Trembling hands – the temper trap
Hello :) So this is a song fic based on trembling hands by the temper trap. It's an amazing song by the way, so you should listen to it, okay? Alright, groovy. Enjoy!
P.S: I might add other chapters with other songs, if people actually read and enjoy this! :)
It had been two years since that fateful day. 730 days or 17,531 hours, if you wanted to be precise. Sherlock would've liked the preciseness of it. John preferred to think of it as 730 days, but that's just how the both of them were. 730 days ago, the silence fell, the happiness died and the crushing mundane of life before Sherlock started again.
Treading the ground I once used to know, people are strangers, same as before.
John could never go back to 221b Baker Street, the address he fondly remembered as home. He had to leave, rent a small flat on the other side of London. John now lived a solitary life, but he could never live with anyone else, not after Sherlock.
One particularly gloomy Sunday (every day was now gloomy to John, but this day was particularly horrible) after a long tube journey, John could never get in a cab, unless necessary, sentiment, something Sherlock never understood.
John found himself at the bottom of the steps of 221b. He couldn't go in there, not now, after all this time. There would be someone else living in his flat now. His flat, Sherlock Holmes and John Watson's flat. No, John couldn't do it. He'd promised Mrs Hudson that he would visit her every so often, but the last time he fulfilled this promise was a year after Sherlock had…. well, you know. John sees Mrs Hudson occasionally, at his grave, but never for a chat, just a smile or a sombre nod, depending on how John is feeling that day.
Took one to realize when dreaming's this hard, it's not meant to come true
'Sherlock, for me, don't be dead'. John replayed his monologue to Sherlock in the graveyard the day after the funeral over and over in his head. He still believed that Sherlock was alive, he was a brilliant man, is a brilliant man, John corrected himself. But what if he was actually dead? As amazing as Sherlock was, she was only mortal. What if he hadn't used some clever trick at St. Bart's that day? What if his best friend was dead? No, he couldn't afford to think like that, hope is the only thing stronger than fear, and he couldn't live in fear of never seeing that brilliant man again.
Passing the days looking over the buildings,
Time seems to stop while the millions keep moving
Most of the time, John liked to sit and look from his flat window and just look at the beautiful city that is London. Even though John was in a constant state of mourning, it didn't mean he couldn't appreciate beauty. He liked to people watch, and get wrapped up in other people's lives, so he didn't have to think about his own for a while.
So, throw me a line
Somebody out there, help me
I'm on my own, I'm on my own
John wondered how and when his friend would return. Would he turn up to 221b? John made sure that Mrs Hudson knew his new address so she could tell Sherlock if, no, when he comes back. Still, John felt a little guilty about leaving 221b if Sherlock would be there.
John sat at his window, gazing out onto the starry landscape of London, wishing that Sherlock's return would be imminent. The gun in his bed side cabinet was looking even more attractive day by day….
Aaaand that's all folks! Please review and let me know what you thought and stuff! Thanks for reading,
Hannah x.