So the sets are being assembled again for the season III? OMG! A little bit of revision because I wanted to keep Sherlock in character...(Any better ideas?)
Reviews and comments are very welcome - it makes me motivated. English is my second language so it also helps grow my confidence. Thank you for reading.
******For those who don't want to read other stories******
- I don't think John would punch or curse or yell the first time he sees Sherlock's return. Rather he'd stop interacting with the detective until he accepts the reality. In my story, John was reunited with his friend at the pool; hospitalized for four months; and briefly visited - actually forced to visit by Sherock - 221B on the day of his release. Yet he walked out on Sherlock that day. A few months later, the doctor finally let all of his emotions out at his friend.
******For those who are going to read other stories: timeline-based******
shorter version) Periodic table of Elements - Sebastian Moran's Journal chapter 3, 4 + 26 wonders - Life still goes on
full version) At the morgue -The Fall - Surprise - Christmas Surprise - Sebstian Moran's Journal (full) + Periodic Table + 26 Wonders - Life Still Goes On
June, three months after Johns' release from the hospital.
"Good evening. Mr. Smith. Can I help you?"
The unexpected visit from his landlord made John nervous. John was just back from his work- on his way home, he got a text from Mr. Smith.
"Mr. Watson. Good evening. We have a problem."
"Yes?"
"The housing inspection notice arrived yesterday. It seems I need to tear down your flat because a significant amount of radon was detected in the soil."
John couldn't believe his ears. He stuttered.
"What?...How?"
"Actually I might need to demolish the whole building."
Flabbergast, John groaned.
"What should I do? It isn't easy to find a place to live in."
"I know and I'm sorry for your inconvenience. Mr. Watson. Maybe you go and read newspaper ads in the library?"
Mr. Smith wiped his face with the handkerchief. John was stunned, not knowing what to say. His landlord rattled off grievances about the red tape, injustice of the notice, and his back luck – why his property, God. The landlord flipped his file.
"I'd like to meet you and my other tenants this Saturday at the Coffeeholic café. You know the place, don't you? How about two o'clock?"
John gave a terse nod, getting a headache.
"Well, I need to see the others. See you then, Mr. Watson."
John heard creaks of the stairs under heavy footsteps of his landlord. Sighing, he closed his door.
The next day, John came across Lestrade. He had been sitting in the library nearby, poring over real estate ads for almost a day. He could've tried online, but the connection at home was painfully slow and he hadn't bothered to open his notebook at home. In addition, he liked flipping pages of the newspaper – an old memory flickered back in his mind – the old flat, Sherlock and his boredom. He used to read it every day to find anything interesting for his flatmate. Smiling sadly, he turned his attention to next newspaper.
Someone tapped his shoulder from behind, making John jump. He turned back to find the smiling face of the DI. Lestrade. He said he had been investifating robberies in the neighborhood with one victim in critical condition. Sergeant Donavan was there, too. She gave a small smile to the doctor after murmuring something like it's good to see you fixed - she had met John at Sherlock's "grave" for a couple of times, sharing their version of guilt. Soon, Donavan excused herself, leaving two men in the library café. Over coffee, John asked how Lestrade was doing and the DI was gleeful.
"Now, Sherlock's back and assist us from time to time, we've cleared out ten cases including three cold ones in the past four months. He's a God-send…"
John put two sugar sticks in his cup and stirred it. Putting on a mask of indifference, the doctor stated.
"So Sherlock's back as a consulting detective?"
"While you were in the hospital, his help had been sporadic and off-site - he refused to leave your hospital for more than one hour so I had to send Donavan with files and data to the hospital. In fact, she volunteered for the job to my surprise. She's showing a little more respect to Sherlock so it's gotten easier. She doesn't call him Freak anymore."
Lestrade sipped his coffee. Glancing at John's cane, he asked.
"How are you? You're off the clutch, I see."
"Good. I'm almost good as new. I use a cane only when I have to walk a lot."
"So what's up?"
John had to tell the DI his imminent trouble. Lestrade shook his head and spoke.
"That's news to me. Do you want me to check for any bureaucratic mistake? You know, miscommunications or false reports…."
John shrugged.
Lestrade remembered the afternoon about three months ago, when the doctor was released from the hospital. Sherlock always had come to crime scenes alone: everybody stared at the tall lanky guy in a dark coat without his side kick, the short blonde doctor. He knew that John had refused to move back to the old flat.
"Why don't you go back to Baker Street? The door is open as far as I know. Mrs. Hudson dusts your room every two days – I heard it from Sherlock. He normally doesn't give a damn on such trivia."
John snapped at his words.
"You don't understand, Greg. I won't."
However, the doctor wanted to move back to 221B. John drank the rest of his coffee, missing the old days. He secretly admitted it: his life was dull and boring. He wanted to feel alive - to be stimulated with a surge of adrenaline. Nowadays he was having a different kind of nightmare: solving cases with his previous flatmate, roaming through the city only to wake up and realize they were dreams. Hours of seeing patients at the practice made his legs itchy for a run. However, he felt awkward around Sherlock Holmes. John Watson wished everything could be just like the old days, but life didn't work that way.
He realized that Lestrade stopped speaking and kept staring at him. The DI hastily crumpled his cup and tossed it in the trash bin. His voice got lower to almost a whisper.
"John, I've known you and Sherlock since the study in pink. I've never seen better chemistry between two human beings. You know why Sherlock had to fall and as you said, there is a reason behind what he does. Call him or visit him. Talk it out! If it takes you to punch that guy, please, please, do it for me. Without you, he's a pain in the ass…I mean a God-send pain in the ass..."
Lestrade continued cautiously.
"From time to time, Sherlock looks so lonely: I've heard him calling out your name in crime scenes since he came back. Then he freezes for a few seconds, and then leaves the place, ignoring the rest of us. "
John stuttered.
"Greg, I've got a job, a new life. Even if I came back, nothing would be the same. Sherlock wouldn't understand the change."
The DI sighed and tapped the doctor on the shoulder.
"You can move into my house temporarily until you find a new place. You're welcome all the time."
John smiled his thanks.
"You know, my wife and I got a divorce a few months ago. I just moved into a new flat, much smaller one but I think it'd be comfortable enough for two people."
"Oh, I didn't know, Greg. I'm sorry."
"Don't be. I'm much better now. Freedom!"
Grinning, the DI waved his good bye to John and left. John remained there in partial relief - it was strangely pleasing to know that his former flatmate slipped his name out at crime scenes.
It was almost impossible to find an affordable and convenient flat on such a short notice. After days of searching, John gave up: there was not enough time before the deadline. He had to ask Greg for his favor and the DI welcomed it with open arms. On the day before his moving, the doctor was tired of packing things. It was almost July and the sky was blue with speckles of white clouds. Locked inside his flat, John felt as if he were suffocating. All of a sudden, he couldn't stand it anymore. He wanted some air out of London. He bought a wreath of roses and then caught a cab. Lestrade was supposed to visit to help his packing in the evening so he sent a short message that he would be out for hours.
The cemetery looked so different, maybe due to the seasonal change. It was green with flowers and birds. How different it was since the last time he visited here . Sherlock Holmes was alive.
Did they remove Sherlock's gravestone?
He could see the black marble still standing. He stood in front of it, looking back on his visits in the last two years. He was angry at his former flatmate for not trusting him. Then his anger made him feel belittled because he had to appreciate what Sherlock had done – otherwise, he would've been killed. Mycroft, when he visited John in the hospital, summarized what Sherlock had been doing overseas. John understood because he was also a soldier: the detective was on a mission, a lonely one that only he had to carry on. Still he wondered why he wasn't a part of Sherlock's scheme of faking the suicide. Yes, Greg and Mrs. Hudson also didn't know. The rest of the world didn't, either. Only three people knew the truth: Sherlock Holmes, his brother, and Molly Hooper. John was angry at the older Holmes and Molly secretly just because they had known the truth. Well, Mycroft deserved his anger but not Molly. He felt especially sorry for Molly: he made a mental note of buying Molly lunch after his move.
He laid the roses in front of the marble and muttered.
"Isn't it stupid of me to bring flowers for an empty grave?"
"Yes, indeed. John."
A familiar low voice… He turned around as a tall lanky man walked out from an angel statue nearby. Sherlock Holmes. He stopped 6 feet away from John. Their eyes met for a minute.
"John."
Something snapped. All the emotions started to swirl and boil inside him. Before he realized it, the doctor was yelling at the top of his lungs.
"You bastard! How could've you done that to me! You made me watch you jump. All these years, pretending to be dead... No calls. No texts… 18 months! You can't imagine what I had gone through. "
John didn't know what he was yelling. His body trembled uncontrollably. He shouted himself hoarse while Sherlock just waited until John let it out.
After a lot of cursing and yelling, silence was more deafening.
"Say something, Sherlock. Justify why you did it!"
The doctor alread knew the reason, but just wanted to vent off his anger. Sherlock, the bloody senseless git, filled the silence without hesitation.
"For your own safety, you had to believe my death. "
He added infuriatingly.
"You're tough, John Watson. I knew you'd get over my death, not that it was an easy thing to do."
John closed his eyes, feeling light-headed and dizzy. John felt a flicker of anger: he had been broken like a ragged doll since the fall. Two simple sentences couldn't be enough for the 18 months before he saw his former flatmate alive at the pool. Then he smelled it, a cigarette. He opened his eyes and saw Sherlock taking a long drag. Sensing John's disapproving eyes, the detective shrugged and spoke.
"The only comfort available in the past years..."
John couldn't help it. He snatched the tobacco from the detective's hand and snubbed it out with a glare. Sherlock looked thinner. Apparently he must have been ignoring Mrs. Hudson's "mothering".
"In addition, there was no one to play Cluedo or hide and seek with over my secret supply."
John began to laugh, which soon changed into hiccups accompanied by sobbing… Sherlock gazed at John for a few moments and spoke slowly.
"You were why I didn't give up. There were so many times that I wanted to put everything down, assume a different identity, and disappear. It could've protected you, too. "
Sherlock continued while John tried to calm down.
"I was officially dead... A new life under a new name would've been easy… I couldn't give up my old life because I had to come back."
Sherlock held out a tattered piece of paper from his pocket.
"To 221B."
John unfolded the paper gently and recognized his list of 26 wonders. His eyes started to burn again when he read the last sentence: John Watson lives there. –SH.
"John."
The sleuth hesitated and muttered a word by word with difficulties.
"It's just... not right... without you."
With a grimace, he added.
"I'm not an easy person to find a flatmate for..."
"Sherlock. I'm afraid."
Blinking his eyes, John hoarsely confessed at last his deepest fear from the changes that had occurred since Sherlock's fall.
"You're not be who you were. I'm not who I was. I have a job, a life as a doctor. I can't be your full-time blogger."
"Totally understood."
"And, I might snap at you over trivia…until I forget the past two years since you were gone."
Sherlock simply nodded. The emerald blue eyes met John's puffy and teary eyes. John wiped off the tears with his sleeves. The doctor knew that the past two years must have been as hard and lonely to his friend as it had been to himself.
"I don't think I'd be able to live through the stunt you had pulled at Bart's again... I can't even meet eyes of your brother and Molly..."
Sherlock sighed.
"There won't be any. I had promised you four months ago."
"You know Lestrade had told me to talk it out with you. He actually "egged" on me to punch you."
The detective snorted at this.
"Ah, Inspector Lestrade. He's so pleased to have me back."
"Back as the world's only consulting detective?"
Sherlock nodded and added rather hastily as if he realized something.
"Not the same without you..."
Two men stared each other for a moment, and the doctor shook his head with a small grin.
"I must be foolish to do this... "
John's mobile alerted an incoming text.
Are you back home? GL.
John took his mobile out and called Lestrade to apologize for the change of plan: he was going back to the 221B. Lestrade sounded so thrilled and relieved on the other side of the line. The two men walked out of the cemetery - John was holding the tattered paper tight. They caught a cab and headed to Angelo's to have dinner. While John was using the toilet, Sherlock took out his mobile and sent two texts.
Thanks for library talk. SH
Anytime. Any broken nose? Lol. GL.
Thanks for talk with Smith. SH
You owe me five cases. Until next time. MH.
Sherlock sighed at this. He deleted the texts before John returned to his seat. The doctor smiled to see Sherlock calling Mrs. Hudson and telling her John's moving back. The landlady cried over the news and hung up abruptly to fill up the refrigerator upstairs for the other boy.
That night, John Watson booted his notebook, took a deep breath, and typed a new entry.
"Life still goes on."
