So I've been trying. I've been trying and trying, so, so hard. But siriusly, that finale...I've been in this weird daze ever since it finished and I'll probably still be in a daze by the end of the week, maybe even until series 3. The last ten minutes was just floods of tears, first with the very convincing fact that Sherlock was dead and then (after screaming in happiness that he wasn't) they were tears for John because he just looked so damn lost standing at the grave :( So I've spent all my time reading fan fiction (WONDERFUL fan fiction by the way, you guys are amazing writers) and trying to get my head around it and it still hasn't worked – the only thing left is to actually write something. Bear in mind I'm still in shock, so please forgive me if it's not very good.
Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock – It's owned by Steven Moffat, Mark Gatiss and Steve Thompson, which is probably a good thing because no one else could have written something that amazing.
- Sherlock -
Some people have two faces. The one they show you, and the one they don't want you to see.
The face Sherlock showed was the one John had complained about that morning – the one that irritated him, the one that meant 'We both know what's going on here'. It was smug, determined, righteous – it held the world in his vision from above and kept them there. It observed from a distance and made logical, clean cut decisions, not ones based on heart or soul. It sneered and ignored Anderson and Donovan's constant remarks about his freakish nature – it rolled it's eyes and proclaimed 'idiot' whenever Lestrade pointed out the obvious. It ignored Mrs Hudson's 'I'm not your housekeeper' and smiled dismissively whenever she went off on a topic that held no relevance to the situation. It stayed in statuesque form for his brother's rare appearances, a bored air following Mycroft's attempts to ask for help without really asking. It kept it's mask on even for John – his John, his flatmate, blogger, only friend.
The face that Sherlock never let anyone see was the truth – it was the one that wanted to confront Anderon and Donovan and ask what he'd done to make them hate him so much – it wanted to congratulate Lestrade when he actually did make a good deduction, and it wanted to let the detective know he was considered a friend – he was one of those Sherlock had 'died' for. It secretly smiled fondly at Mrs Hudson's remarks, and her constant fretting over his well-being – she was the closest motherly figure he'd ever had, and for a moment, this face had won through when he'd found her being held at gunpoint by those American idiots – that was why the window had taking a bashing. Behind layers of disguise and stone and rivalry, it wanted to thank Mycroft for every time he got him out of dead-end situations – it wanted to acknowledge him as the only family Sherlock had.
Most importantly, it wanted to let John know, really know, how much he meant to him. The man was so, so important and Sherlock had never gotten around to voicing it properly, because he didn't know how. There had been a few slip-ups – a few times the second face had shone and he'd confirmed out loud that John was his only friend, and the best he could have ever hoped for. It wanted to never leave the doctor alone again, to have him at his side, running alongside him forever, to keep him watching Sherlock, until the very last moment – he'd asked as much. It wanted John to see how happy he made Sherlock.
There was, it seems, one person who could see both of these faces. One person who, despite her insistency that she didn't, oh so beautifully did count. Molly Hooper, the girl he'd dismissed as someone to use, and hadn't realised how special, how incredibly insightful and brave she was, until the last minute. He owed his life to her, and so much more. Because if it weren't for that one small sentence she'd said to him in the lab that day, then Sherlock really would never have admitted it, not even to himself.
'You look sad when you think he's not looking.'
Standing behind a tree in the cemetery, watching as his only friend in the entire world controlled his tears, saluted the stone and walked away, Sherlock frowned, his stomach twisting into a knot as he remembered Molly's words. John wouldn't be looking at him again, not in admiration or concern or irritation, ever again. Not if he was to be safe.
And yes, Sherlock was sad.
- Sherlock -
Well, thank you very much for reading this far :)
Basically everything that I thought would be running through Sherlock's head afterwards, because there's no way he stood and listened to John's speech at the cemetery and didn't get all emotional about it – he just didn't show it.
So I hope you liked it, and now I'm going to wander around in my daze for another little while and see what else I can think up :) Please, if you liked it or didn't, take the time to tell me why in a review – they're always appreciated.
- G