I've not given up on my other story, I just lost all inspiration to write it.
HOWEVER, this one is so completely different to that story that it feels so new and exciting to write this, therefore here I am. :D
It was inspired after I made a head canon on tumblr about how John would deal with his new life after Sherlock's 'death'.
So I hope you enjoy and because i'm an evil creature i'm kinda hoping you tear up during it :')
Cya soon lovelies! x
He can't believe it when he sees the note next to Sherlock's coat. He doesn't want to believe it. Neither does he want to pick it up and read the inevitable. But in the end, he knows he has to.
"My dear John. [It read.] Moriarty, the kind fellow that he is, has allowed me to write you these words before we discuss our differences for the last time. He has told me how he has been able to avoid us and yet also track our every movements. They certainly confirm that he, my friend, is a very special person indeed. It pleases me that I shall be able to rid society of his presence, however I feel it is going to be at a great cost that I fear shall pain my, few, friends and alas you, my dear Watson.
It's funny, I always thought my death would involve some sort of mass gunfire fight, probably on Mycroft's orders mind you, who knows, maybe he would have even found the energy to come shoot me himself.
Are you smiling John? You have better be, jokes are not my 'forte' as you already know.
Couple more things John. Will you thank Lestrade for helping me with my boredom through the years, without him I would have surely gone insane. And tell Mycroft, well tell him I forgive him. And lastly, you, Mr John Watson. Thank you for giving my life some meaning over this past year and a half. Thank you for being there and helping me, even when I didn't deserve your kindness.
And believe me to be, my dear fellow,
Very sincerely yours.
Sherlock Holmes.
He's still clutching the note to his chest when he boards the plane to take him back to London, to 221b. He can't call it home, not anymore, not now he's gone.
He sits down in his seat and lays Sherlock's coat next to the empty one beside him, where his companion should have been.
The air hostess appears half way through the flight to see if she can get him anything. He doesn't hear her. Doesn't hear anything. He just sits there, silent, memories going through his head of all the times he shared with the most fantastic man he had ever met.
As the flight draws on, John can feel his eyes drooping despite his determination not to sleep, for he knows what awaits him if he does. And sure enough, as he loses the battle against his own body's needs, his mind torments him with dreams of water, instead of the usual fire.
He climbs out of the taxi and pays the driver before turning to face the once welcoming sight of the 221 door. Never before has he dreaded going into that building as much as he does now. Not even after Sherlock had sent him a text whilst he was on his way home from the surgery telling him he'd accidentally blown up the head he had in the microwave.
As he opens the door he hears Mrs Hudson's voice come from her room.
"Oi you two! Wait there and let me get a good look at you. I've missed you you know, been quiet around... here."
She's stood in front of John now. Her smile falls from her face as she takes in John's expression.
"John.. Where's Sherlock?"
He'd been planning what to say to her as soon as he had gotten off the plane, but now that he was here, standing in front of the woman he and Sherlock had often jokingly called their mother, he can't bring himself to tell her. Not now. Not so soon after it has happened.
"John. Where. Is. Sherlock?" She said once again, voice demanding yet her lips trembled and her eyes filled with tears.
John drops his head to look at the floor, he can't look at her much longer, his heart not able to take the added pain.
"I'm sorry." is all he says before taking the stairs to their, no his flat.
Mycroft had saved him from telling Mrs Hudson by visiting the next day. As John sat waiting for the elder, now only, Holmes son to come see him, he heard the sound of a broken sob come from below.
It was around 30 minutes later when he heard Mycroft climbing the stairs to 221b.
"John?"
"In here Mycroft." John replies. He's sat on Sherlock's bed, holding a picture with a red bow tied to the top.
"We were going to give it her for her birthday next week. It's a picture of the three of us from christmas at hers. I don't know whether giving it to her now will help or only break her heart more." John tells Mycroft, his thumb tracing Sherlock's rare smiling face.
"I think she'd love it. I remember her saying the last time I visited how much she loved Sherlock in that golden hat."
"Yeah, she did." John gives a broken laugh, then puts the picture down on the bed and makes his way to the kitchen, offering Mycroft a cup of tea as he goes.
"No thanks, afraid I can't stop. Arrangements to sort out."
"About his..."
"Funeral yes. That's why i'm here John. As the person closest to him, Mother and I both agreed it was only right that we should discuss the details of it with you first."
John's hand shakes as he pours the water into his mug.
"Oh no, really Mycroft, i'd rather just know the time and date." John replies before turning around to face the other man.
Mycroft sighs. "John-"
"MYCROFT." It pleases John to know his soldier voice can still stun a man. "Mycroft, sorry but... I can't. I just can't." He shakes his head, his eyes studying his feet.
Mycroft's face softens uncharacteristically. "I understand. I'll text you the details nearer the date then. Goodbye John."
As Mycroft makes his way towards the stairs John just can't contain himself any longer.
"How. Just answer me this. How are you so BLOODY calm when your younger brother has just died?" He'd followed Mycroft so that now he was only a few steps behind the older man.
John was lucky he had an above average hearing or else he might have missed the last words Mycroft says before he disappears out of the flat.
"Funny, I thought a year of being with Sherlock would have made you better at reading people John."