This was slightly based on Amelia Pond's story. I do not own Sherlock, nor that walt whitman quote, or Doctor Who. Or anything really so...yeah.
They are alive and well somewhere,
The smallest sprout shows there is really no death,
And if ever there was it led forward life, and does not wait at the
end to arrest it,
And ceas'd the moment life appear'd.
-Walt Whitman
He came into my life as suddenly as he went. I knew the running wouldn't last forever, but I thought it would last a little longer, at least.
The main thing was that it was fun. The running, I mean. Yeah sure at times I was scared of getting killed or not solving the mysteries. But there's fun in not knowing.
But then the fall happened. I didn't know what to do. I sat in my chair for weeks at a time just watching the world pass. Watching as people like Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade came and left. Watching as Sherlock didn't come home.
Four Therapists came and went as well. The last one was particularly bad. He told me, in blunt terms, that Sherlock was dead, and never would come back. I punched him. After that, I stopped trying to find therapists. Bunch of quacks anyway.
After a year, Mrs. Hudson convinced me to get up and get out. No use letting myself grow bitter over something so part of life. She did it nicely, of course, but still I couldn't shake the feeling that I was irritating everyone because of my grief.
I got a job in a clinic, but it didn't work out. It was too slow, too dull, too...boring. I needed to see the battlefield like I did with Sherlock.
I set up a business. John Watson, Consulting Detective. There really could only be one in the world. I tried not to think like that but it was hard. The only other consulting detective lay six feet underground.
I wasn't as good as Sherlock, when it came to deducing, but really who was? I got plenty of customers, and soon I was solving mysteries with ease.
I was with Mrs. Hudson discussing the latest Kensington Murders when I spotted the date. It was May fourth. Exactly three whole years after Sherlock had fallen to his death. I sat down quickly and couldn't talk for the rest of the day. I was so angry at him, why did he have to leave? It was so...so...selfish.
The next week, I got a text. I never texted anyone anymore, so it seemed quite strange. It was from an unknown number. I had a fleeting hope that the sender was Sherlock as I opened the message, but before I looked at it I reminded myself that there was no way that it could be him.
The text read:
MEET ME ALONE ON BLACKFRIARS ROAD IN FRONT OF THE KING PUB. COME AT ONCE IF CONVENIENT, IF INCONVENIENT COME ANYWAY.
There was something familiar about the text, but I ignored the feeling and packed up my things, eager to start my next case.
I stood in front of the pub, alone, as the message had told me. I looked around wondering who would come forward and offer me a case. No one so far. It was then that I realized that responding to an unknown text could lead to all sorts of trouble, what if it moriarty- I dismissed that thought. Moriarty was dead and so was Sherlock, no point giving myself any more false hopes.
I looked down at my wrist. I'd been standing here for 30 minutes. For such an urgent message, this client was very disappointing. I sighed and picked up my briefcase.
"John", said a low voice behind me.
I held my breath for a moment. Could it be-
Sherlock stands behind me, looking as he always did. All cheekbones, and upturned collars. The side of his mouths quivers slightly into a smile, as if we're back where we were three years ago.
"H-how? Wh-wha-what?", I manage to burble out.
"All very intelligent vocabulary, but I'm afraid we'll have to get going now," He flags down a taxi and gets in. He tells the driver an address, and then looks out at me, noticing I hadn't gotten it yet.
'Come Along Watson. The Game's Afoot."
So comment and criticize please :)
