It has been a while since I wrote anything really. Exams, while fun, are death to free time. This came to me months ago, I just got around to typing it up. Hope you enjoy.
Disclaimer: I do not own BBC's Sherlock in any way, shape or form.
The first time I met Sherlock Holmes he surprised me. The way he casually asked, "Afghanistan or Iraq?" in a tone that suggested he knew the rest of the story. I had a feeling we would get on. Then, when we looked around the flat and he seemed eager to please me, to have me stay and I knew we would be the best of friends, eventually.
He was a mystery, no... a huge jigsaw puzzle. The more I got to know him, the clearer the picture became. I saw his arrogance and his pride. It never was an issue. With him, it felt so natural, a part of who he was, of who we were. The work, the chaos… the love. Yes. There was love, it just took losing him for me to realise that.
After he fall I lived, well existed. At first my days were full of regret, wishing I had seen it coming, that he had let me in just a little further. But after a while, I made peace with his decisions and made some of my own. I stayed at 221b just to remind myself that it wasn't all a dream. Mycroft was paying the rent of course, a way of alleviating his own guilt. I had insisted on staying, because I'd hate for him to come back to an empty home. But it wasn't home, not yet, he wasn't there yet.
A part of me always felt that he'd return. A mind like that, able to calculate a thousand possibilities in a heartbeat, would always have a plan C. So I wasn't surprised when a year later I heard his quick steps up the stairs, pausing a moment before unlocking the door.
Surprised, no. Angry. Very. I hit him square across the jaw before pulling him close. I didn't cry, my tears had dried up months ago. He cried, said he was sorry, that he hated leaving me like that. That he'd missed me, that he hated being without his blogger.
I held him as he told his tale, the places he'd been, the things he'd had to do. He cried himself to sleep and I carried him to bed. It wasn't hard, he was still ridiculously thin. I laid him down and curled up with him, sleeping well for the first time since the fall, content in the knowledge that he was home and life would be good again.
Well, what did you think? Comments and queries are welcome. You don't have to review but it does make me smile. Love xx Wolfie xx