Okay, I'm giving you all fair warning. I DID NOT COME UP WITH THIS PIECE OF WORK. I am merely putting the wonderful show "Sherlock" into words. If you were looking for a Sherlock fanfic, turn away. I'm simply narrating the series for those who don't have access to it or have never heard of it. Maybe both.
The show, its concept, and its characters do not belong to me. If they did, Johnlock wouldn't only be something fantasized about in dark secluded corners of the internet.
I hope you enjoy reading this even more than I did writing it!
Flashes.
Pictures.
Sounds.
Images coursed through the man's brain: men in tan uniforms, speckled in darker brown splatters; bombs erupting and shooting off chutes of debris into the sky; guns firing, the barrels ablaze with light; soldiers kicking down the door to a simple apartment only to arrest a criminal inside; his friends, comrades, smiling at him with impish mischief before falling down dead.
The man tossed and turned in his sleep as more pictures and sounds assaulted his nightmarish mind.
Villagers crying as American soldiers stormed through their village and men shrieking as bullets tore through their flesh. Simple civilians cowering as missiles few above their heads and soldiers taking cover as bullets shot towards them. The man saw himself fall to the ground, clutching his leg, feeling the red blood pouring through his fingertips—
John shot up in bed, screaming in terror, trying to fight off imaginary foes with sleep-addled limbs. His breath came in short gasps as he stared around his colorless room, the details going in and out as he tried to focus on the present. All around him, blank tan walls stared back at him, reminding him that he was no longer on the battlefield. He was safe. He was in London, not in the Middle East. He was safe. He was in his own bed, not in the cot that the military issued to him. He was safe. He was safe. He was safe…
He flopped back onto the bed, one hand on his stomach and the other behind his head. He put a technique to use that he had learned from his therapist: right hand raised above your head, and take deep, steady breaths. Unfortunately, that didn't work quite as he had hoped.
Against his will, tears started to slip out of John's eyes, his thin mouth pulling downwards into a frown. He searched frantically around the room to find something to focus on, to distract him, but all he found were walls devoid of any pictures and a floor empty of anything but a bedside table. He settled for a beam of morning light cast on the wall beside him, focusing on it and trying to get his emotions under control.
When a half hour passed John by, it was clear that that approach wasn't successful. Instead, he stood up, refusing to wipe away the tears that lingered. He turned on the lamp in the far corner, shedding a bit more light in the room than the window alone could provide. He sat once more on the side of his small bed, surveying his surroundings: the lamp against the far wall, his bed, a desk, and the walking cane that he always kept with him.
He sighed heavily, peering down at the hands clasped in his lap. 'What's happened to me?' he wondered silently, trying to block out the memories of the nightmare.
With limited success.
By the time the sun had fully risen, John was walking about his apartment, even if it was with some difficulty. The events of that morning had already been pushed to the back of his mind, and the man was getting ready to enjoy his morning breakfast: a granny smith apple with a glass of sugarless coffee. The depressing interior of the room was alight with the brightness of the sun, but it still didn't change the demeanor of the chamber. The walls were still barren, and everything inside was still a dull tan color.
John ignored the sorry state of his apartment, electing instead to a take a seat at the desk. However, getting there proved to be a problem. His right hand gripped the metal walking stick tightly as he maneuvered himself into the chair, grunting painfully as he jarred his damaged leg. He set his breakfast down on the small computer table and opened the drawer to retrieve a red-bound leather notebook. John ignored the gun hidden underneath; it was only for protection.
John flipped open his laptop, staring at the screen and lacing his fingers together. The screen portrayed a blogging website, with a few words scrawled near the top:
THE PERSONAL BLOG OF DR. JOHN H. WATSON
However, the space beneath, where others would normally have passages describing their daily lives and what went on during the week, was blank.
Just like his room.
"How's your blog going?"
John simply looked at the therapist with a blank expression. Cars honked outside the building noisily, as if they didn't have anything better to do than ignore his session. However, John didn't notice them. It was only when the woman gave him a pointed look that he snapped out of his personal world.
"Yeah, good." He cleared his throat, trying to determine how much longer he had to be there. "Very good."
The woman smiled back at his, her brown features crinkling into a grin of disapproval. "You haven't written a word, have you?" This was more of a statement than a question.
John glanced down at her notepad. "You just wrote 'still has trust issues'."
"And you read my writing upside-down," she quipped back. "You see what I mean?" She made it a point to cover up her words with her hand, earning a small, grim grin from John. It only lasted a second.
"John," the therapist started, leaning forward to look at the graying man in the eyes, "you were a soldier. It's going to take you a while to adjust to civilian life. And writing a blog about everything that happens to you will honestly help you." She had had this conversation with this particular man several times, but no matter how many times she'd stared into those blank eyes, begging for him to understand, she always got the same answer:
"Nothing happens to me."
AN: I an incredibly sorry for the short length of this chapter. It's just that I won't have time to work on the rest of it tonight (or tomorrow, or probably the day after that), I wanted to get it out, and the real show is about an hour or two long for every episode. Plus I thought it would be better if I split the episode up between a few chapters, just so you guys aren't overloaded with stuffs. So, I hope you enjoy it!
