Hello reader! Yes, I know what you're thinking, I should be updating my other stories, but I couldn't resist writing this. No specific pairings, unless anyone wants some John and Jim?
Disclaimer: I own nothing of the Sherlock world and make no profits whatsoever from writing this, purely for fun.
Please enjoy, and give your opinion at the end in the form of a review so I know someone out there actually reads my rubbish stories! Please review and enjoy!
Back From The Dead
or
An Unlikely Friendship
by
Blackcurrant Bonbons
John Watson had known Jim Moriarty all his life.
Yes, I know what you're thinking. One, a consulting criminal. The other, the loyal companion of the world's only consulting detective. From your perspective, it must appear a friendship doomed from the beginning.
But Jim Moriarty was not always the chuckling psychopath in the Westwood suit we know today.
And John Watson was not always the quiet, resolute ex soldier we are so fond of.
No.
It was a friendship from birth. Born in the same hospital, in fact. The same ward.
But the pair was not destined to meet until their tender play school years. The first moment their eyes met, that their hands touched, was in the most unlikely of places. The sand pit.
Jim initiated the tentative friendship. Funny, you wouldn't guess that now. But no, it was Jim.
John was a shy little boy, he didn't go looking for fights, and passively let the other tykes snatch grubby toys from his pliant fingers. He inevitably became a popular target for the ruffians that were in the first stages of the high school bullies they would later become.
Jim was not an openly violent boy, but neither would he let others manipulate him. He soon became the both feared and revered 'King of the Playground'- as the others called him - through his smiling ways, which only hid the sinister little flicker of flame underneath the surface. You could perhaps say it was a foreshadowing of what was to come.
But for now, at least, the lion would remain dormant.
But despite his sinister demeanour, Jim was a troubled little boy. His parents were in the middle of a messy divorce, and the only satisfaction his dad got was the bottom of an empty bottle. And not the water type, either.
So when Jim saw John being tormented from across the playground, he had to do something about it.
He was pleased to later report that the ruffians never again laid a finger on John.
Well, John being the sensitive soul he is, did not miss this little act of kindness. (If threats could be called that) After many nervous days of chewing on the skin of his little left finger – which would become a fixed habit in later life – John tentatively approached Jim, who was sat regally on his omnipresent throne of the almighty swing , with a slightly flat ball cradled in his arms.
"You wanna play?" John held the ball out, like an offering to the gods. Jim smiled.
"Sure!"
And so it began.
The friendship continued throughout primary school, then through to secondary school.
Ever since that fateful moment in the playground, John had hero worshipped Jim.
Not, it's not what you think. Jim did not use John for his own selfish purposes.
In fact, it could be said that the hero worship was returned more than equally by Jim.
As life grew ever tougher for Jim at home, he relied more and more on John for the emotional support that John was more than willing to supply.
John was the only person in the world who had seen with his own eyes the awful sight of Jim crying.
But you must not been mistaken in thinking that it was a shallow relationship as mere hero worship. No, it was much deeper than that.
The term 'bromance' is thrown around so carelessly in this day and age, but never was there a more appropriate word to describe the pair. No, they were not gay. But it was a needle point, a mere needle point.
Neither did their friendship grow apart or drift as they grew older, entering the teenage years. If anything, it grew stronger.
They did everything together. But while both aspired to join the army, John favoured a more gentle profession than needless shooting, and he had his mind on medicine. He wanted to help people. To save people, just as Jim had saved him, all those years ago. Army doctor, he later decided, fitted his desires perfectly well.
Jim however, had a slightly more violent tendency. Don't be mistaken into thinking he was aggressive, but the imprint of his childhood was still retained somewhere in his rather large mind.
If there was one thing that Jim excelled at more than John, it was his sheer amount of pure intelligence. John was clever, but Jim...
It was the view of many teachers, adults and experts alike that Jim's massive IQ was not natural, that it was abnormal.
But it only gave John more reason to love his friend more, and not even a grain of jealously found refuge in the eye that was his pure heart.
So it was a surprise to many then, when Jim decided to join the army.
'What a waste' was the recurring thought passing through everyone's minds, but of course they never said that to his face.
And despite many well meaning words to dissuade him from his path, Jim stayed strong. And John was beside him, supporting him the whole way.
Don't get me wrong, it wasn't the perfect friendship, there's no such thing. Of course they had their occasional argument and disagreements, but they always reconciled soon afterwards.
Life in the army, John Watson soon discovered, was to be the most joyous and saddening time of his life.
Life was good. Well, as good as it could get in Afghanistan. John and Jim were by some fated miracle kept in the same regiment, and both giddy with the naive boyish glee that always filled their souls when they embarked on an exciting adventure in an unknown land.
Except this land had guns.
Everything went fine, for a little while.
Whilst men dropped like flies on all sides of the sandy battle field, John and Jim remained stoically together, each watching the others back.
But all is not fair in love and war, contrary to popular belief, and soon the pair was to be torn apart by the meddling hands of fate. But neither would go quietly.
*J*J*J*J*
The mission had been going well, till now. How hard could patrolling the local village be?
Neither realised it was an ambush until too late.
The last John saw of Jim was a bullet tearing through his chest, his limp body being dragged off by the enemy.
The last John saw of himself at that moment was looking down at a bullet hole seeping blood through his uniform, and his shoulder searing with agony, like a boiling rod had been stabbed through his flesh.
The last coherent thought that flashed through his mind was not of him. It was of Jim.
He's dead.
Even in his unconscious state, the tears still continued to trickle down his grit smothered face, leaving rivers in the sand.
As he awoke in the starchy hospital bed, John bolted up, and let out of an agonizing scream of pain and despair.
The doctors presumed it was from the shock of being shot. No, his only thought was of Jim.
Jim's dead.
And from that moment, John did not speak of Jim again.
Not to Mrs Hudson.
Not to Harry.
Not even to Sherlock.
*J*J*J*J*J*
So you can imagine the mixed feeling of relief, happiness, shock and disbelief that exploded inside John the night he saw Jim at the pool, Sherlock standing only a few feet away. The heavy weight of the bomb jacket disappeared as he took in the familiar figure of Jim.
But that's not possible. Jim's dead.
And Jim seemed to be thinking exactly the same thing about him.
To be continued.