunting memories of Baker Street and still get that long desired buzz from doing something that wasn't moral. His thoughts returned to Sherlock. Leaving this place to sleep with strangers almost seemed like he was cheating on him. The man was barely cold in the ground and John was considering this new option.
It only took John a maximum of five minutes to decide he didn't like the text of the card.
He scribbled down a new word format.
John Holmes, amateur porn star.
John's almost chocked up writing the 'Holmes' part of the card. He didn't want to be known at Watson anymore. That was in the past, a past he didn't want to be reminded of anymore. He also hoped this name change would mean that John would always have a part of Sherlock with him for life, no matter what he was doing in his life.
John sent a confirmation text to his old client. He glanced around the room estimating what items he would take with him. He started making a mental checklist.
Sherlock's chair.
Sherlock's skull.
Sherlock's stupid horned animal with the headphones.
John quickly realised everything he wanted to take would leave him surrounded in Sherlock's possessions and memories. Maybe he should add a couple of his things to lists to even it out a bit.
His gun, he would defiantly take that.
All his jumpers.
The lucky cat, he couldn't leave without that.
Maybe his chair as well, he had grown quite accustomed to it.
So this was all he had in the world.
He had a couple of nights before he had to leave, he said goodbye to Mrs. Hudson, quickly changing the subject every time she asked what he was going to do. All his wanted items had been packed and were being shipped to their destination. The rest of the stuff in the flat had been placed into storage; he couldn't bring himself to throw even a single piece of Sherlock's stuff out. John had once final stop before leaving his life behind.
The gate slammed behind him on its hinges, John paid no attention to the sound as he made a sharp turn, feet moving over the grass, cane dragging, while he clutched the flowers harder slightly. He stopped in front of the grave. Deep breath taken, he moved towards the head stone. John placed one hand on top of the stone, placing the bunch of flowers to one side of the grave, as he knelt down onto his good leg to brush away the decaying fallen leaves from the surrounding trees.
"Hey Sherlock, how you doing? Sorry. Silly question. I guess this may be my final goodbye. I've been offered a new job away from here. It's in Amsterdam, so I won't be able to visit. But I just wanted to say, I will always love you. I've never met anyone else who could make me feel like the world stops spinning, I'm so glad I met you. No one can take the time we had together away."
Out of John's control, trails of tears began to run down his face. He just felt numb as he began to organize the flowers into the built in vase in the headstone. Using the cane, John pushed himself up off the ground. He shifted over the end of the grave to face it head on. This was it this was the final time he would visit here. He pulled out his phone to take a quick snap of the grave for future reference.
This was it. John had everything in order, he was ready to leave before he changed his mind.
"Mr. Watson?"
John turned to the call of his name. There stood a woman, holding a blackberry waiting for John to reply.
"Yes?"
"My boss, Mycroft would like to see you."
John rolled his eyes but reluctantly followed the woman into a black sleek car. He didn't feel polite enough to make small talk. In fact he was pretty pissed off that Mycroft had interrupted his last goodbye with Sherlock.
As the engine of the car stopped, the driver exited the vehicle to hold the door open for John. He stepped out into a warehouse. Stood in the center of the darkened warehouse was Mycroft, unsurprisingly.
"John Watson, nice to see you again".
John cut him off before he could say another thing.
"Get to the point will you, I'm kind of busy" huffed John, giving off the perception of a bored man.
"Ah yes, 'busy'. My sources inform me that you have made a career change. Would this be correct? Asked Mycroft.
"I could be wrong, but it's none of your business."
"I had an alternative reason for calling you here. I wanted to apologize in person to you. I can't help feeling that I could have done more to of stop the events of these previous weeks occurring."
"You mean your brother's suicide? You can actually say it you know. Sherlock committed suicide, and neither of us could save him," spat John in anger.
"Look I don't have time for this. Goodbye Mycroft," With that John turned his back on Mycroft and limped back to the car.
Mycroft slightly nodded at his minion, as John slammed the door shut. The engine started up to take John back to Baker Street for the last time.
John spent his final night in Baker Street in the darkness once more, with half a bottle of bourbon.
Mrs. Hudson sent him on his way with premade sandwiches, a flask of tea and warning of dire consequences if he didn't keep in touch. A car had been sent by his client, now employer, to take him to the airport. He didn't want to cry, not now. The car sped away, leaving everything behind him.
He was escorted to his seat by the airhostess. As soon as he sat down the woman next to him was overly friendly. She insisted on hearing his entire life story, as well as telling him her own. The plane journey had been uncomfortable at best. A screaming child, a whiny old man and a woman next to him that just wouldn't shut up. He faked the need to go to the toilet just to get away from this woman for a little while. John dragged his suitcase through the checkout and out into the street. He had a meeting with his new employer at a local cafe; the next part was finding the flaming cafe. John figured the only thing to do was to find a taxi and point to the place on a Google map image. He should really attempt to learn the local language at least.
John stepped into the cafe, eyes catching his new employer, Ed Carew instantly.
"Hey John, how was the flight?"
"The worst," smiled John without any real emotion.
"So I basically just wanted to ask if you have changed your mind about your decision to join my production company?" ask Ed, before taking a sip of his coffee.
"I think I'm up for the challenge, never done anything like it before. Should be an experience at least," joked John.
Ed noticed that John hadn't directly answered the question, but he didn't mention it.
"Well you will be meeting your partner for the film tomorrow so you can get to know each other before filming starts, still working on some lines in the script but it should be with you soon, oh I just need to you to sign these papers," Ed pushed some stray pieces of paper in John's direction as well as pen. John skimmed through the text. Blah blah, consent to use of footage, blah blah provide evidence that individual is clean of STD's/HIV/AID's; Just all technical stuff so that there wasn't a risk of one of the performers suing Ed.
"Sounds good, I look forward to it," replied John, just managing a brief smile.
Ed had set up a meeting with John's co-star Jade. She was the stereotypical porn star: Skinny, large breasts, fake nails. But the hair caught John's attention the most. It was short length, mainly curly and black... Just like Sherlock's was. Was this some kind of sick joke? Find a female that almost resembled Sherlock? So John wouldn't have a problem fucking her? John tried to not let the anger sweep over him. Jade was nice enough. They sat, talked, shared lunch, and even exchanged business numbers. Tomorrow would be a big day for John, the start of the rest of his career. He should really get an early night. With that John headed to his new flat, all the possessions he had brought with him had been shipped fast and placed in his new flat. It wasn't Baker Street but it was just as nice.
His dreams were laced with Sherlock's suicide. Over and over the replay of Sherlock's body hitting the floor caused him to toss and turn; his heartbeat rose rapidly like he was reliving it. Sweat soaked the bed sheets, as he screamed and reached for his falling lover in an attempt to save him. No use. Blood spattered across his dream and the body once again hit the pavement. Suddenly eyes wide open, John clutched at the air in front from, and not quite realizing it was a dream yet. He fell off the bed in confusion between reality and dreamfulness. Realizing his mistake, he pulled himself onto the bed, sat there and cried. He couldn't go on like this. Seeing Sherlock die night after night was slowly killing him. There was no way he was getting anymore sleep tonight, so instead he sat there in the darkness and silently wept for his past life and his dead lover.
Filming was due to start; John resembled a dead zombie rather than a dashing porn star. The make-up lady was going to have a tough time making him look presentable. Ed came to brief him while the woman applied the base foundation to his face.
"Right John this is how it's going to work, we have got various camera set up in the set, this too limit the amount of people on the set, for your comfort really. We will film the intro at a later date, but if you don't mind we like to get start into the main action part."
John's eyes-widened a little hearing that.
"So I'll get you a little time to 'warm up', if you catch my drift," joked Ed. With that the man was gone.
The make-up artist quickly finished and was away. John had to get himself into the zone. The script stated it was going to be an army training inspired porno. Uniform wasn't required to today's shot apart from the headdress that Jade would be wearing during the act.
There was only one problem. He was flaccid. This was going to be awkward if he couldn't achieve an erection. He tried looking Jade, nothing. He tried stimulating himself, nothing. The only other option was to quit this, it was evident he wasn't up to it.
Sherlock. He took himself back to the night they first slept together. His cock gave a slight twinge at the memory. Bingo. John flooded his mind with sexual memories of Sherlock, pretending that the man wasn't dead. He replaced the figure of Jade with one of Sherlock. He was half-hard; Jade just had to do the rest. John was caught up in the moment as he entered the set; he blocked out the other people from his mind and focused on Jade. Concentrating he morphed her face into Sherlock's. He wasn't fucking Jade anymore. He was reliving the sex he had with Sherlock, as twisted as it seemed. Although there was a slight difference. It was Sherlock with a vagina. That was fine, he could work with that. John strained himself not to scream out Sherlock's name, in favor of passionate grunting and groaning. Jade bounced up and down on top of John riding him with professionalism. John wrapped his fingers in her hair, that black curly fucking hair. Jade screamed her way through her orgasm. This is where John remembered what the script required. He pulled out of her, pushed her back into the bed and came over her chest and part of her face. They both were panting.
Feelings stirred in John, he was being to feel that after event buzz he had not only felt when he was a prostitute but also when he was with Sherlock. Was John really going to have sex with strangers just to keep seeing some form of Sherlock? John had already made his decision before the director had yelled 'cut'.
John excused himself from the set to freshen up. Ed was there waiting with a towel on hand.
"That was great John; I've never seen so much raw passion. What is your secret?"
'Pretend I'm fucking my dead boyfriend.'
"Just caught up in the moment I guess," shrugged John, pulling some items of clothing on to cover himself up. Ed reached over to supply him with some water and continued talking.
"Well, whatever it was, it's obviously working. We will finish up the rest of the scene tomorrow," Ed patted him on the shoulder as he walked away. There wasn't much else John could do apart from clean up and head back to the flat.
I'm sorry! Please forgive me!
As an extra note, while writing this story I also watched Louis Theroux and the Brothel as well as Louis Theroux does porn, this gave me an interesting insight into how both professions work and made me understand how each job affects the people doing them, I strongly recommend watching these documentaries (if you are old enough as well!)
Feel free to comment, like or whatever you want! The whole story is written out so no waiting around for me to overcome writer's block! Plus if you want to contact me I'm under the new url of 'benedictlecter' . tumblr. com.
Have a brilliant day! :)
