CS: To celebrate the end of this semester I wrote this one shot that has been bugging me for days to write. Hope you enjoy!
Sherlock wondered what was taking John so long. By his calculation his flatmate should have awoken, seen the news of the explosion on the tele, and rushed over here over an hour ago. The gas leak was unexpected, but didn't have Sherlock complaining. It was a little thing to entertain his constant active mind. Sherlock wanted someone to entertain his brother who insisted he took his little case. Mycroft also seemed to wonder where the good doctor was as well. Most likely hoping to get John to persuaded him to take the case, thought Holmes.
The consulting detective plucked a string from his violin. Mycroft, the more reserved brother, was started to get restless. He kept looking at his watch and once in awhile Sherlock heard a low rumble coming from his stomach. Sherlock couldn't help a one second smirk from that. Maybe if John doesn't come in the next half hour, Sherlock would actually get up and take a muffin Mrs. Hudson was nice enough to get for them and torment his brother with it. He was hoping John would get the muffin and enjoy the humorous moment with him.
His attention picked up on footsteps moving up the stairway. Sherlock would have to have a word with John on answering his phone. The detective sent ninety-eight texts and three phone calls. John should know to keep his phone on at all times. What if Sherlock was in trouble, or worse, needed John to pick up some milk and tea.
The brothers would never admit that they were surprised to see Lestrade coming into the room. Just a bit. Mycroft noted, but did not point out, the sigh of displeasure that came out of the younger Holmes' mouth. Usually Sherlock would have shown a bit more interest in Lestrade, in hopes he would quench his mind of some entertainment. Lestrade looked around the room before resting his eyes on Sherlock. He looked quite distraught and a flash of an emotion Sherlock never saw Lestrade give him. Pity.
"Sherlock, I… The thing is." He gave a long sigh, "What I'm trying to say…. D-do you know where Mr. Watson is?"
Sherlock was a bit taken back from the question. Why was John's whereabouts of an concern to him? "Well, He most likely at his precious girlfriend's home. A woman named Sarah Sawyer."
"Alright." He seemed a bit more at eased but still stiff. "Have you seen him lately?"
"Not since last night." Sherlock said bored, "what does this have to do with John?"
Mycroft hoped Sherlock didn't notice his large swallow. The brother wondered if he should be pleased or not that his brother didn't understand what the inspector was beating around the bush about. Mycroft just hoped this officer of the law was as stupid as his brother says he is and just made a mistake. A horrible mistake.
"Well… Could you give me her number-" Sherlock already had his phone out and punched in her number.
Sherlock placed it on speaker and waited three rings until Sarah picked up. "Hello?"
"Morning. The good doctor is still there I presume."
"Um… what? Is this Holmes?"
"Is John there. Tell him he needs his phone on. What's the point in having a phone when he does not-"
"John's not here."
"Oh…. When did he leave?"
There was a short pause, "John was never here. The last time I saw him was yesterday before my shift ended… Why, is he missing?"
Mycroft analyzed his brother. Somehow Sherlock was not using his complete brain capacity. He only seen his brother do this once before and that was long ago. Was it because it involved John or was he having an off day? Mycroft almost laughed at such a thing.
"No." Was all Sherlock said before hanging up. "So what has John done to get you all worked up Lestrade?"
The inspector now had a hard time looking at him and began to gnaw slightly on his lower lip. Sherlock wondered what was going on in that man's mind. A smile almost surfaced at a though of a new case. John better come home soon, or he would miss out in all the fun.
"I think you should come with me, Sherlock." His voice was soft and slow, "I'll explain on the way."
The two brothers and the inspector were all in one car. Sherlock tried to get his brother to leave but he would not budge. He felt as if he was out of a loop that everyone else was in. Especially as he passed Anderson and Sally to get to the car, who gave him the weirdest expressions on their face. Anderson did the normal look of disgust, but it hid a sort of sadness that softened his glare. Sally was blank faced, just watched him as if she was unsure how to react to him.
"It wasn't a gas leak." The inspector finally spoke. "It was a bomb."
"Bomb?" Sherlock controlled himself from jumping around in the seat. "Do give more specifics."
"In a second, there is something that needs to be done first." Another sigh past his lips, "As we all know, it went off late last night across your flat. Everyone inside was killed. Five bystanders outside were hurt… and one killed."
"I see and how is this important?" Sherlock said, wanting to get to the more juicer bits.
Mycroft dug himself further into the seat and closed his eyes. The answer was so obvious, why couldn't his brother see it? Is his own subconscious blocking his brother from piecing it together?
"seventy-five percent of body was burned from the blast. Luckily part of the face is still a bit reconcilable. S-Sherlock we need you to identify the body." He said the last sentence rather quickly.
"Identify it? Why do you think I would be able to know who it once was?" Mycroft was close to hitting his head on the seat in front of him or just jumping out of the car.
"Because we believe it to be John Watson."
The ride was quiet. Mycroft wondered if he chose wisely to come along. Of course he would have still fallowed his brother but in his own car. He would have avoided this slap of reality Sherlock just got.
It took the two older gentlemen by surprise when Sherlock actually laughed.
"Really now, I thought you were much smarter than this." Sherlock shook his head, "John could not be this person. This carcass. He left with enough time to catch a cab and to be two streets away. He mostly got himself heavily intoxicated and went to a motel."
"I hope your right Holmes." Lestrade only said, "By God, hope your right."
They meet Molly standing over the observation table with one body bag. She tired smiling to smile, especially to Sherlock, but it only made her eyes water a bit. Even though she didn't know John that much and thought he was a bit of a distraction to the great Sherlock Holmes, she was a very emotional woman.
Lestrade gave her a nod and she opened the bag slowly. The side they saw was burned nicely to a crisp. A few bits of flesh hanged delicately on the body. It was unidentifiably at the least. Sherlock looked unimpressed and bored. Mycroft was the only one to notice the younger Holmes holding onto this expression as much as possible. He watched as his fingers clenched slightly. Molly tilted the head to face Sherlock, since he found no reason to move closer to the body, to show unburned skin.
He looked like he was sleeping. There was only a few cuts on his right side, but otherwise unharmed. There was even a patch of blonde hair still intact. Sherlock's stomach fell. He was expected by the others to get a closer look at the body, but instead kept to his spot a yard away.
Molly walked up to him, "Sherlock-"
"why don't you actually be useful and do your job."
"Sherlock!"
"Come on! Just because this thing-" He have his hand dismissively at the body, "Looks like him, doesn't give solid evidence it is! Where is the blood work? Finger prints? Hair sample? Is Scotland yard really slacking off? John would have such a laugh when he gets here!"
Before anyone could say another word, Sherlock left.
There was no smiley face left on the wall when Sherlock was done with it. That face deserved it, though Sherlock. It was just mocking him. Mrs. Hudson had a fit to find a chunk of the wall gone. Sherlock ignored the woman's cries, letting the nicotine patches to take effect.
For the past few hours he sort of lingered around the flat, calling Molly and Lestrade every twenty minutes to find what the blood results were and to find where John really was. He even used bribery to try and get them to work faster. He got Mycroft to lend a hand in the search. Bargaining to even have a lunch in with him and mummy at some time in the near future. Mycroft only did it to humor his brother and his pathetic struggle to cling onto this fantasy, this hope. He continued to send messages to John every five minutes. His mind was working faster than ever, but his body moved at such a slugging pace it took him three whole seconds to react to the cup falling to the floor. John's cup.
At eight, the results were out and the search ended. The body found on Baker street was indeed of ex-solder, doctor John H. Watson. Mrs. Hudson cried into her handkerchief as she served tea. Sally and Anderson cam along as Lestrade came to give the news. Sherlock acted as if he never heard him. In fact he acted like no one was even there. He laid on the couch, keeping his eyes on the arm chair across from him. It was missing its owner. The two officers were going to see Sherlock act inhuman and be his asshole self as consider the doctor another body to examine then through away. Seeing Sherlock act almost human frightened them. Sherlock stayed in this state even hours after they left. Mrs. Hudson left him tea and some biscuits, but they were left untouched and cold.
Mycroft got a call at two in the morning informing him Sherlock left his flat and even escaped his surveillance team. He quickly got dressed and got in his car. He knew where is brother was. Only to Mycroft was Sherlock Holmes predictable.
He got in the hospital with ease and went down three hallways until he got to his destination. He opened the door to find the room dimly lit. Three long autopsy tables were in a row, only two were cleared off. The middle one had the late John Watson. Mycroft was surprised to find him in new clean clothes. He saw a mop of black hair near the right face of John. Sherlock rested his head on his arms, lazily looking over his friend's face. He traced his finger over his friend's bruised cheek and up the cheek bone. His other hand was wrapped in the remaining fingers of John's hand.
No one spoke for a long time. It seemed like they were like this for an eternity. For once in Sherlock's life, his mind actually slowed down. It kept him in the present. Keeping only to the sight and touch going on. The feel of the soft patch of hair and the cold flesh. The sight of his roommate, almost unidentifiable, and his purple cracked lips. It made him feel dead inside.
"He was coming back," Sherlock spoke, licking his dry lips, "John was coming back to the flat, that's the only possibility."
Mycroft nodded.
"I upset him. That's why he left."
Mycroft sighed, "Sherlock you should know that's not your-"
"It is clear that if I did not tell him to 'stop inflicting his opinions on the world' he would have stayed home last night. There was no other reason why he would have left. He had no other reason beside 'get some air'."
"So you figured out that much," It would do nothing to argue with his brother, "what do you plan to do?"
Sherlock fixed his friend's shirt once more before standing up, "I'll do what I do best. I become a cold calculated sociopath and hunt down the bastard and dispose of him."
In fourteen hours and forty-eight minutes, Sherlock Holmes has gone through four out of the five stages of grief. Mycroft wondered if he would ever get to the fifth stage.
Acceptance was not one of the consulting detective's virtues.
CS: I really thought something like this was going to happen when I watched this episode. Basically more towards that Sherlock thought John was dead but infact Moriarty took him. When the explosion came I was like "Oh MY GOD! What happened to john?" but then when I found he was ok at Sarah's house i was like "... darn!". but luckly the ending was well worth than what I orignially thought. 8D. I may do a sort of sequal to this. If I have time.