Johnlock
Ghosts of the Past
Plot: Post-Reinchenbach
Key: Italics are texting
John had been walking back home from the grocery store when he had seen it. On a brick wall of one of the flats on Baker Street had the words "I believe in Sherlock Holmes." Written in bright Florence yellow like the spray paint from the Blind Banker case, John recognizes and shivered. Memories of Sherlock.
John after that followed all the news about the graffiti. Of course they hadn't found who had been doing the spray paint all over the nation of England and stretched into Scotland and Northern Ireland. No rumors about if it got into Ireland itself yet. They had confirmed that the handwriting changed greatly vary on which country the graffiti was found in.
But today something had changed. BBC news had collected a photo from one of the spots where the graffiti had been written. The silhouette was dark as night besides from the glint of the right eye, aimed towards the camera. John couldn't make out the face but he could guess that the lips were twisted up in a broken smile.
It hurt John's heart every time he saw one of the pictures like today. He ran a hand through his short hair before letting out an animal sounding sob. Darkness was surrounding the flat, John had moved to a different flat a couple streets away from 221B. The tears came down his face but he quickly wiped them away at his own embarrassment.
Mrs. Hudson had closed off the flat for her friend but the other flats were being rented and the old landlady came to visit John whenever she had the time. He hadn't been to 221B since the fall and only had made one blog entry.
Sherlock Holmes was dead. Just a ghost of the past lingering in the minds of those he touched. Parchment lain scattered around the room but almost in a fashion of some sort. A thin, slender young man stood in the center, violin resting on his chin and a bow in the other hand.
He raised the bow, drawing it onto the strings. A beautiful melody arose into the former occupied room. Moonlight seeped in, draping the parchment and the man's black shoes in the silver glow which was tinted in blue. He continued to draw the bow across the bow making beautiful music. He composed it himself.
The Victorian wallpaper had been kept in good shape, but the edges were peeling away. Mrs. Hudson went up there often to check the damage, repairing things just in case John came there to get some of his stuff or Sherlock's. The yellow smiley face stared at his owner, some of the dust from the drywall smudging the artwork.
This man was not dead. A ghost wandering in his old flat, playing his violin and looking at all the cases he had solved laying across the floor. He was really much alive. He twirled over to Sherlock's bedroom- his bedroom. Shifting through the boxes his landlord, Mrs. Hudson, had packed his stuff away into. He reluctantly took out his cell phone turning it on since it had been off for three years but still worked surprisingly. Sherlock shuffled through some more items, grabbing the pocket magnifying glass, lock picking kit, and the good old gun that was stone cold.
Sherlock scooped up the cases laying on the floor mean while putting the old materials into his pocket. He gently placed the violin to the floor, letting it sit in the moonlight. He flashed a smile over to it's direction.
The door creaked slowly open, the man slipping out of the crack like a cat. The floorboards gave out small sighs under the weight. His feet moved like water along the staircase as he came to a door which led to another flat.
Mrs. Hudson had been making tea, pouring the steady stream into the cup before placing the kettle back onto the stove which was cooling off. She drew the cup up to her lips, walking out into the main entrance to all of the flats, reaching to grab her newspaper. Eeeerr…
She turned towards the noise which seemed to come from a nearby door. Mrs. Hudson headed up the stairs until she came to the only door which was only partially open. Her fingers tracing the opening which came from the source of the noise, John's and Sherlock's flat.
Mrs. Hudson let out the small gasp, her eyes going wide. She pushed the door open all the way letting the light from the hallway seep into the moonlight apartment. "John..?" She asked quietly, her old eyes not adjusting to the darkness.
A slender hand curled around her should, Mrs. Hudson screamed but the other hand clamped around her mouth. She started to shiver. "John…" The voice echoed. Her eyes widened more, turning to face her attacker.
Sherlock looked down at his old landlord, his face straight besides a small smile creeping onto his face. "Don't tell John."
"Oh Sherlock! I thought you died!"
"It was very conniving."
"I have to tell John! He's gone through so much pain, Sherlock." She reached into her pocket, pulling out her flip phone and called the ex-army doctor.
Sherlock slipped the phone out of her fingers and let it drop to the floor. He could hear the faint voice of his friend repeating "hello" to see if anyone was actually on the other end of the cell phone.
The man seeped away from the landlady as quick as he had come. He took out his own phone as he started to text his only true friend.
John Watson.
John felt something in his pocket rumble. His brain automatically told him it was his phone. Taking it out he saw the number, reading the name which he had give it but the number was unknown. He gulped, pressing gingerly onto the iPhone's screen.
John Watson.
The text read. He raised an eyebrow, replying to the text.
Yes… Who is this?
He was fake, wasn't he?
Who?
Sherlock Holmes.
John stared at the text nervously before turning the phone onto sleep, placing it into his pocket. He stood up and fell onto the couch, curling against it and begging for sleep to take over to get the message out of his mind.
Sherlock took out the lock picking key, quietly fumbling against the lock. Once he heard the click of being unlocked, he pressed his body against the door which gave no noise or sign that it was being opened.
His eyes lit up with love as he saw John curled up against the couch. He texted John once more before moving over to watch the message pop up onto the phone.
John… I'm sorry I made you wait this long.
John woke up to the smell of tea- thyme and mint almost. His eyes blinked with sleep, rolling over to see a plate of tea and tea cups along with a tray of scones. He raised an eyebrow before seeing a figure in the nearest chair.
His eyes followed the long, slender legs followed by a skinny body. He reoncigzed the figure anywhere. "S-Sherlock!?"
"Bloody hell," he growled as he looked up at the other man's face who was smiling pleasantly. He pushed up on the couch, punching Sherlock hard in the chest followed by some weak punches in surprise.
Sherlock let out a pained cry as he was punched hard before pushing John's head into his chest, resting his head on John's. His slender arm wrapped around the smaller man's body with a small frown. He lifted up John's head, pressing their lips together before pulling it back and muttering;
"I'm sorry."
"Shut up, I want to go back home."
Note: Haha yay! Finished it! I hoped you enjoyed it! There might be typos and grammar mistakes because I was typing this on a trip in the car, but I felt like a needed to do some Johnlock. I might make another related to this if people like it! ;D