AN; Yeah I know, there's like a bazillion fanfics out there just like this one!
But well, I was honestly and really genuinely disturbed by that last Sherlock episode, it was very recent that one of my best friends committed suicide, and then seeing Sherlock doing the same thing... it just got to me, I couldn't sleep that night.. at all.. So this sort of helped me get my thoughts back on track. And well, unlike real life, I could give this one an amusing happy ending, I will leave the real next meeting between Sherlock and Watson to the profs, there's going to be a season more next year you know, I'll bet Moffat is going to write an hillariouse yet awesome second meeting just look at Doctor who.
Doctor; Not to be rude.. but you're dead.
Rory; yeah...
Doctor; How?
Rory; Look! I died and turned into a Roman, it's all very distracting!
Moffat I love you :D
I just have a little theory about how it might happen between Sherlock and Watson, but it's not what the fic is about at all.
I can't even pretend to understand why, or how… how or why.
Even though I was there, heard his voice, his final words, moments before I would see him fall. Falling all the way down. Saw it all, saw the result.
I've been to war, he is not the first of my friends to die, he is not the first I have seen dying in front of me, if it was out on a battle field gunned down before my eyes, or on a second rates operations table quickly put up in a tent not ten miles away from the war zone. Yeas, death I have seen plenty off. But not like this.
It was not a man shot in a war zone while fighting for his life, it was not a wounded or ill man dying on the operations table. I saw it. He took that step by himself, not pushed, not forced, the most brilliant, intelligent, logical man this earth have ever seen, took one of the most mind wrenching, none sensible, illogical decisions, which caused him to fall.
What am I feeling? I don't know. I don't know why and I don't how, I don't know what.
What happened? what I am feeling? what should I be feeling? what should have happened? and what should not have?
I remember clearly when I first met Sherlock Holmes, felt just as baffled then as I do now to be honest. Didn't know what to make of him. And yet he still intrigued me, fascinated me, annoyed me. And he was brilliant, no doubt, he was a brilliant man.
I wonder what he saw when he looked at me upon our first meeting, ordinary dull John without a purpose or home, why would he even pause? I wonder what he saw in me as we lived together, argued, drew each other up the walls, solved cases. I suppose in a way we could become two children out having fun, one just happened to be an army doctor with the rank of captain and the other a genius.
And now as I am supposed to write down the final chapter, I still don't know what to make of it. Any of it.
Well, maybe I got something. He was my best friend. and nothing, can ever change that.
John sighed deeply glancing at the blog entry on his I-phone, this confusing mess which were supposedly the state of his thoughts put into word, he glanced over them ones again, his thumb sliding down the tiny little key-board before pressing delete, and in a blink of an eye, it was all gone again and John stuffed the I-phone back in his pockets as he looked around at where he stood ones again.
He probably shouldn't be here, yet he was compelled to come, to just see from himself.
John was standing on top of a roof top, but not just any roof top, the roof top where it had happened, on top of a re-search centre belonging to the police and investigation burros, the place he and Sherlock had visited on many occasions when his own living room weren't enough for the investigations. Which technically was all the time, but Sherlock was so good at improvising with what he had so he didn't move to that building unless he had to, walking from place to place was boring, though that just a lot of mess and weird stuff at their own flat.
John slowly walked towards the ledge.. a very specific ledge and glanced over, he could see where himself had been standing when it happened, so far down there, and looking downwards he could see where Sherlock had landed. The place were now covered in flowers, people Sherlock had helped through time, people who hadn't been fooled by such things as news-papers, simply because they had in astountment witnessed Sherlock solve their impossible problems in a blink of an eye. Those people had left so many flowers down there, filling up the entire pavement, as John looked down there, another person was coming with his own bouquet of white lilies, John recognised him, it hadn't been more than two months ago Sherlock had within minutes uncovered that his wife had been cheating on him with several people for over three years. Back then the man had been furious, but a few weeks after John had received a thank you note from him, telling he was now able to move on with his life.
John didn't even remember that mans name, there was so many of them. So very very many. And the flowers down there didn't even need to be from former clients, but also just fans who needed some kind of hero and would rather stick to their own naive believes than listening to others.
It helped a bit, to know that there indeed were people out there still believing in Sherlock, all though. They were largely out numbered! The news-paper had sade. "Fake genius commits suicide." the underlining. "When the proves gets exposed, the coward flees towards the most permanent destination, where the shame can't reach him."
And for those who had never met Sherlock or followed him for a long time.. it was just easier to buy. In the mind of the staggering dominate part of London, England and the rest of the World. Sherlock Holmes was a murderer, psychopath, coward, liar and a fake. It didn't help that much John very well knew none of that was true, Sherlock was a sociopath not a psychopath. The trouble was, that was now what Sherlock had become, and worst of all. He was dead.
"You're not going to also jump are you?" A voice sounded from behind Watson. "I honestly don't think we can handle more of those." the voice suddenly almost tired from the confession.
Watson turned his head around to meet the owner of the familiar voice. "Lestrade." He greeted.
"Watson." Lestrade greeted back. "So are you?" he gestured at the ledge John was standing at.
"Oh no, of cause not." John stepped back. "It's erh.. lovely view.. flowers." He awkwardly gestured.
Lestrade stepped ford and glanced down. "So there is." He commented as if he didn't all ready knew, as if he hadn't just passed them to get into the building at all before turning to John looking at him. "Honestly John, what are you doing here?" he asked.
"I don't know." John shrugged. "Just trying to figure.." he smacked his lips as he thoughtfully looked around, any-where but at Lestrade. It was a rather lovely day actually, the sky was mostly blue with only a few clouds, it was windy and a little cold so high up, but not to uncomfortable, which just made the whole thing that much more strange "Trying to figure." Watson pondered ones again.
Lestrade lifted an eye-brow then walked past John towards the ledge. "Well, obviously you know precisely where Sherlock stood, it was right here." He stated pointing at the ledge in front of him and then turned around. "Richard Brooke, excuse me, Jim Moriarty was found there." He then told pointing at a dark spot on the ground. "Suicide, he shovelled the pistol into his mouth." Lestrade stuck two fingers into his mouth in demonstration. "Pointed upwards, and bam, no more Moriaty, or Brooks, or who ever the hell he was." He told removing the fingers merely looking at Watson. "He died around the same time as Sherlock jumped, so close to each other that's it's impossible to tell who died first, but as no one heard gun shot after Sherlock feel down, we assume Moriaty was the first one to go, one till two minutes before Sherlock jumped." He told. "Security cameras shows that Moriarty went up here first, waited for Sherlock who came up five minutes after, looking quite calm actually, and then they spend around ten minutes up here before Sherlock jumped."
"Ten minutes." John mumbled to himself. "What on earth happened here in those ten minutes?" he asked.
"I'm afraid the world will never know." Lestrade told stuffing his hands in his pockets looking out in the air. "Maybe Sherlock saved the world, maybe he was exposed in the worst possible way, maybe he got scared." He reflected. "We'll never know."
"Hm scared." John mumbled to himself. "This is Sherlock, he never got scared, I mean except this ones. God he was actually scared. Greg, he was crying."
"Sherlock?" Lestrade asked suprised. "Crying? Are you sure."
John didn't answer but just looked out in the air. "He didn't want to jump." he finally stated. "But what could possible scare him like that? the very end of the world wouldn't scare him, I can't come up with a single thing Morriaty could have said or done that would really scare, Sherlock didn't ever scare.. It just doesn't fit."
"You knew him the best." Lestrade pointed out.
"Exactly, and it doesn't fit that he would jump, because it's stupid. And even if Sherlock didn't care if other people thought he was stupid, he would suddenly never stoop to becoming stupid himself." John told. "It's completely out of character for him. It goes against every-thing he was, every-thing that's smart and not stupid, but then again." He glanced at the dark spot Morriaty had fallen on. "That was what Morriaty wanted, he could have killed Sherlock at any time, but it wasn't enough for him.. he wanted Sherlock to fall, in every sense of the word. But.."
"But what?" Lestrade asked.
"Moriaty died to, he committed suicide. Why? It's just as stupid when he does it." John frowned annoyed looking at the spot. "Why?" he asked again.
"I got the how's none of the why's." Lestrade confessed truthfully. "Why would Moriaty even go through such lengths? Why not just shoot Sherlock."
"The same reasons Sherlock kept taking up cases." John responded. "He was bored out of his mind, and he couldn't stand being bored, he found a game worthy of himself bringing Sherlock down, and man did he manage to screw things up." He told glancing up at the place where Sherlock stood. "He actually managed to turn Sherlock really stupid."
"How so?" Lestrade asked.
"One of the last things Sherlock said to me, over the phone." John started explaining. "He tried to convince me he was a froth, trying to explain away how he knew every-thing about me upon our first meeting by having re-searched me before we met, there's just one problem." John sighed sitting down on a door step.
"And that is?" Lestrade asked pulling up a cigarrete and stuffed it in his mouth.
"He didn't even know I existed before we met, now how would he be able to re-search me if he didn't even know I existed?" John asked as Lestrade offered him a cigarette. "No thanks, I'm a doctor, I learned why not to smoke." John pushed the cigarette away before going back to his prior speech "The way he described me is not the way a man who re-searches and re-remembers would, he actually explained exactly where all the information came from. And he even did a mistakes, he thought Harry was my brother and not sister, if he had found out by re-search, no way to make that particular mistake, easier to make the mistake of how I felt about her." John sighed deeply. "And then there's the tons and tons of other people, a dozen people a day, he knows every-thing about just by looking at them, things not even their nearest friends knows, now that would take a hell of a lot of re-search. Even he must have known I have far to many facts and proofs to know he can't be possible be a frot" he finished in a tired exhausted voice.
"True." Lestrade told lighting up his cigarette. "And even if he got all that personal information via re-search and not by looking at people, it would still make him the god damn best detective in history."
John turned around and looked up at Lestrade with an lifted eye-brow.
"Well fair is fair isn't it?" Lestrade asked blowing out a cloud of smoke. "He was the god damn best detective in history."
John nodded turning back. "True.. true." He absently mumbled.
"So?" Lestrade asked blowing out another smoke cloud. "Found any of the answers?" he asked.
"Not a single one." John told honestly. "And I know Sherlock would be ashamed." He muttered scratching his neck.
"Well, as he so fondly liked to say, we are all stupid." Lestrade sighed deeply. "John, you are a military man, hasn't it crossed your mind that maybe there just aren't any answers?" he asked. "When I was still a rookie I asked myself 'why' so many times out in the field. When uncovering the murders, finding criminals, dads who had taken the children, daughters whom deceived their folks, so much dirt out there, and so few things making sense. Well for us any-way, but that's just because we are stupid apparently."
"Hm." John nodded tiredly. "But suicide Greg?"
"You know how many suicides that happens each day in this city?" Greg then asked.
"Do I want to know?" John asked.
"No." Lestrade asked. "But for the sake of argument, roughly there happens one new suicide each day in this city alone, in the month of December it rises to roughly three a day, and that is in this city alone." he stated. "Few of those are ever explained." he told. "So it doesn't have to make sense. Usually these sort of people believe the world would be better off without them, they feel unlike and unwanted, truthfully, Sherlocks Emo fits well with a supposed suicider. A mental disease, formerly used drugs to escape reality, easily depressed, catatonic mood swings. Frankly had this happened last year I wouldn't be surprised at all."
"Why does it surprise you know then?" John asked.
"These sort of people often do it because they believe no one needs them, not really." Lestrade sighed. "But you some-how managed to become his friend."
"He is not the first of my friends to commit suicide though." John then confessed. "out in the field.. in Aughanistan." he started slowly. "Some-time it just got to much for some people, they couldn't take it any-longer." he sighed deeply. "The biggest danger sign was though, that the second the decision was taken, for them to kill themselves I mean.. all sorrows would be lifted from their shoulders, they would be relieved and look forward to it. Suddenly having all the energy and surplus in the world. Sherlock was not like that, in fact he was more burdened than ever. He didn't want to die." John then finished.
"Seems like Sherlock finally became human." Lestrade shook his head. "What a pity." he muttered. "I don't know if it counts for much, but I know he was not a froth John, and I am sorry to see that man go. I really am."
Sighing Watson shook his head raising up. "Well, better be going." He stated clearing his throat as he headed fro the door.
"John." Lestrade stopped him on the way out. "You know as well as I do, life mercilessly go on."
John stopped and then nodded in a sigh. "Yeas I know." He answered.
"Maybe this is your chance to finally have a real life going, you have to admit you couldn't when hanging around with Sherlock, find a nice lady and make it work this time John, I can't think of any-one who deserves it more." Lestrade told honestly.
"Thank you… I suppose." John hesitated and took a step more towards the door.
"And if you ever need any-thing John, a friend perhaps."
At that John turned his head around as he opened the door. "I'll just need to call you, got it." He answered. "Well, if I play my cards right at least I wont ever lack any-thing again, I have the telephon number of the most powerful man in britten, and he owes me boundless of favours, so really, you don't need to worry."
At that Lestrade frowned slightly. "Who's the most powerful man in Britten?" he asked genuinely confused. "You know the prime minister?"
Amused John shook his head. "Wouldn't you know it, Sherlocks elder brother."
"Sherlock have an elder brother?" Lestrade blinked astounded. "He never told."
"He never handed out any information unless it was directly linked to a case." Watson rolled his eyes. "Mycroft was the one keeping probing in through me, I'm afraid that I am head deep down into this business." He told going through the door. "All though." Watson halted looking back. "Finding a good woman sounds rather nice." He admitted. "I'll have to think about it."
"Please do." Lestrade returned throwing his cigarette on the ground and then stepped on it. "Life always go on John."
"Yeas." John sighed closing the door. "Yeas it does." He mumbled, hunched and with bowed head slowly walking away.
Three yeas after, yeas life had gone on, whether people wanted to a not. The myth of Sherlock had in some way ceased and in some-ways just grown completely out of propositions!
Thankfully, with Johns down to eat boring appearance and presence, he was usually left out of it, which he was only to thankful.
It hadn't taken long for him to find some-one, John hated to admit it, but if there was one thing he could not stand, and was very bad at, it was being alone. It was not that he craved attention or any-thing like that, he just could not withstand being alone, coming home to a silent empty flat where nothing had changed, being answered by nothing, having nothing to distract him, for other people that was peace but for him it was hell! No one but him really knew that about himself, but if they did people probably wouldn't have been as prudent to say. "Wow, that was quick." And then repeat it as John very quickly married the young woman.
His wife was absolutely lovely.
Pretty, calm, patient, intelligent but not in a show-off way, in fact she was rather modest, humble and quiet. Always understanding and patient, always there, very predictable in her daily routine. So unlike certain other people one might could mention.
Her name was Mary, beforehand Mary Morstan now Mary Watson. She was the picture of prettiness and loveliness, soft welcoming features, golden hair, blue eyes and pale skin, she worked as a florist and had her own little shop. It probably wasn't to far fetched that people kept on calling her "Little lamb."
She was just what Watson needed, or so his therapist, a calm person just to be there for him, to come home to. And man was Watson feeling rest less!
He shouldn't, his life now was perfect! His job stable, his wife nice and pure, their house lovely, their area peaceful, a bit to often Watson found himself wishing a bomb would just explode and do some-thing about all of this peacefulness. And he felt so ashamed of even thinking that as he groaned very early in the morning was standing in his own bedroom, facing the window will rubbing his face.
"Honey?" Marys groggy sounded from the bed and took John out of his stream of thoughts. "Trouble sleeping again honey?" she asked slightly concerned. "Please come back into bed." she invited by an open arm. "I'll warm you." she smiled just a little mischievously.
John tried to refrain from groaning by the thought of having to crawl back and spend another two hours laying there in silence. "Oh it's fine." John stated at ones. "You know, why don't I make you some coffee?" he asked suddenly as he got the idea. "And warm some bread! breakfast in bed!" he was almost halfway out the door as Mary's groaning voice responded.
"John, I am not the one needing relaxing, you are itching, do try and relax, then I'll make breakfast." she insisted. "Then you can be relaxed to spend the rest of the day with me instead of falling a sleep. You had a rather long day yesterday." Mary yawned as she stepped out of bed. "Actually you do seem to be over-worked, we should do some-thing about that." She stated.
"Like what?" John asked as Mary passed him and lightly kissed him on the cheek in a good morning greeting.
"Call the hospital, tell them you need a little fewer hours." Mary responded as she entered the kitchen and filled the kettle with water.
"Oh no don't do that!" John stated at ones. "I mean." He bit his lip. "No I'm fine." He sighed.
"Some-times it just doesn't seem like you are here at all." Mary sighed shovelling coffee beans in the coffee maker. "I mean, you are here of cause, you do so much for me, but your mind wanders so much off I wish you would just tell me what is going on in that funny head of yours."
"Oh, nothing much." John assured. "Nothing much at all." he stated tiptoeing in his pyjamas.
"John I love you, but I do wish you would open more up to me." Mary muttered a little sourly. "You are doing it again."
"doing what?" John asked.
"Trying to convince me that nothing is wrong." Mary told back just a little sourly which in her was rather surprising.
Ashamed John blushed as he looked down. "I'm sorry." He muttered.
"Oh John you are impossible." Mary amused shook her head going back to him through the door. "What am I supposed to do with you? I can't tell every-thing you have been up to by just looking at you, you will have to tell me, just ones in a while." she informed now standing right in front of him, looking up at him with those big blue deer eyes of hers.
John blinked. "Erh." He hesitated. "No I suppose not." He then admitted a little shameful. "I promise I'll try in the future, right now, can we just... have breakfast and enjoy what a nice day it is?" he asked sneaking an arm around his wifes waist, drawing her a little closer to him.
"Oh all right, if you really insist upon keep on squirming out of it like this." Mary smiled amused and tiptoed to give him a quick kiss on the lips, before returning to the kitchen. "We'll have a nice day of just relaxing." she stated.
John though could not rest, he hated to admit it, but he was rest-less. As he so often was.. Mary was right, he was over-worked, but not because the hospital over-worked him, in fact they tried to relieve him from hours, it was him who kept on taking on the hours, staying there trying to be distracted. Out of his own wishes he had started going on the ambulances, just so he could feel the rush of a quick emergency situation, running and working fast and in the moment, and when it was gone he was ashamed of himself for being obviously addicted to the rush, yet itching for the next emergencie to come.
He had been neglecting Mary, she was one of the kindest sweetest things on this earth, ready to be patient and standing by him, and yet even though there was no Sherlock to distract him, John was quite good at blowing his wife off.
He didn't in the beginning, in the beginning John had been genuinely interested and there for Mary, but their relationship, at least for him had grown... predictable. And his own neglect now it was getting worse and worse, for them just to sit like this was, well, an rarity. And yet John secretly wished for some kind of disaster to happen, some-one to come bring him some news. To shake some-thing up. ANYTHING!
"John, aren't you in bed yet." Mary asked amused as she stood in the door with a tea tray. "Up with you! I have a surprise for you!"
"Is that so?" John asked as he slightly lifted an eye-brow before at last crawling up in bed, looking perspectively at Mary.
"I got chocolate scones!" Mary enthusiastically presented. "Bet I managed to surprise you there, I got them yesterday from the baker and saved them for now."
"Oh erhm.." John cleared his throat forcing out a smile. "What a surprise." he smiled through his teeth's. "I sure didn't see that coming."
Mary merely laughed, quite wrongly having mistaken his forced mask for genuine surprise and crawled up to her husband, snuggling into his arms, while Johns mind silently prayed for some-thing to do some-thing about this little nightmare while the other part of him was yelling annoyed that it was wrong of him to feel like that at all.
AN; and well, my theory is that Watson will be really really angry with Sherlock the day he finds out Sherlock is actually alive, I didn't want to spend to much time focusing on it here, but honestly I both think and kind of hope that Watson will chase Sherlock down, perhaps in a extended angry chase scene through London, tackle the bastard and pin Sherlock to the ground demanding an explanation, and well.. swearing to kill him. "I'm gonna kill him" please oh please let him say it.
... What? Watson have bad days! And he seemed really happy about beating the shit out of Sherlock in "Scandal in Belgravia." .. in fact, he quite often looks like he would like to beat the shit out of Sherlock.
Don't you just love this sort of bromance? :D ahh, sweet love.
