Bullets

by Laetitia or La

It's after the fall, and John's not doing so hot. And things don't look like they're going to get any better. But he has his gun, and he has his bullets.

AN: I really don't know where this comes from! It's my first try at 221Bs, so yah. Unbetaed as always.

Disclaimer: I do not own, nor shall ever own, BBC Sherlock. The characters from ACD are public domain, but our boys are not.

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John hadn't felt this empty since his first girlfriend had told him he'd only been using John for sex, for his smarts.

Yes, John Watson was intelligent. The IQ of 170 wasn't meaningless. He'd just found out the hard way that not everyone is appreciative of highly intelligent 16 year olds. So he'd hidden it.

And yes, that's why he'd fallen so hard for Sherlock. Not because of his deduction or his mind, though those were secondary reasons. The real reason he'd fallen in love with him was that he was a person who didn't hide his mind. Who was brave where John was cowardly.

Of course John would find out eventually that Sherlock flaunted his intelligence for the same reason that John hid his. To avoid pain. But of course that didn't work, did it? Now John was alone in their flat, and Sherlock was dead. Sherlock Holmes was dead. It had taken a few days for those words to sink in.

Now John had nothing again. Everyone believed him to be crazy, or else pitied him, the idiot fooled by the faker, Sherlock Holmes.

John snorted at himself. He didn't have nothing. He had his beer. He had the skull to talk to, and he had his memories. But most importantly, he had his gun, and he had bullets.