my first Sherlock fan fic! YAY!
I have started writing so many of these, I thought I may as well put it on here, and let people read my somewhat poor attempts of writing!
POST – REICHENBACH!
I apologise for the angst that is yet to come, I can't help myself and there is just so much to work on!
It is a tad fluffy in the beginning though so I hope that can make up for it!
Johnlock, but no real relationship or slash… yet. It may and quite probably will happen in the future though.
Warnings: Violence. Slight language.
That is all for now. Warning and ratings may increase in the future.
Sherlock Holmes stood in an alleyway, hiding from view, his steel grey eyes fixed on 221B Baker Street. He knew, even without his brother Mycroft telling him multiple times, that it was dangerous to be there. Three years had passed since that fateful day on the rooftop of St. Bart's. That day when he committed suicide.
He had no intention of dying that day, enlisting the help of Molly Hooper, who saved him, and then confirmed his "death". He wished that he had never needed to fake his own death, but Jim Moriaty, Consulting Criminal and arch enemy (not including Mycroft Holmes) of Sherlock, had threatened to kill John, Mrs Hudson, and Detective Inspector Lestrade, the three only friends he really had, and cared about.
He knew he wouldn't be reunited with his friends straight after his "suicide", but little did he know it would take three years to tear down Moriaty's criminal web. There were still many strings left uncut, and Sherlock had been growing wary recently, as new threads of the criminal net were being created. He knew that they all had to be destroyed before his life could return to normal, if you could even call it that, and even then, it would be pretty near impossible, considering he would have to explain how and why he faked his own death.
Sherlock looked through the darkness in the lit window of 221B, wishing he was back in the living room, shotting at the wall because he was bored, looking through his favourite microscope, playing his violin, or just lying on the lounge, palms pressed together in silent thought, while John tried unsuccessfully to get my attention.
Sherlock suddenly cut off that train of thought as he saw a shadow move past the open window, and he saw straight away just how hard it had been for his best friend since he fell from the roof.
John seemed shorter, smaller than before, his psychosomatic limp had returned with a vengeance, his hair unkempt and his two or three day old shirt (Sherlock could not be exactly sure at that distance) strongly emphasised his lack of caring and confidence. Sherlock could tell that John had not been able to hold a steady relationship with a woman in the past three years, his paler skin showing he barely wend outside anymore. Sherlock realised with an unusual emotion in his heart, which seemed to be constricting, that John had all but given up.
Sherlock stepped forward into the street, with the sudden urge to go and somehow comfort his friend, but emotions and sentiment weren't exactly his strong point.
Sherlock blinked as his phone rang, before sighing deeply and taking out his phone, breaking eye contact with the house in front of him.
"You're still not there are you Sherlock? I do hope you've realised how much danger you are putting John and Mrs Hudson with you hanging around there. Moran and the others are still out of our reach and they could be following you. Remember what you died for."
Sherlock closed his eyes briefly before answering in an unemotional tone.
"it's highly probable that Moran and others from Moriaty's group are watching me, and there is almost as high of a probability that they are following me, but I also know that you or at least some of your men are following me, so even if something were to happen, there would be someone around to help out. I don't need reminding on what I died for dear brother." His voice ice cold as he emphasised the last two words.
With that, Sherlock hung up on Mycroft, and looked up for a moment to see John staring out of the window, straight at Sherlock.
Sherlock quickly receded into the shadows, his heart pumping adrenaline as he thought quickly. Did John see him? Did he just ruin everything as sentiment had gotten the better of him? He stood in an alleyway, all his senses keen, straining for any form of sound or movement, in which would determine whether coming here tonight was a fatal mistake.
His ears prickled as he heard a noise, and Sherlock frowned slightly. He had been expecting the sounds of footsteps, maybe gun shots, but not the sounds of a man crying. Sherlock looked up to the source of the sound, and saw in the sitting room of 221B, a man in his armchair, face in his hands, and shoulders shuddering from his tears.
"John." Sherlock whispered, a touch of emotion colouring his voice as he stepped forward once again into the street, staring at his broken friend. After a moment's hesitation, where he heard his brother's voice in his head caring is not an advantage, Sherlock. He proceeded to the front door of 221B. Sherlock looked back for a moment, and saw nothing but the blank brick wall and darkness.
Sherlock took out the key to the house, having never been able to part with it, no matter how many times his brother muttered sentiment. Sherlock carefully unlocked the door, more tense and alert than he has ever been, even more so than when he had been around Moriaty.
He closed the door quietly behind him and slowly made his way up the stairs, all the while listening to the tears of Dr. Watson. Three quarters of the way up the stairs, the step he stood on groaned beneath his light weight and Sherlock froze, as John abruptly chocked back a sob, and from the movements in the room beyond, John was coming to see what the noise was.
Sherlock was suddenly fearful that John wouldn't want to see him, that he would hate him for everything that he had done. He knew also though that he deserved John's anger, and was prepared to deal with the shouts and accusations, possibly even blows. Sherlock braced himself for the rage of John Watson, and he gripped the hand rail tight in his bony fingers, whiter than usual as the skin stretched tight across his bones.
John limped out onto the landing and dropped his cane in shock. His warm brown eyes, bloodshot from crying, widened, taking in the person before him.
"Oh God, I've finally gone mad haven't i? Lestrade said-"
"You're not going mad John. I'm here." Sherlock whispered, cutting off John's almost hysterical rambles to himself.
Sherlock took a step forward, hand in front of him slightly, as if reaching for John. John stared back at his best friend, unable to believe that he could very possibly be here, looking exactly like he did before the fall. As Sherlock took another step forward, his face was thrown into relief by the light, which showed just how wrong he was about his precious thought. Sherlock had changed considerably.
The past three years had made the consulting detective thinner than before, his high cheekbones casting deep shadows on his face. His steel coloured eyes seemed darker, just slightly, and harder, as if he had seen things he wished he could delete from his mind palace, but couldn't. The hand stretched out towards him and other parts of Sherlock's skin that he could see had cuts, scars, and bruises, some old, some new, but what had changed most was his expression. Sherlock always detached himself from his emotions, and yet he looked so innocent, almost pitiful in the way he looked up at John, hand outstretched, desperate for the human contact he once despised.
John reached out to his best friend, needing to touch, to feel the truth that this was not a dream, that Sherlock really did survive the "Reichenbach Fall" as the tabloids called it.
their fingertips touched, then as john felt the solid flesh of Sherlock Holmes, he pulled the detective to the rest of the stairs, then ignoring the annoyed muttering of Sherlock been dragged up stairs, pulled him into a giant hug.
Sherlock froze as John wrapped his short but strong arms around his thin frame. After the moment of surprise with the contact, Sherlock moved his arms around the doctor's waist, pulling him close, for once, his mind not deducing or observing, but just simply relishing the long awaited comfort of his best friend. John buried his face into Sherlock's scarf, inhaling the scent he hadn't smelt in so long. He started sobbing again, this time into Sherlock, not embarrassed at all, just too many emotions all at once, it was overwhelming.
After some time in which the tears started to slow and Sherlock's scarf and coat collar were drenched, john looked up to see Sherlock staring down at him, his guard completely down, his grey eyes soft, but filled with grief and guilt, and a single tear rolling down his cheek.
John smiled softly for the first time in three years as affection for Sherlock gushed within him, and leaned up quickly, before losing his courage, wiped the tear away from Sherlock's face, before lightly pressing a kiss to his lips. Sherlock's eyes widened, before half closing his eyes and responding to the kiss. John knew that Sherlock's mind was in hyper drive, almost hearing the wheels turning in his head, as he tried to think what to do, and what may also happen. In other words, Sherlock was totally confused and lost as it wasn't his area.
"I'm glad you're back." John whispered. Sherlock seeming speechless, just nodded, his lips twitching into the ghost of a smile, before pulling himself away from John and walking into what was once their old sitting room.
It looked almost exactly the same to Sherlock, only slightly cleaner. All of his old files and papers were still spread across the table, all the science equipment still there, his skull was on the mantelpiece and even his violin stood in its corner, looking like it had recently gotten a polish. He also had a feeling that if he were to go into his room, it would be exactly the same as well, from the periodic table on the wall, to his sock index.
Sherlock sat down on his usual armchair, noticing that it was a bit stiff, showing that John had not let anyone sit in it for the past three years. He pressed his fingers together forming steeples, his elbows on either side of the armrest, as he surveyed John. John had paused in the doorway, just watching Sherlock, amazed about how everything seemed so normal.
Sherlock's phone started to ring, making John jump and Sherlock sigh. He took out the phone from his coat, looked at the caller I.D and promptly rejected the call,, before putting it away again.
"No one important then?" John said, finally stepping into the room and sitting across from Sherlock.
"My brother," said Sherlock ,with a roll of his eyes.
"Wait, Mycroft knew you were alive?" gasped John, and for a moment, Sherlock saw hurt in his eyes. "Who else knew?" John demanded. Sherlock looked down at his feet, and John thought he saw the glistening of a tear in the detective's eye. His anger disappeared at the thought of Sherlock showing such emotions.
"Only Mycroft and Molly knew. Molly had to, because I needed her help in confirming my "death", and I needed Mycroft for his men and resources, though I wasn't going to go to him, but Molly insisted that I should." Sherlock murmured, his voice a lot quieter than usual, still looking down at his shoes. "I couldn't tell you, not until it was absolutely safe, and even now, it is risky but I can't stay away any longer. I am sorry John. So sorry. I truly am. I hope one day… you can forgive me."
John looked at his best friend and sighed. "Of course I forgive you Sherlock, whatever your reasons, I know that you would have done it only for a really good reason." John paused and raked his eyes over his old flatmate again. "You look terrible by the way. Like you haven't eaten or slept for the past three years, and what is with all the scars and bruises Sherlock? What have you been doing all this time? You certainly weren't on vacation."
"Vacation?" Sherlock raised his eyebrows and laughed humourlessly, and John noted the hint of darkness in the laughter. " No I was destroying Moriaty's criminal web, piece by piece, so I knew that all of this was finally over. Even after Moriaty killed himself on the top of St. Bart's, I knew-"
Sherlock stopped as john frowned deeply, vaguely noticing his phone buzzing in his pockets again for the eighth time in less than four minutes.
"What is it John?" You look confused." Sherlock moved to the edge of his seat, looking at John intently. "Ah, but of course. You're me. How I always hated riddles." Sherlock muttered to himself.
"Sherlock, no body was found on the rooftop of St. Bart's hospital. There was blood yes, but no Moriaty." John said, a slight shake in his voice. Sherlock leant back in his seat, deep in thought, frowning intently as he processed the information he had just learnt. Could Moran of one of the others had taken the body? Possible but not probable as they would have wanted to avoid getting caught, and anyway, they weren't known for their sentiment. Moriaty was like him. Sherlock shivered as he heard Moriaty's voice inside his head. You're not ordinary. You're me. How had he had not known that Moriaty was still alive, and still playing his strings? Though as he thought about it, the clues were all there, if he had only just stopped to think. The way that threads of criminal activity kept coming back up whenever one was cut down. How Moran and the other main people were consulting to a higher power, which even Mycroft with all his Secret Service and British Government skills could not find any information on.
John watched Sherlock, a bit worried as he stood and turned to look at the window. "Where's Mrs Hudson?"
"Oh, she's visiting her sister in-" John froze as Sherlock's posture changed from his deep in thought but exhausted stance, to extremely alert and tense, almost predatory. "Sherlock, what is it? What's wrong?" John stood up and walked towards his friend.
Sherlock continued to stare out of the window, at the brick wall across the road, where bright yellow paint, reminiscent of the paint used by the Black Lotus, spelt three letters:
I.O.U.
Sherlock started to shake slightly, his emotions betraying him for the first time in a very long time, showing his fear and anger as he realised that the game hadn't ended, but had only just begun. Sherlock barely felt John's hand upon his shoulder, as he was taking out his phone, as it had once again gone off with another message.
Sherlock showed pure fear in his face for a single second, staring at his phone, before hiding all of his emotions to the best of his ability, as he quickly assessed the situation, knowing what has happened last time, and that whatever happened this time would not be good. He had the small comfort though of Mycroft's men, unless they had suddenly been "disposed of."
He looked back at the phone again, not realising that John was reading over his shoulder.
Hi honey I'm homeeee! Did you miss me? – JM
"Sherlock…" John murmured, trying to get his attention. Sherlock looked up, fury burning in his icy eyes.
"Moriaty."
Sherlock's phone beeped again.
I thought you had learnt by now not to mess with my Sherly dear, especially after what happened last time. Trying to destroy me is a bad move dear. Oh well! But daddy's had enough now! It is time to show me what I do to people that annoy me. And you have annoyed me Sherlock. Oh it has been fun all our little games, but you are cheating! And cheating is not fair.
Nighty night, sleep tight!
-J.M
Sherlock stared at the phone for a second, before looking at john who was staring out of the window. Sherlock knew straight away what Moriaty would do. I'll burn the heart out of you. The heart, his heart, was John. He was going to kill John. Sherlock raced into action, pushing John out of the view of the window, just as Sherlock heard the faint sound of a sniper gun being shot.
Hehehe cliff-hanger! Who get's shot? *gasp*
anyways, R & R's are great, it would be muchly appreciated!
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