Reality

It was a heart-wrenching moment, the one where John stepped out onto the balcony.

He had been expecting Holmes to be sitting back and waiting, feet propped up, and John expected him to make a sarcastic remark about how incredibly long it had taken him to show up.

Or maybe not that. Maybe Holmes would have been in a struggle with Moriarty, looking half bedraggled and on the losing side. And John would jump the gun and help his friend out- Moriarty might have been strong, but he couldn't handle both Watson and Holmes, right? Holmes would then watch as Moriarty fell, only to look back at John and say "Always nice to see you, Watson," as he always did.

Or maybe, Holmes would have already taken Moriarty down, would be thumbing through the man's coat pockets wearing that same disinterested glance that he always wore, eyebrows lifting when he came across something of interest. In his eyes would shine the truth of a matter; Holmes would always see the infinite possibilities.

But John hadn't expected to see Holmes with his legs wrapped snugly around Moriarty. John hadn't expected to see Holmes look at him, and to have that moment stretch out. Where he and Holmes were only looking at one another, in a world that was so full of mystery and chaos, where Holmes's gaze was clearly meant to say only one thing and one thing alone: Sorry.

Holmes had never been a man of apology. Not when he'd poisoned his dog, caught fire to the rooms, stole (and lost) his clothes. Not even when he'd shoved his wife off of a train or when he'd landed them both in jail. No, Holmes had never been a man of apology, but the long, meaningful look that Watson received was just that.

John knew. He knew.

He knew what Holmes was planning before he'd leaned backwards, before the combined weight of two men on an unstable surface sent them backwards, before those two men disappeared from sight over the balcony.

John knew that Holmes was doing it to protect the world- maybe even protect him. Holmes protecting John? It was a little turned around, because John thought he was the one usually saving Holmes. But it didn't make it any easier. It didn't make it easier at all.

John unfroze, blinking slowly, as if willing the scene to be different when he opened his eyes. But the rushing of the water was loud even so far away, the screams and cries of panic from inside were distracting, and John couldn't form himself into an alternative reality. This was reality.

This was reality, and reality no longer had a place for Sherlock Holmes.

Reality was a cruel, cruel place, full of cold bitterness and hardships. John was a doctor- he knew that reality was less than a pretty picture. Never before had he had such a reality check, except, maybe, when he thought he'd lost Holmes on the train. This was the same, but it was all too different.

Reality was cruel. Reality was harsh. Reality no longer had a place for Sherlock Holmes.

Reality seemed to have a little bit of a different meaning to Dr. John Watson, when his best friend couldn't be there to see him through it all.


I tried something a bit more serious in the realm of Sherlock Holmes. Watson's feelings as he watches Sherlock take his tumble off the balcony. I like the funny side of Holmes better, but it was worth doing this scene for practice.

Thanks for reading!