Title: "Someone Like You"
Pairing: Sherlock/John
TV Show: BBC Sherlock
Word Count: ~650
Rating: PG
A/N: So, I might have been influenced by "Someone Like You" by Adele. And I might have been influenced by Reichenbach.
I do prompts on Tumblr from time to time, and this was something requested.
Enjoy!
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"Sherlock, he has been married for quite some time now. It'd be best—"
Sherlock stood outside of 221B Baker Street, looking up at the lights that glowed in the evening sun. In the window, he could see a woman, cleaning (judging by the movements of her going back and forth in the flat), but his partner was not there. It had been his and John's flat, nottheir flat, not with some basic woman to flaunt around the place. What was she to him, anyway? A love interest? Boring, she provided no excitement for John, especially since—
"Sh-Sherlock?"
A familiar voice. He turned his head to the man on the sidewalk, holding the groceries. Late night, possibly from work, shock, fear, relief? Sherlock could see the emotions thrown together through John's face, but which one was more visible?
"John," he whispered back. John stood near Sherlock—near being 10 or more feet—and he shook his head. Anger.
"So you're back, just like that?" Sherlock nodded.
"I had to fake my own death—"
"Had to, Sherlock? You just had to fake a death so you could, what, torment me three years later? Is that it?" Denial. Sherlock took a step toward John, but John hadn't moved a muscle.
"It was for your own good, John. I had to be prepared for Moriarty's henchmen coming after me, and to know that you'd be safe," he replied. John chuckled. Sherlock found it to be amazement.
"I don't believe it," John whispered, looking around to see if anyone else had noticed his return. Sherlock began to walk toward his partner. "You know, you could've told me you were okay. We could have fought them together, but instead, you had to go ahead—" a pair of arms wrapped around his body, had to calm him down. Sherlock could see the anxiety rising in John.
But John was not anxious. He was annoyed. John pushed him away as soon as he was held. Sherlock stumbled back a bit, not shocked at the outrage John had for him. "No, no, you can't do this, Sherlock. You can't just come back like this!"
"And why not? Because you have a wife now?" John shook his head.
"Don't bring her into this, she had nothing to do—"
"Trying to fill the void that you lost years ago?"
"Sherlock, don't do this." He muttered. As they stared at each other, both defiant to let down their argument, John shook his head. "Don't blame this on me." Sherlock was not placing blame—he was making a point. John walked around him, but turned around when he was near the door. "You know," Sherlock did not turn around. "I had gone to your grave, Sherlock, all those times. I had thought that I was loyal to you until the very end. At least I had not been living a lie."
"I was not living a lie, John, you know this."
"Goodbye, Sherlock." Sherlock heard the door slam. The silence of the street returned to his ears. His partner was inside the flat they once owned. When Sherlock finally found the time to look back at the window above, he could see a man and a woman holding each other, grieving. The flat that they once owned together, held each other in together, it was all in the past. Perhaps John forgot all about it, and now he was grieving for the memories he had lost, by the visit Sherlock made. He could not do it again. He would not. So he left shortly after.
He would never visit the flat again, never once seeing John again. All ties would be severed as Sherlock would take to the shadows of the streets, patiently waiting for another partner to have, loyal and brave like John once more.
"—if you did not see him again."
