Disclaimer: I own nothing, besides the Willingtons & possible extra characters.
A/N: I always liked the idea of Sherlock and John meeting a Sherlockian. Since there's a handful of us in this universe, it would only be safe to assume that there's just as many in the Sherlock universe. Though because they're not going to bring a Sherlockian into the series (like how in Doctor Who, Elton was their own version of a Whovian), I ended up stretching out the idea into a little story. Enjoy it, don't, I don't care. I just had fun writing this.
Chapter One
On the eve of the third anniversary of Sherlock Holmes' fall, Sherlockians stalked the night with bags slung across their shoulders as they raided the streets of London, plastering "I Believe in Sherlock" posters everywhere they went. Acknowledging one another with a nod or a wave, Sherlockians would go about their business to prepare the city for a day of remembrance, a day only Sherlockians were willing to embrace and celebrate. Throughout the night, grey clouds began to sweep across the skies and the rain began to fall, which the Sherlockians took as a sign to retreat back to their respective homes.
However, before they could head home, those that were dwelling near 221B Baker Street paraded along the opposite side walk as they passed by what they knew as Sherlock and John's flat. The Sherlockians would trudge along as they gave a silent salute to John Watson who resided by the window every year to watch them embark their mission to remind everyone of Sherlock Holmes. Directly after his "death," his name gravitated to a gentle whisper among the public, but every year, for just one day, his name and his reptation as the world's only consulting detective would be revived. With their heads tilted up to the high window, their silent observer did very little and said absolutely nothing, yet everyone could tell that he appreciated what they all did. On the days following the anniversary, Sherlockians have been known to witness John collecting the various posters on occassion.
John Watson had always considered this as a familiar view, one that both filled his heart with warmth and sorrow. Despite the malicious slander that Sherlock had received even after death, it never ceased to amaze John how much these strangers respected Sherlock as much as he did. These people bore a vast amount of dedication to the man and his work and their admiration was very extensive. Though what John found more surprising was how well behaved Sherlockians were whenever they encountered him. Often times when he's awaiting a cab or going grocery shopping, Sherlockians would immediately recognize him, but they merely give him the same salute he's witnessing this very night.
As the rain began to fall and the Sherlockians began to scatter the street to return home, John noticed one lone girl hung about on the opposite side of the street, residing on the curb with her eyes fixated on a crumpled piece of paper in her hands. He carefully watched her as she tried to straighten it out to only crumple it up again. Yet through a reluctant attempt, she straightened it out once more and stood up. Though instead of heading home like the rest, she walked up to the door of 221B Baker Street. From upstairs, John could hear the knock she made upon the door, but he didn't bother moving as he watched her skip away from the front door and turned back, giving him a salute before joining the rest of her peers.
Once John had watched her disappear into the crowd, he slowly navigated himself down the stairs and headed to the front door. As he opened the door slightly a jar, he could see the crumpled piece of paper taped on the knocker. He pulled it off and gave a wave to the remaining Sherlockians that remained along the street before he headed back upstairs. Carefully he returned to the sitting room with his eyes fixated on the note that was scribbled rather frantically.
"In the future, I may need your help." John read as he sat down at his armchair, his eyes narrowing on the words to decipher through the messy handwriting. "This was not intentional and I have no reason to be rude. I truly am sorry, I truly am. I have very few details and all I have to go with is a gut feeling. I will return tomorrow."
John slightly frowned, wondering why this girl would bother asking him of all people for help. He was nothing like Sherlock and his skills of deduction were still poor, even after spending so much time with that man. John merely sighed out of pity, setting aside the note and left it sitting on the coffee table before he headed to bed. Night had finally reigned over the sky that cried heavily over the city of London. With one last glimpse at the window as the rain began to pitter-patter against the window pane, John flicked off the light and headed upstairs to his room as he finally felt his body succumb to exhaustion.
"The Sherlockians have struck again." The television news reporter announced as they began this morning's newscast to elaborate on the Sherlockian's yearly mission. The television screen flashed scenes of walls completely covered with posters and posters flying through the wind, littering the streets of London. John went on watching from his armchair with a cup of tea, suddenly realizing how much this event has grown over the years. During the first year, there were posters sporadically placed throughout London, but by the second year, posters had covered all parts of England and other parts of the world. This year, they had completely outdone themselves in a larger number of Sherlockians and posters all together.
"All for you, Sherlock." John murmured with a slight smirk. He sighed and raised his cup of tea to his lips. "If only you could see this..."
Unknowingly to John, Sherlock was able to witness the Sherlockian's yearly mission during the previous night. Concealing himself with a simple disguise as he made his return to London, Sherlock dwelled among the Sherlockians as they went out their way to revive his name in everyone's memory. While he was rather unhappy that they were giving him attention, everyone still believed he was dead and this yearly event was enough to enforce that fact. Luckily for him, it worked to his advantage and allowed him to continue to sabotage Moriarty's web without any problems. Now and then, he would be snagged with a dilemma that he feared he would never get himself out of, but in the end, he was rewarded with the relief of returning back home.
That same morning, Sherlock snatched one of the posters off a wall and a smug smile appeared upon his face as he began to make his way to 221B Baker Street. Folding it away into his pocket, Sherlock wandered back to his old home, welling up with a mixture of emotions with each step he took. It had been three years since he "disappeared" and because he gave John no word as to what had actually happened, he was only anticipating the worst out of him. Sherlock was actually ashamed that he had brought John to gravitate back to his old habits, but he was hoping his return would be enough to change that. Though no matter how hopeful Sherlock tried to be about the situation, he knew it would only be a rough adjustment for both of them to have him back in John's life.
John's tea cup clattered into the kitchen sink as John began to prep himself for another day of work. While he was constantly reluctant to head off to the clinic, he still forced himself to go so he could pay off the rent now that Sherlock was gone. Luckily for him, Mrs. Hudson was more than willing to loosen up on the rent so he didn't have much to worry about living in the flat. While over the years he hated living there, he never had the will power to make himself actually leave it behind. Though instead of spending any time in the flat, John actually spent a bulk of his days outside. At least in public, he was surrounded by people and at least then, he wouldn't have to feel so alone. Though no matter what John did, loneliness still weighed heavily in the back of his mind.
With a sigh, John dragged himself down the stairs, but as soon as he opened the door, he found a slightly familiar man standing before him with his hand raised close to the door knocker. With a blank stare, John took a step back to observe the man more thoroughly. Same face, same eyes, but the outfit was different as was the slightly longer and shaggier hair. He bit his lip, slightly hesitant to say it, but it came out only as a whisper, "Sherlock?"
Sherlock's lips flinched into a weak smile as he slowly lowered his hand to his side. He nodded and quietly replied, "John."
John flinched, slightly confused as to what he was seeing. There were a million thoughts swarming through his mind, but there was only one thing that came to mind. Without hesitation, John punched Sherlock square in the jaw. With anger brewing out of John's already weary body, he was panting out of exhaustion from that one swift punch. Sherlock had keeled over, but slowly pulled himself up and let out a rough chuckle, rubbing his cheek.
"I deserved that." He replied, observing his hand to notice he was drawing blood.
"You think?" John exclaimed madly.
"I know I can never apologize to you enough, John." Sherlock told him, still gently rubbing his jaw.
"You need to do more than apologize, Sherlock! How are you even here? I saw you! I watched you jump from St. Bart's! I saw your body! I saw... I saw..." John's jaw tightened as he felt his eyes water up with tears. He shook his head madly, trying to force them back because he refused to look emotionally vulnerable, especially in front of Sherlock.
Sherlock sighed and nodded. "Yes, I know I have a lot to explain, John."
"Then do it." John replied bitterly.
For a moment, the two of them merely exchanged a rather intense stare when suddenly, the silence was broken by the shrieking of a young lady calling out John's name. She was on the other side of the street, frantically flailing her arms while she almost carelessly ran in front of a passing cab. Rushing off towards the front door of 221B Baker Street, she breathlessly murmured John's name once more before she finally realized who he was standing with.
"I'm interrupting something, aren't I?" She questioned. Her mouth gaped open as if to continue speaking, but she paused, thinking momentarily. "No, wait, I definitely am. You know what, continue. I'll... I'll just... be here." She weakly smiled as she pointed down at the ground.
John sighed, giving Sherlock a side-glance. "We're not done here, you hear me?"
"Of course." Sherlock simply replied.
As John continued past him, he took a glance at the girl. "Wait," He said, stopping right before the girl. "I recognize you. You're the girl from last night. You tacked that poster on my door."
"Yes." She said with a slight nod. "I'm-"
"Wendy Willington." Sherlock said, glancing back at John and Wendy. "The only daughter of Martha and Riley Willington."
John narrowed his eyes at Sherlock. "Who?"
"The Willingtons. The owners of Willington hotels, which are known famously worldwide."
Wendy sighed. "Yes, that is me."
John raised his eyebrows slightly. "You're Wendy? The Wendy Willington? The same Wendy Willington that organized this poster affair?" He motioned to the posters aligned down the road across the street.
"Oh, so you do know about me." She said with a smug smile.
"Well, yes, they talk about you on the news every year." John explained.
"You also own that blog." Sherlock added, eyeing her curiously.
"You read that?" Wendy questioned.
"Mere observation." Sherlock waved it off.
"Right." John rolled his eyes. "Look, I don't know why you would need help, but-"
"Then you haven't read this morning's paper." Wendy murmured as she pulled something out of her bag. It was a newspaper with the headlines reading, "Willington's Double Suicide." with a photo of her parents right in the middle. "My parents died last night."
Sherlock narrowed his eyes. "But you don't think it's a double suicide."
"They were murdered."