So I watched the BBC version of Sherlock over my Christmas break and primarily I've got to say, I love Benedict Cumberbatch and Martin Freeman as Sherlock and John, they're AWESOME!
So anyways this is just kind of like an experimenting fanfic (if that's even a thing) to see what you guys think of this. I'm not all too sure though, I mostly just write Olicity fanfics so this is kind of like a weird change for me to be honest but nevertheless I'm addicted to BBC Sherlock so I'm all too happy to try this out.
As always, please leave a review and tell me your thoughts and if you want me to continue in the Sherlock/John area but just know that I'm not a 'Johnlock' fan, I like the friendship (or the bromance if you want to call it that) between the two men. They're kind of like Kirk/Spock, Merlin/Arthur & Charles/ Eric.
By the way just so you're all aware when the words 'go like this' that means it's John's thoughts.
"Two years John, two years have passed since the day your best friend was claimed dead. You've got to let him go move on with your life. Meet someone, start a family" his therapist, Mrs Thompson, told him.
"I can't, I can't move on from this" John responded, shaking his head with a frown.
"Why John, tell me why" setting down her pen and notebook on the table to her side, giving him her full attention.
"…the first time I came to you after I'd been shot and left the army, I was so lost and didn't know who to trust or who to turn to and…losing Sherlock…watching him jump just…it was like I immediately returned to how I originally was, how it once had been. Now when I see something that I had once recognised to be home, I see as the battlefield and see the battlefield as home"
"So when you were with Sherlock, you relied on him to catch you when you fell but now he's not there, you're scared to fall" when John went silent, she already knew his answer. "It says here you're still living in 221B Baker Street which you used to share with him"
"He was my best friend, my flatmate and without him…things don't fit together anymore. He used to live in a certain way and looking back, I came to expect things to be out of place and mess everywhere. Gunshots in the wall when he used to be bored, experiments exploding…" he trailed off as the memories came back, "…the violin playing when he used to think on cases, texts being sent that used to piss me off so much but I became used to them and now….nothing. I'm not scared of the fall…I'm scared of the silence"
"John, have you ever considered a different occupation?"
That was the question that got his mind going.
The first person he told was Mrs Thompson, coming up with his own conclusion that he needed to feel the pain to breathe; he needed to fill the silence somehow.
She tried to talk him out of the decision but ultimately knew that his mind was made up on the decision, so she helped him as much as she could.
He told Molly, Lestrade and Mrs Hudson and their reactions were the same as his therapist's. They all supported him and were there to ship him off.
John Watson was returning to Afghanistan.
Pulling on his coat and scarf he couldn't help but glance down at his best friend.
The last time he had seen him John was visiting 'his' grave where Moriarty was buried, with tears in his eyes. God it was incredibly painful to just force his best friend to go through this, to think him as dead for these two years but it couldn't be helped. This mission was dangerous and he needed to be thought of as dead so that meant John couldn't know of the true reason for the disappearance.
His heart pounded in his chest at the thought of returning to John, returning to his old life.
"Sherlock, there's something you need to know before you go running off"
"Later Mycroft, there's something I need to do first that is more important than anything" with that Sherlock left the building that had been his home for the past two years, intending on going to his true home as quickly as possible.
Never in his life had Sherlock ever known himself to be as nervous as he was now.
"Sherlock" Mrs Hudson gasped out as he kissed her on the forehead, her mouth gaping like a fish unable to speak any words.
"Mrs Hudson, good to see you! Is John still here, never mind I'll check myself!" he exclaimed with pure joy, not letting her speak as he rushed through the introduction, desperate to get upstairs.
The second he strode through the open door, empty space and silence were what he was met by. No property of John Watson in sight.
"That is what I tried to explain to you Sherlock if you had actually listened to me. John's not here, he's left" Mycroft announced as he and Mrs Hudson walked to his side.
"What, why, John wouldn't leave here. We're flatmates"
"Not anymore Sherlock. For two years he thought you were dead as did everybody else, he waited for those years before he finally left"
"Where did he go? I need to see him!" Sherlock spun to face his brother, waiting for information of where John would be so he could apologise to him.
"Sherlock…I don't think you want to know" Mycroft tried but was interrupted by Sherlock, his fist banging on the coffee table.
"Where is he?"
"A couple months ago, John returned to Afghanistan"
"WHAT! Why did he return there! He was shot for God's sake, and you just let him go back there!" anger drove the words out of his mouth before he could even stop it.
"It was his choice Sherlock, it was something he needed to do, his pain relief after everything that happened" Mrs Hudson spoke softly, tears brimming in her eyes.
It was that one sentence that broke down the walls he had built around himself, the truth was staring him in the eyes.
John had left because of him.
Jumping on the first plane to Afghanistan; Sherlock, Lestrade and Mycroft all went to bring John back home.
Devastation was everywhere as John and his squad slowly and cautiously made their way through the abandoned city that was now nothing but a ghost town. There were no signs of human life within any parts of the town at all.
About two months ago now John had returned to his old army base as captain of a squad of men he had fought with and trusted his life to. A week and a half ago he had been appointed to go and investigate one of the lower towns near the border for any signs of human life but so far the results were the same. Nothing, nobody was home.
Altogether there were over forty men however there was over four squads in the same place, they had all decided to cover the same ground as a group because it was safer that way.
"Watson! Your group cover the left section!" Sergeant Walker shouted at John, leading his own team away to the right-hand section.
"Move out!" John commanded his men, leading them to cover the several abandoned buildings. "Stay in partners and watch each other's backs" he told them before splitting up with his own partner into one of the multiple buildings.
The next thing John knows is fire, smoke…and his men screaming in pain.
"JASON! STEVE! DAVE!" John called out, coughing from the smoke threatening to suffocate him. Rounds had been fired upon them and one single shot had embedded itself inside his shoulder, high enough so it had just missed the joint.
Fire roared around him as John stumbled through the smoke that clouded the rooms, making it near to impossible to see through it.
Spotting the silhouette of a man lying unresponsive on the ground, John threw himself to the floor to escape the intoxicating clouds of smoke. Casting a glance around his current position, he spotted multiple other bodies lying motionless also.
"Jason, Jason can you hear me!" resting his head on his chest, he signed in relief when he felt his slow and steady exhales of breathe.
Scrambling to clutch his flak jacket and drag him out, John replayed his actions with the rest of his men.
"Watson!" John heard one of the other captains shout. "You're shot!"
"I don't need to be told that!" he growled out. "Attend to these men!"
"But-" the man tried to stop him but failed when he broke from his grip and turned partially to him.
"NOW!" he snarled at the man before once again returning to search for anymore survivors, all the time his own wound causing him agonising pain but the knowledge of the potential men being still caught up in the fire was enough to keep him moving.
Voices screamed at him to return, the remaining men from the other squads coming together to help their troop but there was nothing that they could do for anyone as the wooden beam crashed down against the entrance rendering John trapped within the building as he worked his way up the building, level by level checking for any signs of any men.
If his mind and body were in the same state, John would've realised even if he found somebody what hope was there he could do for them, his own body was wiring down as the shoulder wound depleted his energy.
'Maybe this is the best possible way to go, dying for something good, dying to save his men. Besides what if Sherlock's waiting for him on the other side?'
"JOHN!"
'Sherlock, his voice was so iconic he could easily recognise it from anywhere'
"JOHN, WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU"
'Maybe you're dead already'
"JOHN!"
Hands were over his body, his face, his neck, his shoulder. Dragging eyes he didn't even realise were closed, John made out a shadowy figure looming above him but it was coat around him that gave it away. The last memory before the darkness consumed him was of his eyes looking at him like he always had.
Now that was a happy memory to die to, he could die smiling knowing he would be reunited with his best friend again.
Voices were distorted, not knowing whether or not they were real or just made from the depths of his imagination.
JOHN!
JOHN, LOOK AT ME, OPEN YOUR EYES!
PLEASE JOHN, OPEN YOUR EYES!
Come back to me
He used to believe that the moment you die, memories of your past and present greet you, showing you everything and everyone you held most dear.
The second John met Sherlock, he felt some sort of peace with the world, finally understanding that he wasn't alone in the fight but the second he jumped off that roof, everything that John had ever known to be fell with him.
Sherlock was the net that he could fall back but now he was left to fall by himself with nobody to catch him.
Blinding light met him as his eyes leisurely fluttered open with a groan on his part.
"John! You're awake!" a voice to the side of him caught his attention. Turning his attention to the man sat on an uncomfortable-looking plastic chair, John's refocused on the sight of Sherlock beside him.
"…Sherlock…" lurching himself forward, pain instantly halted any further movements from him.
"Hey easy John, you're in no position to be an idiot right now" he spoke as he pushed him to lie back in his original position he had awoken in, taking careful measures to not interfere with his wound.
"…you're supposed to be dead"
"And you're supposed to be in London"
"Not anymore"
"Well obviously, instead you're here risking your life and almost dying"
"What about my squad, did they survive?"
"Yes John they're fine, they will all survive thanks to you. However, because of the fact that you got injured you will not be staying here. They're having you sent back to London on the next flight home"
"Surprise, surprise. Second time I've been shot, second time they've sent me home"
"Oh God John, what is it with you and getting yourself into trouble?" Sherlock rested his head on John's chest next to where he clutched his hand as if it were his lifeline.
"Why?"
"It doesn't matter right now, what matters is you recovering from this. I can't have my doctor falling behind now can I?"
"No…I guess not" he smiled up at his partner.
The moment Sherlock helped John up into their flat, the questions came flooding out along with the tears that had been held back by both men for the expanse of those two years.
"I promise you John, I will never leave you again" Sherlock told John as he wrapped his arms around the man, finally content after the years they had been apart.
"Huh, they told me they weren't gay" Mrs Hudson smiled to herself as she saw the two men on the couch, John's head on Sherlock's lap as they slept peacefully.