The Reunion of The Tired Travellers
Hello my fellow Johnlockers. I am sorry to announce that I have written yet another fic to inflict upon you all!
I own no one and nothing, except the ability and the time to write Johnlock!
Please enjoy and reviews are always read and very much appreciated – even if I do not get the chance to reply to each of your friendly and welcoming words – thank you.
Terribly sorry - had to re-upload. Thank you to the Guest that pointed out my faux pas of Spanish instead of French! Never trust an online translator!
01/01/13
I promised you I would do so many things with you.
Off the cuff remarks about one day going bungee jumping, trying scallops, having a picnic in the snow.
But it's too late now. You are gone. And I am left alone again. Only, this time, it's harder because I know what it's like to have a friend I would die for.
I have days enveloped in feelings of such loneliness; my heart aches for company, but my mind disagrees and leaves me grumpy when Mrs Hudson, Lestrade, Molly or Mycroft come by 221B.
I stopped working long ago; the ever strong voice in the back of my head whispering; 'Boring' every time I walk past the surgery or hospital; yes, your voice.
Mycroft pays my way in the World; I am ashamed of this fact but couldn't be more grateful.
It's been a very long year, I have moped and cried and been rather lost. I guess I just miss my friend.
02/01/13
For those of you that have stumbled across this website; Sherlock Holmes was a magnificent man. He taught me so much. But he took his own life last year. It hurts – deep in my chest – when I think of this, for that reason alone, I tend not to think about it at all. I do not try to work out the reasons why any more.
I have spent several months compiling a list of every activity I had promised Sherlock I would do one day.
It is my intention to do them all over the next year; if Mycroft will help financially.
04/01/13
Good news! Mycroft has praised me on my ingenuity and has promised me ample funds to complete each one. I am heading for The Alps tomorrow. I promised Sherlock that I would take him skiing one day. Heh, he would never have complied with such a holiday. Would have been great to see him master the skill with such ease though, as he managed with everything. He was always so graceful, even when falling to his death.
11/01/13
Well, what a week I have had. Sherlock, you would have loved it…well, probably not, but it would have kept you occupied rather than shooting the walls of 221B to smithereens.
Next on the list is China. I promised you over a late night, post-case take-away, Sherlock, that I would visit China with you and we would taste real Chinese food, with chopsticks, and that you would predict the real fortune cookies for me.
13/01/13
It's amazing how it can be that being somewhere with a population this big, you can feel more alone than ever before. You would laugh if you saw the height difference between me and the Chinese, Sherlock. They would think you were a giant!
I miss you very much today. I entertain myself with thoughts of wild facts and figures you would teach me about this place; but it is without a doubt not the same. I wish you were here.
20/01/13
My God, Sherlock, I'm angry. I am so angry that you are not here. It is all your fault. I am here exploring the Worlds' mysteries and wonders all in your name, and you aren't even going to be in 221B when I return. I am watching the morning sunrise from the top of a pyramid, it makes me feel extremely insignificant. I don't know why I am writing these notes, it's ridiculous. You won't even be able to read them.
I hate you.
31/01/13
Ok, I don't hate you.
I am about to bungee jump into the Grand Canyon. If I don't make it, I will see you soon; best get a brew on just in case.
31/01/13
I made it. It was phenomenal. I think my insides are mostly out after it, but wow, it made my limp disappear just like you used to do. No doubt that will be back before the day is out though.
You would never in a million years have followed me off that ledge, of that I am sure. Never mind though; I am sure you were with me in spirit.
24/02/13
Remember that night I promised to learn how to kill with a bow and arrow?
Well, it has taken two weeks of training in New Zealand, but I just achieved a straight kill. Bet you couldn't top that!
Well, I bet you could really.
You were better than everyone with everything.
13/03/13
A week of meditating with the monks of Bangkok has shown me a lot of things.
That my grief of you is all consuming; unnaturally so for a friendship; what we had was so much more than friendship. The all seeing fathers here in this monastery read my fortunes; I know you would laugh at this if you were here. But they have given me hope. They tell me that if my love for you is still this strong, there is no way that you can be dead.
I feel like a school boy. Please, Sherlock, if you are out there, please, I beg you…
Come find me.
John sat back against the cool stone of the monastery wall in the evening sun. He breathed shakily for a minute or two, watching his laptop screen closely.
After half an hour, John gave up and closed the laptop, getting to his feet.
Walking slowly with the laptop wedged between his side and his arm, John exited the tranquil grounds and walked down the nearest dirt track toward the blood red sky.
He kicked the stones in his way gently with his white plim-soles, the dust kicked up and attached to the hems of his white travel trousers, but he didn't mind, not when his white shirt had the sweat stains that it did.
Bangkok was so darn hot. It reminded him of Afghanistan.
John was glad to be going home the following day. It had been an exciting few months, but he missed his home city, not to mention that the list he had made was dwindling. There were only two things left written clearly upon it.
1. Dinner in the restaurant on top of the Eifel Tower.
2. To ride a horse.
John chuckled when he thought of the conversation that had brought on the second item on his list.
"You have never ridden?" Sherlock asked disbelievingly.
"I don't…well, I'm just not that keen on horses. Or, animals, really, in general." John said awkwardly, staring at the horse in front of them.
"Dear me, John. I thought Soldiers were not easily threatened, but here I am with the only Captain, ready to run at the sight of a pony". Sherlock mocked.
"I have my reasons" John sniffed, looking away before warily looking up at the horse again.
"What, the fact that one stood on you when you were 7. John." Sherlock said, turning to face John and standing close, to block out the sight of the horse altogether. The doctor looked up at the consulting detective uneasily.
"With animals, you are in charge, you are always in charge" Sherlock murmured, looking over toward the body beside them.
"Are we not getting distracted?" John asked, following the younger mans' gaze.
"Yes, but that's fine" Sherlock said nonchalantly. "It's all fine" He murmured with a smirk back to the doctor.
"Sherlock?" John asked hurriedly.
Sherlock inclined his head to show he was listening.
"Will you take me horse riding one day. I feel braver when you are around" John said quietly, coughing awkwardly and looking toward the ground.
"John. It would be my privilege." Sherlock vowed, surprising the doctor in a nice way.
Sitting on the dusty ground, John allowed the memory to wash over him. The slight cold in the air, the smell of the crime scene, the closeness of his friend; it was all there, in his head.
As the sun disappeared from view, the soldier sighed and got to his feet once more. The walk back to his temporary accommodation was heavy, evidence of his limp showing ever so slightly.
Landing in Paris was a new experience for John. He had been all over the World, but never once been to the neighbouring country of France.
After lunch he could understand why he had never made the effort to get there before.
He was astounded at the arrogance he found and was disgruntled with the high price of everything.
However, once he had found the hotel, he washed and dressed smartly.
Tonight was going to be painful, but he was determined to see his list through.
1st Floor Tour Eiffel, Champs de Mars; the most romantic restaurant in all of Europe – acclaimed anyway.
John arrived in full suit; sitting at a table for two that had been booked in his name.
He tried his best to ignore the sympathetic smiles from around him when the waiter insisted on lighting the centrepiece candle. John felt incredibly lonely looking out at the lights of Paris. He smiled weakly at the thought of Mrs Hudson greeting him home this time tomorrow.
It was when his face crinkled slightly with the movement for his weak smile, that a tear slipped from his eye as he caught sight of the empty seat opposite him.
He couldn't do this.
He needed to leave.
However, just as the waiter handed him the leather bound menu a flash of tuxedo behind and around the kindly Frenchman made John stare, open mouthed.
"So sorry I'm late, what are we eating?" came the low baritone that belonged to that unique face.
John stared, wide eyed as the man sat opposite him and straightened his suit jacket, looking to the neighbouring tables' to see the sympathetic smiles being turned into 'you should be sorry' faces.
"Pouvez vous nous donner une minute s'il vous plaît?" Sherlock murmured toward the waiter, watching as the young man nodded and backed away.
"Sher….Sherlock" John said shakily, not sure if he had blinked in the last 3 minutes.
"John" Sherlock smiled widely, before looking down at the menu. "Umm, scallops. Have you tried those yet?" the very much alive detective murmured.
"I….I have" John said, his mind on overdrive, he wiped away the lone tear that had nearly dried by itself on his cheek.
"Fancy them? Mycroft did say no expense spared" Sherlock said quickly, flashing another uncharacteristic smile.
"I can't deal with this" John said quietly, not taking his freshly watering eyes from his friend.
"Then don't" he murmured, studying the doctor surreptitiously, with those eyes.
John frowned suddenly and continued to watch Sherlock, his tears slipping easily from his eyes.
"Just pretend, for tonight, that things are normal, that we were never apart." Sherlock explained, his eyes softening only slightly.
John nodded but did not remove his eyes from Sherlock for the entirety of their meal. It was during their main course that things turned topsey-turvey.
"Did you know that the French Canadians are considered the most –" Sherlock Started, only to be interrupted by his companion.
"I love you" John blurted; staring at the taller man.
Sherlock stared at John and for the longest moment, before he lifted his elbows to the table and clasped his hands together at his chin.
"I was aware" He said stonily.
John frowned questioningly.
"John, do not even ask how I could know that when you know full well that you put all of your notes and activity tracking on my own website including an embarrassing amount of sentiment." Sherlock said carefully, not removing his eyes from the shorter man.
John looked away first, carefully examining the city of lights through their window.
"I should have known" John said sadly with a morose laugh.
"What?" Sherlock asked, frowning.
"That you wouldn't have changed, Sherlock" John said sharply, turning toward the taller man. "You are a machine. You lied to me, your. Best. Friend. You have no emotional response to being without me for over a year and you react coldly when someone reveals their inner most…emotions" The soldier was crying again, their neighbours looking at them in alarm.
"John. We will discuss this later. For now; enjoy your meal. When in France and all that" Sherlock said stubbly as he returned his attentions to his Crab Steak.
"Where have you been?" John murmured.
Sherlock smirked as he took a liberal swig from his wine glass.
"The question would be better poised as 'where have you not been?'" Sherlock chuckled darkly. "Of course, you will have figured out that I was tracing Moriarty's army?" The taller asked as he looked at John over the top of his wine glass.
"The police found his body on the roof, Sherlock. He was dead. Not a threat at all" John said flatly, putting down his cutlery and looking hard at his dinner companion.
"Of course he was dead, John. That was the winning play of his game. But his army was another matter. His people held us captive." Sherlock murmured, studying the waiter beside the lift.
John turned to look at the man that held Sherlocks' interest. "What? What have you seen?" John asked hurriedly, placing his napkin on the table beside his plate.
"Nothing, John. Nothing" Sherlock said, returning his attention to John once more. "Not everything is criminal activity" He smiled.
"Yes, so, what did you do when you had caught up with his men?" John asked quietly, leaning across the table toward Sherlock.
"What I had to. It wasn't pleasant." Sherlock dismissed. "Lestrade would not be pleased, and Donavon, well I proved her correct after all".
"You killed them? How many?" John pressed.
"In total, there were 54 assassins and 66 criminal masterminds using Moriarty's consulting criminal skills. I only terminated 24 of the assassins. Of course, I made sure to end the lives of the four most dangerous assassins first." Sherlock continued.
"The most 'dangerous'?" John queried in a low tone.
Sherlock sighed. "You don't know why I had to do what I did, do you?" He asked resignedly.
"What, the suicide act?" John said sharply. "Do enlighten me, Sherlock. Not all of us are as genius as you, you know" He finished sarcastically.
Sherlock sighed once more. "Obviously"
"I'm waiting, Sherlock" John prompted, looking down at his full plate.
"Moriarty won the game. He had a handful of the Worlds' most dangerous assassins at his beck and call. He called them on that day. Had them expertly aligned across London city centre. One in 221B" Sherlock held up his left hand and counted them finger by finger. "One at Scotland Yard. And one in the vicinity of St. Barts Hospital…they were strategically placed and given strict instructions that if they didn't see me die, they were to ensure that Mrs Hudson, DI Lestrade and you, John, would die instead." Sherlock paused to watch this news sink in across the table before continuing; "so you see, I had no choice. Of course, no one was to die if I controlled the situation. My largest confession, John, is that I knew. I knew that night that we left Kitty's apartment exactly what Moriarty's next move would be. It had to end John. I had to have a plan; but more importantly, you had to be 100% convinced that it was the end." Sherlock finished with a flourish as he threw his cutlery elegantly together at the foot of his empty plate.
John appeared shell-shocked for the following 15 minutes, busying himself with cutting his own well-done steak into smaller-than-bitesize chunks.
"By my recollection, horse riding would be the only thing left on your 'bucket list' would it not?" Sherlock asked, his tongue tucked into one side of his mouth, venturing to retrieve a rogue shard of salad from between his back teeth.
John merely nodded.
"Where are you staying?" Sherlock asked, leaning forward.
"Le Meurice" John said lightly.
"Excellent. I shall meet you there in the morning, there is a brilliant stable not far-" Sherlock rambled as he lay his napkin down on his plate.
John scrambled quickly and grasped Sherlock's suit jacket sleeve tightly. "Don't…Sherlock, you are not to leave my sight, do you understand?" John hissed desperately.
Sherlock blinked dumbly as he stared at John's determined expression.
"I have lived with you and without you, I know exactly which I cannot do again, please do not ask me to" John pleaded.
Sherlock continued to stare down at John for a long moment.
"Bill, s'il vous plaît!" Sherlock shouted, his arm in the air as he continued to look at the doctor.
John's eyes widened only slightly before he shakily let go of Sherlock's sleeve.
As they entered the lift, three other couples filed in behind them and the two men were forced together at the back.
"Did Mycroft tell you where I was?" John asked, pouting slightly in his own way as he tucked his shirt in tightly to his trouser band and straightened his jacket.
"No" Sherlock admitted quietly.
"How-?" John asked as the lift announced it's arrival at ground level.
As the others left the lift, Sherlock turned to John with a slight cough and awkward glance. "I've been not very far from you since you left England." The consulting detective admitted.
John's jaw dropped as he watched the younger man walk from the lift and out onto the brightly lit street.
"You followed me?" John accused.
"I was about to make my return. I was worried for your safety. I was…unsure of your actions" Sherlock said hesitantly.
"You thought I would kill myself" John said quietly.
"John; it was the only logical result I could calculate from the reports I received from Mycroft." Sherlock said turning a full circle to look up at the Eifel Tower and down to John immediately after.
"Well…it's not that it wasn't the case. It certainly crossed my mind." John murmured as he too looked up at the tower behind Sherlock.
"But then" Sherlock started, lifting his hands to straighten John's tie "You surprised me once again" He smirked and John's heartbeat leapt. "Shall we?" Sherlock asked, dropping his hands to his sides.
John nodded before taking the route he now knew back toward the most expensive hotel suite in Paris.
"So, you followed me for the entire trip?" John braved, glancing toward his taller friend briefly.
"I found myself quite content to do so. I stayed in the same accommodation, ate in 40% of the same restaurants and generally enjoyed spending my brothers' money" Sherlock said with another infamous smirk.
"Poor Mycroft" John laughed, a genuine laugh. The first in what felt like years.
Sherlock laughed too. "I sent him cakes from our travels" He said smiling widely.
The two men walked side by side across the river and down the quiet streets of Paris centre in companionable silence; only now and then raising a conversation of small talk.
Once they had reached the famously luxurious hotel, Sherlock surprisingly walked John all the way to his top floor suite without complaint. Upon entering the bungalow-like rooms, John stood to one side of the door to ensure Sherlock's entry.
"You'd better make yourself comfortable, Sherlock, because I will not allow you to leave these rooms." John said threateningly.
"Of course" Sherlock said quietly, walking past John and into the large rooms, he went straight to the windows, predictably, and stared out at the lights of Paris. He seemed to be aware, at least, that he was to be gentle with the hard-wearing soldier. 'First time for everything' thought John as he smiled at Sherlock's retreating form. Locking the door securely, John put the key in his suit trouser pocket, he was positive that if Sherlock became determined to leave the room, he could certainly not be out-smarted by the doctor himself.
John moved toward the whisky decanter in the large lounge room, he poured himself a glass and a small one for his long lost friend.
"I missed you" Sherlock murmured toward the dark windows.
John stopped, whisky decanter hovering mid air before meeting the second glass tumbler.
"I missed you, too, Sherlock. More than anyone would have thought" John said just as quietly.
The words hung in the otherwise silent room between them.
"But you are back now…for good I hope" John said lightly, not bringing himself to look up at the detective's back.
"Yes. Yes I am very much back for good, John. If you'll have me back at 221B, I can only offer you a life very much like the one we used to have" Sherlock said, still examining the view available.
John smiled.
"That is all I ask for" He admitted, now lifting the two glasses delicately and making his way silently toward the detectives' side.
"To our future then?" Sherlock asked, taking the offered glass gratefully.
"Naa." John dismissed. "To my miracle" He said with a smile.
Sherlock allowed a forbidden smile to cross his features. A genuine smile that told John he was there on the day that he had asked the cold black marble stone for a miracle.
"Heartless bastard" John chastised with humour.
"On the contrary, my good doctor. It took every ounce of my strongest Will, to remain hidden from you that day. I was sure you had spotted me." Sherlock added with a smile down at the doctor by his side.
"I wish I had seen you" John murmured, eyes locked with the younger bluer eyes of his friend.
They drank their drinks in silence before John grasped Sherlock's suit jacket and pulled it from his form. He retreated to the wardrobe in the next room to hang it up, along side his own.
"Where do you want me to spend the night?" Sherlock asked innocently as he followed the shorter man, breaking off to explore the rest of the suite and consequently missing John's change of colour.
The crimson faced Doctor looked toward the very large double bed. He coughed lightly and busied himself with removing the rest of his smart clothing.
"The bed is certainly too large for one person" The soldier attempted.
He heard the sharp footsteps cease and turned to see Sherlock's rather odd stare in his direction.
"I do not sleep" Sherlock said dully, recovering from his surprise, sitting on the bed non-the-less.
"I cannot guarantee I will either" John sighed, reaching the acceptable level of shirt and boxer shorts and closing the wardrobe.
Sherlock remained near fully clothed as John lifted the sheets on the Queen Sized bed and slipped between them.
"Then why do you try?" Sherlock asked, turning to face the doctor quizzically.
"Because if I do not sleep at all" John sighed. "I will suffer tomorrow" He indicated his leg and shoulder before lying down against the feather filled pillows.
Sherlock stood up once more and removed his tie shirt, throwing it onto the nearby shezlong.
"You getting old too?" John chuckled as he looked away from the undressing man, the man he was now so sure was the only person he could ever want.
Sherlock smirked. "Only in wounds" he said softly, removing his trousers turning to sit once more on the mattress.
John's Doctored eyes travelled the scars covering the length of Sherlocks' back. Immediately, he felt the air removed from his lungs.
"What happened?" John wheezed as his hand shot out to trace the evidences of the particularly deep wounds.
"Oh, nothing I cannot delete" Sherlock said gently as he too lay back against the pillows, making the doctor retract his hand.
"Promise me you will be here in the morning" John whimpered after a moment or two of silence. The waver in John's voice did not go unnoticed by the great consulting detective.
"I promise you, John. I am not leaving this time, but if I do have to, I will come back for you immediately." Sherlock vowed. After a moment, John understood the sincerity behind the great mans' words and he nodded his head minutely.
Quietly, they lay side by side, enjoying the comfort and safety of their surroundings. Suddenly, without prelude, Sherlock's hand found John's under the covers and they entwined snugly.
Tentatively, they looked at each other.
"John. You mean more to me than anyone ever has before" Sherlock whispered, his ever bright eyes glassing ever so slightly.
"Likewise, Sherlock" John whispered, daring to hope for the best and inching closer to the taller man across the mattress.
"But I beg for your patience. I want to return your feelings but have no idea how. I need to learn." Sherlock murmured.
"We have all the time in the world, Sherlock" John said sleepily, a silly smile gracing his face.
"Where are we going pony trekking then?" He asked with a chuckle.
"Oh, anywhere" Sherlock said, waving his other hand in the air carelessly. "I am sure we will get you over your fear"
"Especially as you are here to make me brave once more" John said sincerely, moving closer to Sherlock's side.
"Obviously" Sherlock huffed, feeling himself being pulled into an enveloping hug.
They lay together talking for hours, enjoying each others warmth and voices, eventually, however, Sherlock's warm baritone had the advantage over John's tones and the older man consequently fell into a deep sleep before the detective had finished speaking.
Little did they know that this was now to become the norm.
Little did they know that they would become inseparable and live a life twice as dangerous as before.
Little did they know that they would die in each other's arms at the respectable ages of 98 and 86 on the same night, within the same hour, in their bed in 221B Baker Street, just as great lovers have been known to do.
Fin