A/N: This was written for Benedict Cumberbatch's birthday, but my parents found it and read it, thought it was porn [I don't even know how...], confiscated the first draft, and banned me from writing, and I was unable to publish this. However, I got the draft back and am now publishing this for Martin Freeman's birthday, as it serves the same purpose. :) It's shorter than my norm, but I'm still pretty happy with it.
Giftfics are coming soon, as I should be able to start typing them up again. After that, it's a simple matter to publish them. I'm really really sorry for the delay! Reviews, as always, are awesome, even if it's been several years and you're digging this from the heap of Johnlock fics that have been published. I always reply. Always.
I shall be updating ACOMI soon, for the HP fans and ACOMI followers. I'm working on the chapters on my phone, though, so it might take a while since my phone is crap and I can't get a clear, continuous idea of what's going on. But never fear, I'll do it!
Happy reading. :)
Never Again
You stand in front of me with that smug smirk gracing your face, fully expecting, I'm sure, for me to welcome you back with open arms. To forget that the last three lonely, painful years never happened. To forget that three years ago today, you tricked me into believing you were dead. Forget that I've spent three years feeling like my heart was ripped from my body.
But I can't. Not yet. Because those three years did happen, whether I wanted them to or not. I spent day after day after day working to fight the infamy that surrounded your name. I tried to beat off the lies that had been spread that you were a fake, even though you told me to inflame them.
Now I see you told the biggest lie of all.
How could you do that, I was worried sick, I thought you were gone, dead, vanished from my life, you caused me so much pain, why would you do that to me, why, why
I begin to yell at you, blaming you for all the pain and suffering I went through and interspersing my rant with swear words of varying intensity. Eventually, my fist come into play as well, repeatedly thumping your chest to emphasize what I'm saying, and finally, finally, that infuriating smirk falters. My rant devolves into a streaam of curse words, and tears spring unbidden to my eyes, and I think you, who understands next to nothing about emotions, begin to understand the magnitude of your actions.
Damn you, curse you, sod off, you horrid bloody wanker, tosser, git
I vandalized bathroom stalls, benches, bus stops, writing "I believe in Sherlock Holmes" and "Moriarty was real." For months, I fought alone to give you the honor you deserved. ANd it paid off. The people of London took up their own pens, and continued what I had started. Slowly but surely, we began to win the war.
You must have noticed that once more, people began to believe in you. You must have seen the writing, the billboards, the posters. You must have noticed that even the press began to question if you were truly a fake. And yet, you let me struggle. You let me believe that you were gone forever.
I became a common criminal, I vandalized bathrooms, I fought a war alone, and all for you, you ungrateful bastard
The tears spill over as my fists come to a halt, and I lean forward to lay my head on your chest, trapping my fists between us. I stop yelling at you and let my tears soak your chest, needing nothing more than to get those painful feelings off my chest. Tentatively, your arms come up and slowly wrap around me, as if you're unsure of yourself. And as I melt into your embrace, you tighten your grip, as if to hold me forever.
Eventually, my eyes run dry, and my own arms wrap around you, trying to convey the message of Never leave me again, don't cause me that pain, please because I don't think I could bear it, not a second time. We stand in silence for seconds, days, years, because it doesn't matter, nothing matters, other than the fact that you're back.
And that is when I realize that even after all of this, I can't remain angry at you. Even when you put me through so much pain that I wanted to die, I can't hold a grudge against you. You mean too much to me. I smile sadly, and I know you understand.
Welcome back
Because damn you, Sherlock Holmes, I need you.
FIN