An Unexpected Revelation
Here's my first attempt at writing a fan fiction, bloody daunting isn't it! (Apologies for the spacing it was the only technique I could use to avoid the writng bunching up).
Post Reichenbach fic. Spoilers for the show. Pairing Sherlock Holmes and John Watson
Disclaimer: All characters and previous plot points are the property of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and the BBC
Hope You Enjoy!
xxx
Six months. It had been six months since that day, that terrible day when his world crashed down around him. John shot awake as the memories of his best friend falling to his death assaulted his memory. He looked over towards the clock on his bedside table. 4.30AM. John laughed bitterly to himself, a hollow sound that echoed around the room. He hadn't had a good night's sleep since Sherlock, he internally winced at the pain which that name now brought to him.
John brought his hands to his face as if blocking out the tragic memory before clambering out of bed. He had become quite accustomed to this new schedule of his. Wake up, write in the blog, therapists order mind you, John thought it was a ridiculous idea now that he was gone. He laughed at the memory of Sherlock meeting Ella, it was the briefest of meetings between the two but Sherlock had certainly got his point across to Ella. Of course that had made it all the more difficult for John to return to her, he knew that Sherlock had labelled her a quack and a fraud and he was almost positive that Ella hated the memory of the man but he desperately needed someone to talk too, however briefly else he'd start to go mad.
Mrs Hudson had offered to help of course but John could see she was nearly as distraught as he felt himself. She'd essentially lost the only person she'd ever considered to be a son. No he couldn't spend too much time around her, it only made it that much harder to move on. He had been somewhat delighted to find out that she had planned to take a trip to America for a short while. Sherlock had once told him 'England would fall when Mrs Hudson left Baker Street but John was certain he had been wrong. England had fallen when Sherlock had.
He sighed into the night before whispering "I miss you Holmes". Grabbing his robe off the back of the door he began to wrap it around himself, his eyes briefly lingering on the coat hanging from the other hook, before heading into the kitchen to make himself some tea. He still found it strange to open the fridge and see an almost full carton of milk, he'd strangely begun to miss finding various experiments taking place in there. Without Sherlock life had become very dull indeed. He grabbed the milk and turned round to put the kettle on to brew before leaning against the counter to wait.
Perhaps he should have taken the Lestrade's offer to become a consultant, he had laughed cynically at the reference that the Detective used. Yet he wanted to say yes, if only for the briefest moment before he had remembered that the man stood before him was partly responsible for his best friend's death. Of course it had crossed his mind that the offer had been one of pity, an olive branch perhaps. How else do you react when confronted with overwhelming evidence that your witch hunt was completely unfounded. He had remembered Lestrade's face as he placed the dossier on his desk, it had taken him months to find but he had finally uncovered some old school reports of Moriarty's, not much to go on at first but with Mycroft's aid he was slowly able to unravel his web of deceit and clear Sherlock's name.
He moved to the kettle and began to pour the now boiled water into the cup. After Sherlock had…after the incident on the roof, Mycroft had been eager to help with anything he had needed. I suppose he wanted to make up for betraying his brother by helping his only friend. He had spent the first couple of months offering John money to help him by, he had always rejected it, of course he would never have accepted it anyway but he'd always told Mycroft he didn't want his blood money.
John took a deep breath, perhaps he had been too hard on Mycroft, he may not have understood their relationship but Mycroft had lost his only brother that day and he had only been trying to help. Maybe that was why he had been so eager to help John bring down Moriarty's remaining lies. He hadn't mentioned it to Mycroft but he had certainly begun to notice how the older brother became more dedicated as each line was unravelled. It seemed as though it was his redemption for spilling his brother's innermost secrets to the most dangerous man in the world. He didn't agree with it but he never corrected Mycroft, he knew he needed his power to discredit Moriarty for good.
He picked up the tray and moved into the living room setting it down on the table before seating himself in the nearest armchair. As he reached for the cup his hand caught the stack of papers neatly stacked upon the edge of the table, knocking them to the floor. Sighing to himself he leant down to gather them together. Each headline sent a stabbing pain to John's heart. 'Tragic genius cleared', London fooled by mystery man', 'Loss of a hero', he laughed at what Sherlock would think of that one. There was one amongst them that truly caught his eye, he couldn't recall this one, he wondered if Mrs Hudson had hidden it from him.
The glaring red banner of the tabloid alerted John to the story written below. A picture of Sherlock in the deerstalker adorned the front page, John laughed for a moment, he knew how much he'd hated that hat. Yet it was the article which left John with the small feeling of satisfaction he now felt inside. 'Richard Brook was a lie!' the headline screamed at him, the sense of irony wasn't lost on John as he began to scan through the article, it seems Lestrade was being honest when he assured John he'd make sure Sherlock's would be given a full public pardon.
He smiled briefly and restacked the papers, laying the newly discovered article on top of the pile before sitting back down. Once more he reached out to grab his rapidly cooling cup of tea when there was a knock on the door. John inwardly groaned, "Who knocks on the door at 5AM!". He exhaled angrily as he got to his feet and headed to the door and began to unlock it. As he grasped the handle and pulled the door open he suddenly felt like he'd been punched in the gut. "Hello, John it's been too long". That was the very last thing he heard before he felt his arm swing forward of its own volition.
Sherlock looked up from the floor cupping his now painful cheek. He watched John's face as a variety of emotions flooded his eyes. Fear, concern, betrayal, happiness but the most prevalent, anger. He rubbed as cheek as he slowly got to his feet and began dusting himself off. "Well I suppose I deserved that one" he admitted. John looked absolutely furious. "Can I come in". John thought about this briefly before nodding his head and stepping to one side.
As he stepped around his silent friend Sherlock began to survey the flat. It was clear to him from the mess that Mrs Hudson had been away for a while, he wondered silently whether John had spoken to anyone in a while. This thought brought Holmes out of his reverie as he turned to consider John. He'd certainly not been sleeping well, the bags under his eyes said as much. But his posture shocked Sherlock most of all, he stood hunched over his eyes staring at the ground, he looked defeated, even when Moriarty had him covered with explosives he still held that air of defiance in his stance. The guilt overwhelmed Sherlock and he turned to stare aimlessly out of the window.
A few minutes passed by without another word, neither man eager to break the now tangible silence that hovered between them. John was somewhat startled when he heard the voice of the man he had long thought dead speak once more. "I'm sorry John". The smaller man looked the other in the eye before scoffing audibly "You should put some ice on that" he grumbled quietly gesturing towards Sherlock's now swelling eye. "Always the doctor first" laughed Sherlock as he walked to the fridge to retrieve the ice pack immediately placing it over the painful bruise forming.
As he returned to the sitting room he turned to his agitated companion, he could see the uncertainty beneath the surface, once more a crushing guilt fell upon him. He took a deep breath hoping that what he planned to say carried more power than he currently felt."I am sorry John, truly I am.". He looked up to find himself suddenly face to face with the clearly agitated doctor. "It's been six months Sherlock!. I saw you jump! Do you know the helI I've been through. I thought you were…dead". He turned away desperately trying to regain control of himself. How is the possible he thought to himself. Half an hour ago he thought his best friend to be dead, how was he now stood in front of him pleading forgiveness. " I can't do this, I…I need to go" he said. He started to move away slowly, this was too much for him to handle, he needed to think, to clear his head.
He was almost at the door when he felt a hand grip his shoulder, he mental cursed himself for the joyous reaction he felt inside his heart. His hand lingered on the handle unsure of whether to leave or whether to face Sherlock. After a moments consideration he turned to face his old friend, he'd have to do it sometime anyway. "Go on then, tell me why you've spent the last half a year allowing me to believe you were dead Sherlock!. What good reason could you have had for that then." He looked at the man stood before him awaiting an answer, none was forthcoming. "Typical of you" he scoffed. He shook his head and turned to leave. "You were in danger John!".
Despite his desire to be free from the room John couldn't control the outburst which suddenly poured from his mouth. "Danger? I'm always in danger if you hadn't noticed. Every case, every day. Why use it as an excuse now?. After all we've been through together I thought you'd have shown me some more courtesy than to lie to me for six months!.
Sherlock stood still considering how to answer the accusation, of course John had reason to be angry but how could he be so oblivious as to how important he truly was. "John…..I'm sorry, it was the only way". He raised a hand as John was about to protest, "Please…please let me finish". John nodded softly. "You see Moriarty had planned it all perfectly, every last part of his scheme was geared towards getting me to that roof for the big finale" he smiled bitterly. "I knew his intentions of course but I thought I could solve everything by getting that blasted code." Sherlock looked out of the corner of his eye to make sure John was still listening. He began to pace the room "Of course the code was a fake all along, he just paid associated for aid once more, but still I thought I could stop everything, at least until he threatened to kill you."
Sherlock's sudden stop surprised John, he had absentmindedly been following the continuous pacing and was not expecting to see his usually calm ally looking so utterly distraught. He watched him for a moment before sighing deeply. "I could have handled myself and you know it, no this was just another part of the 'game' wasn't it".
Sherlock turned to John and studied him intensely, "No, this was the end, it was me or you John. You see Moriarty had given specific orders to his men, if I didn't jump they were to kill everyone I cared for. Mrs Hudson, Lestrade…..You." Sherlock looked away, suddenly aware of the intense eye contact he had shared just seconds before. He took a minute to compose himself before continuing. "The moment Moriarty put the gun to his mouth I had no other option John, the only way to stop his henchmen was to make the jump"
John took a step towards his best friend. He hoped he could keep his voice steady, he couldn't allow Sherlock to see him like that. He shuddered at the memories of tear filled nights. "So you jumped to fool his spies I get that. But I don't understand why you have left it six months to return, Moriarty was dead, why couldn't you come home." He hated himself as his voice shook on the last word, but now was not the time for tears. He steeled himself to continue his tirade. You left us all, me, Mrs Hudson, heck even Mycroft to grieve over your imaginary corpse!. Obviously you never trusted me, then again why would you. I never was your friend was I, just a substitute for the talking skull".
And for once Sherlock's cool demeanour slipped, "Of course you were my friend John! You were more than a friend, you're the only person I have ever trusted my entire life and it killed me to lie to you, but what was worse was having to avoid you!". Sherlock took a deep breath, he knew he'd made an error, he'd let too much slip, how had he allowed himself to do that. He turned to walk towards the window, he needed air he couldn't think his mind was in a jumble. He was nearly there when he heard it, "I love you".
It was so quiet he almost missed it, if it wasn't for the sudden thrumming in his long cold heart he wouldn't have believed it. Sherlock spun around and covered the space between him and John in seconds. "What did you say?". He knew that he sounded like a madman but he needed to know, he had to know. John's eyes had widened and his cheeks began to turn crimson, all the typical signs of embarrassment Sherlock thought to himself, he obviously hadn't planned for it to be heard. He watched on somewhat amused as John tried to form a coherent sentence. "I…I….said nothing. Erm. What are you on about?".
"Don't lie to me John" Sherlock took a step towards John and rested a hand upon his shoulder. "Please John. Please I need to hear you say it". He stared unflinchingly at the man stood before him. He saw the inner turmoil inside as heart and mind battled for dominance, he could only hope for the winner he desired.
Watson could feel the eyes upon him, staring intently waiting for the slightest sign of decision. He cringed inside at what had just happened, he'd meant every word of course but he hadn't meant to say it aloud. But a stupid slip had left him in the most difficult position. What was he to do now, there's no way Sherlock will let him weave his way out of this one no. He closed his eyes and ran a hand through his hair wondering what would happen, he only just got his friend back what if this made him leave again. He couldn't cope with losing him again. Yet there was no way that he could fool a man like Sherlock Holmes that he was lying, he would see through him straight away. There was only one thing he could do.
John took a breath to steady himself before opening his eyes, he was momentarily distracted by the intense proximity between the two of them. He raised his eyes to meet Sherlock's, oh how he wished he could read the emotions hidden behind those blue eyes. He couldn't put it off any longer he thought to himself, it was no or never. He sighed deeply, "I said I love you, you idiot" There it was he thought, he'd said it. There was no taking it back now. The damage was done. He lowered his head to face the floor, he felt to open and unprotected. He was about to take a run for the door when he felt a hand wipe a tear from his cheek, he hadn't even realised he had been crying. The hand moved to below his chin and slowly and gently forced him to look up once more. "Oh god I'm sorry I shouldn't have said…"
John was left unable to finish his sentence as he felt the detective's lips against his. He hesitated a moment, the sudden bombardment of emotions overwhelming him. Anger, frustration, fear, relief, joy, lust, all overridden by one. Love. He reached up and gripped a handful of Sherlock's hair deepening the kiss. It felt like all the pain and grief of the last few months had melted away in an instant, John felt content if a little disappointed when the man he loved drew out of the clinch. "Oh my dearest Watson I love you too" Sherlock said with a grin. He reached out and pulled John into an embrace. "Promise me one thing." John asked. "Don't leave again".
"Never" Replied Sherlock.