This is my own take on a particularly interesting plot twist I saw for the Sherlock reunion.
*** This first chapter (THERE WILL BE MORE CHAPTERS-THIS ISNT THE END) is present-day, while the next chapter will be looking back at the first year w/out Sherlock and the next chapter will be the next year, then the chapter after that will most likely pick up from here or be in Sherlock's POV.
Thank you for reading! :)
THREE YEARS AFTER THE FALL- PRESENT DAY
It had been a long time since Sherlock jumped off of the roof of St. Bart's, and John sat in his chair across from the detective's leather seat, staring at the man in front of him.
The man in question sat across from John, hands resting on the chair's arms as he stared at the calm doctor.
John chuckled, completely at ease, and closed his eyes. Opening them again, he was rewarded with the sight of the detective.
He got up out of the chair and reached for the familiar knife resting on the barren kitchen table. The blade hovered along the multitude of scars from previous cuttings as the doctor studied Sherlock's face. The detective made no move to stop John from drawing blood, although his eyes flashed and his right hand twitched.
John turned away from Sherlock, quickly wrapping a clean bandage around his bleeding arm, and grabbed his jacket.
He exited the flat, quickly followed by the detective, and, ignoring the multiple cabs in the street, walked to the store.
Sherlock hovered around John, blending in with the crowd, and received not one glance from the many people bustling along the street.
The doctor walked into the store, wandering into the frozen products section, and began looking at milk. Quickly locating the bottle he desired, John stared for a moment longer at the shelves with a quizzical look on his face.
John felt the detective's puzzled stare as he stood in the middle of the isle. The seconds turned to minutes, and the minutes turned to an hour before John moved once again. A pretty woman tapped his shoulder.
She asked him if he needed help; he replied that he was rubbish at shopping. She offered to help him look for the rest of his groceries, and was rewarded with a gracious, if not flirtatious, grin.
The pair walked the isles, picking up teabags, sugar, and a few other mundane items before checking out. The woman seemed to have forgotten that she came to the store to buy her own food, because she left with John empty handed.
They paused outside of the store, moving out of the entrance so that other people could access the shop, and stood in the direction of Baker Street. John thanked her for helping him, and she replied by grabbing a bag of his groceries, claiming that he needed assistance to take his scant purchases home. He grinned and thanked her, leading the woman back to the flat.
John felt Sherlock's curiosity grow as the detective followed the pair back to the flat. The slightly predatory grin that stretched from ear to ear wasn't missed by the detective, though the woman wasn't paying attention, instead, she blathered about the weather.
Her voice grated on the doctor's ears.
They reached the flat, John unlocking and opening the door for the woman as she continued mindlessly chattering. She set the groceries on the bare table, and then asked if she could use John's loo. He showed her where it was and returned to the kitchen.
He repositioned the knife in his jacket, his thumb caressing the handle as he waited for the woman.
Sherlock sat once again in his chair, his face blank as he stared at the doctor.
John was irritated by the unwelcome presence of the specter and allowed himself to be comforted with the knowledge that it would be over soon.
The woman emerged from the loo and walked to the kitchen. John was putting the last of his purchases away and began to make tea. He made two cups, ignoring her when she told him how she liked her tea.
He brushed past her and set the two beverages on the desk by the leather chair the detective was currently residing in.
She heard him mutter something in the direction of the leather chair, something about making tea without drugging it, and her eyes flickered toward the seat before resting once more on the doctor.
The flirtatious grin had morphed to one of savagery and rage.
She backed away from him, not daring to look away from him for a second, until her back hit the wall.
He chuckled, reaching into his jacket and pulling out a sharp knife.
Her body shook as she began to sob.
Please.
Upon reaching the sniveling woman, he cut her arms, watching in morbid fascination as blood began trickling from her wounds. Her eyes widened as she gasped from the sight of her blood dripping on the floor.
It was then that she noticed little stains of red all throughout the flat; it was then that she knew she wasn't his only victim.
He began cutting her up, blood spurting everywhere as her wounds morphed from slow, thin, surface cuts to angry, fast, deep plunges of the soaked blade.
When his work was done, he turned away from her body, no longer holding it against the wall. It slumped and fell to the ground with a sickening thud.
John ignored the corpse as he stared at the detective on the couch. He relished Sherlock's horrified expression.
It wouldn't be long now.
He continued watching the detective, going from smug satisfaction to furious frustration.
Why hadn't the apparition vanished?
He stalked towards the detective, looming over the man. He began screaming, demanding to know why he wouldn't disappear.
He was silenced when realization dawned.
John stretched his hand out, wincing as it made contact with the detective's shoulder.
Sherlock Holmes was alive.