Disclaimer: I do not own BBC's Sherlock, nor am I making money from writing this drabble.
Summary: John is grieving…
Warning(s)/Author's notes: Heavily implied slash (nothing graphic). Spoilers, somewhat, for the end of the "The Reichenbach's Fall." John's POV. I tried to portray John's grief. The drabble is written in a manner that reflects John's state of mind, so it might not make "sense" to the casual reader. This also contains a little stream of consciousness, perhaps, and is written in the present tense.
Rating: M to be safe.
WC: Approx. 290 words
Saku's drabble wars prompt: Sherlock/John
"It's true what they say, love must be blind
That's why Your still standing by the sinner's side.
You're still by my side when all the things I've done have left
You bleedin'.
Come undone, surrender is stronger,
I don't need to be the hero tonight.
We all want love, we all want honor
Nobody wants to pay the asking price."
'Undone' FFH
Survivor
By Yo's Subordinate; Written 7.3.13 & Posted 8/17/13
No. He's not dead. No. Sherlock isn't gone. Nonono, rings through John's head.
He didn't watch his best friend die. No. He didn't watch him fall from that building like a fallen angel without wings.
NO! It's all a lie, even as he sits here telling his therapist the story as if he had watched the scene unfold through another's eyes.
That blood splattered on the pavement. It's a lie. His heart breaking into a billion pieces, his tears on Sherlock's grave. Those moments of white noise, shock after Sherlock's fall, his best friend's final words (Really? Saying the 'final' goodbye with a phone call?!). The way they pulled him from the scene...
Nonononono! None of it is true because Sherlock is somewhere safe making him worry to death because that's what the ass is best at.
John mutes suddenly in front of his therapist as another starker image emblazons itself across his tattered mind.
Lips grazing across soft skin. A tongue tasting salt, dipping into a belly button. A gasp, a silent moan, John! Enduring supernovas, crashing into each other from the greatest heights. Passion tearing from their throats.
No, we didn't make love. Nono, I didn't lose him. Nonono!
"HE'S NOT GONE!" John shouts, jerking to his feet, tears already brimming to the surface again.
He's barely aware of the therapist gently taking his wrists in her own hands and pushing him ever so slowly back down into his seat.
"It's not true. None of it is true. I didn't lose him. He's still right here in my arms," John utters in a broken whisper, imagining his lips ghosting across those beautiful eyes lids, those long dark lashes.
You're not dead. You can't be. Because I'll never survive if you truly are.
End