Post Reichenbach. What Sherlock gets up to following his faked suicide. May contain violence and foul language. Chapter 1
John sat up shivering, sweat rolling down his head, panting heavily, the nightmare still fresh in his mind
Sherlock stood on the roof of St Barts. The wind made his coat billow out behind him. He held the phone to his ear "The newspapers were right all along. I want you to tell Lestrade, I want you to tell Mrs. Hudson and Molly, in fact tell anyone who will listen to you... that I created Moriarty for my own purposes."
"Ok, shut up Sherlock. Shut up. The first time we met - the first time we met, you knew all about my sister, right?" John's voice broke down the phone
"Nobody could be that clever." John could hear the slight scoff. This was not happening.
"You could"
A whimper escaped John's mouth as he fell back against the pillow; the last time this happened was when he first came home, his nightmares about the war he left behind. That life seemed like a different one, to the life he has- had- he reminded himself. Soon sleep took him back to darkness.
~1 month earlier~
Sherlock watched John far below him, his eyes watering. From the wind? No, Sherlock realized it was his emotions, after many years of being told how emotionless it was (except for the cases where he always got the wrong emotions!); it came as a shock even for himself that he did, in fact, have emotions.
"This phone call, it's... it's my note. That's what people do, don't they? Leave a note..." Sherlock trailed off, his throat felt thick
"Leave a note when?" John sounded choked up
Sherlock blinked heavily. He had to say it. There was no going back. "Alone protects me" "No friends protect people" But Sherlock couldn't say why he had to do, what he was about to. "Good-bye, John..."
He heard the crack of the phone as it hit the roof, then he spread his arms out and fell forwards. He wasn't sure if he actually heard "SHERLOCK" or just imagined it. Even though he knew he'd survive, he still panicked something would go wrong. Suddenly the impact made him breathless. He almost laughed that it worked. He landed in the soft pile of pillows, mattresses' and other soft items in the truck, quickly stood and grabbed the fake body, put his coat round it and threw it out on the pavement, before jumping back in the truck.
The truck stopped at Molly's flat. Molly had previously given him a key, and now he let himself in, having time to look around the flat. Toby was curled up on the sofa when he walked in, but hearing the newcomer went up and started rubbing himself around Sherlock's legs. Sherlock wrinkled his nose and stepped away from the cat, which took offense and stalked off, tail swishing.
Sherlock flopped onto the sofa. He was in for a long wait
~30 minutes later~
Molly stepped into her flat; it was deadly silent except for the gurgling of pipes. She stepped into the living room, and saw Sherlock lying on the sofa, his hands held to his face, as if praying.
Sherlock looked up at the sound of footsteps. Molly had been crying, also John had cried onto her shoulder, she looked tired. "How was everything?" He asked
Molly glared "Horrible. I feel terrible. John was in pieces, i just wanted to tell him the truth! And i can't!"
"Where's my coat?" Sherlock had asked her to return it
"John has it?"
"Why? It's too big to be practical for him!"
"Someone gave it to him. He did just watch his best friend jump off a building!" Molly sighed as Sherlock closed his eyes. "Would you like a tea?"
"Yes. I have already asked"
Molly rolled her eyes. John had mentioned Sherlock carried on speaking to John even when he wasn't there.
"I need you to do a favour for me, Molly!" Sherlock shouted from the living room. Molly handed over the tea and sat down with a small glass of wine. "I need you to get a few items for me"
~~~~~~JOHN~~~~~
The only sense that was currently in function was smell, and the smell was of nothing but Sherlock.
The smell had hints of everything that was just him: His latest experiment, Hints of cigarettes, old books, and newspapers. John was on his knees, hands buried in his face, kneeling in front of St. Barts Hospital. Sherlock's coat was draped over his shoulders, drowning all of his senses but the one.
There were a few muted voice in the background but couldn't care to properly listen. He got up, walking forward feeling so numb, hailing a cab, as Lestrade watched.
Lestrade had been in his office, doing bits of paperwork to do with Sherlock, when an officer came in.
"Sir, there's been a suicide"
"Not my division, im busy" Lestrade said without looking up.
"They told me you'd want this one" The officer shifted, clearly uncomfortable. Lestrade sighed and put down his pen
"Who and where?"
"Off the top of St Barts, Sherlock Holmes" and the officer fled the office.
Lestrade had gone up to John, who swore at him before stalking off and sitting down. He'd been like that for 5minutes before leaving
John knew Lestrade had been watching him, and he was fed up of it. He also had to break the news to Mrs. Hudson Oh god he thought...
He stepped in the flat, Sherlock's coat rolled up in his arms
"John, dear, you're back. Is everything okay? You left pretty quickly. Where's Sherlock? Have you two had a falling out again?" Mrs. Hudson rambled on, John limped upstairs No, not this again, and Mrs. Hudson followed
"John?"
"Mrs. Hudson... Sherlock... Sher- he's..." John choked; Mrs. Hudson approached him a bit more
"Dead" John almost spat out the word. Mrs. Hudson gasped before her and John hugged, just holding each other as they both sobbed.
~A week later~
John awoke with a start from the repeated nightmare. It was 7:30am yet he was still tired, he rubbed his eyes before sauntering off for a shower.
10 minutes later, his hair still damp he stood stirring his tea absentmindedly, today was going to be a long day and he wasn't looking forward to it. He sat down and stared into the distance, waiting.
At 11:45 he sat in the taxi, in a checked shirt, trousers and his usual black jacket, Mrs Hudson sat in a purple dress with a black coat over it clutching a tissue to her chest. They got out at the church, John looked up at the clear sky, and a slight breeze rustled the surroundings. It was too nice for today's events.
Molly stood to one side. Sherlock hadn't seen the point of why she was going to his funeral, to mourn his dead, when he wasn't dead. But Molly explained it was to support John.
The service was small: John, Molly, Mrs Hudson, Lestrade, Mycroft, Stamford and a few family members, except his parents because Sherlock didn't have many friends and most of the public saw him as a fake. The ceremony was short but lovely, the guests each said a few words, John maintained his posture and didn't cry, he said goodbye to the closed-coffin before saluting, then was the march. Violins played softly the funeral march, and the lowering of the coffin. The girls sobbed as it was lowered, John stood staring down silent tears down his cheeks. Mycroft stood at the foot, staring down, keeping the no-emotion state just like his brother. Afterwards Mrs Hudson and John stood at the grave for a little longer.
"...one more miracle, Sherlock, for me, don't be... dead. Would you do that just for me? Just stop it. Stop this..." John's voice broke, before he walked off. From a distance Sherlock looked on, watching him walk back to the small gathering. Sherlock turned and picked up the black bag leaning against the tree, he picked it up and walked.
Molly stood watching John walk back to the group, as he approached everyone went quiet and looked at him.
"Well. I best be off" Mycroft said first, John nodded. Mycroft turned, before stopping seeing a stranger standing a few metres away.
"I should really be off too" John murmured then him and Mrs Hudson walked off the opposite direction to Mycroft, as he turned back to the group.
"Who's that?" Mycroft nodded to the stranger
"Oh!" Molly said, discreetly motioned to the stranger to stop approaching. The group looked at her, then him. Mycroft firstly thought it was Sherlock, till he noticed the ginger curls poking under his cap.
"Well? You seemed to know him" Mycroft persisted. Molly blushed
"He's just a friend of mine, came to support me. But i better be off" and she hurried off. The 3 men left stared at her.
"Sherlock!" She hissed "They might have recognised you!" She grabbed his arm and pulled him.
"But they didn't... I had to see it okay?" Sherlock said. Molly could see this hurt him too. But she was glad he disguised himself, she actually thought he looked cute as ginger. But was wandering how he'd look with the many other disguises he had thanks to her shopping yesterday.
They- well Sherlock- had work to do.
Work taking down Moriarty's web of criminals.
Thanks for reading guys! Will upload more