Update. So I've realized that somehow in the upload process, all of the italic sentences are missing spaces. I'm working on fixing it… :/
So this is a songfic, so at the part where the music starts you should play Lighter by Eminem ft. Bruno Mars.
Idon'tusuallylistentothismusic,butIhearditonmysistersIpodandthiswasthefirstthingthatcametomymind.
Enjoy!:)
Incomingmessage:
Unknownnumber
Pulse Nightclub. 9:00 sharp. Do not reply.
Received 4:37 PM
John Watson checks his phone every day after his shift at the clinic; He works full time now. After Sherlock's death it became difficult to spend too many hours at the flat. He hadn't let Mrs. Hudson move any of the rotting experiments, and continues to make enough tea for two, but it wasn't enough. He couldn't accept that his friend was dead. Sherlock couldn't die. He just couldn't. He's smarter than that.
He smiled at the message. Of course. There was no evidence that it wasSherlock, but he didn't need any. His flatmate was alive, and if tonight was the last night he got to see him that way, than it would be enough. John didn't hail a taxi today, he could walk; his limp had returned but today it wouldn't bother him. Not when he new that his best friend was safe. As he came up upon Baker Street he quickened his pace; the flat would be empty, but for the first time since Reichenbach, it would feel like home again.
The last seconds before Sherlock dragged Jim off the cliff were burned into John's memory. The affection and pain that flashed across Sherlock's face in those last few seconds would be held in John's heart forever; that that genius of a man held up so strong a barrier in front of every other person he'd ever met, but one second of realization, when he knew it would be the end, was all it took for him to pour his soul into John Watson with the last moments he had. Not a word was spoken, but there never really was a need for words between the boys of Baker Street. The bond between them was far too strong to break, even in death.
John strode in the front door with a new sort of zest that he hadn't possessed in 3 years, 4 months, and 11 days. John had counted. Of course he had.
"John, dear! Why you look quite happy today. Care for some tea?" Mrs. Hudson met him on the landing. She's been wonderful, tidying up that flat when John was just too hollow inside to care, and dumping out the extra tea he always made for Sherlock so John wouldn't find it and realize, for the hundredth time that day, that his closest friend was gone.
"No, thank you, though; I have paperwork to get done. I'm going out tonight...I think today is, good. Very good." He offered a genuine smile at his landlady and gave her a peck on the cheek. She smiled maternally at her tennant as he strode up the stairs; he didn't need to know that she knew Sherlock was alive. Of course she knew. They can all feel it, though some things remain better unspoken.
A few content hours passed and John made his way to his room to dig out some old clothes from his partying days in med school. He grunted discontentedly when he realized quite how long ago that was. The clothes still fit him just fine, they were just...outdated. As he moved to put his definitely-not-going-to-happen outfit back in his wardrobe, his hand brushed across a suit bag that he'd overlooked hundreds of times before. he'd always just assumed he'd had it, or that Mrs. Hudson had put it there to keep his only suit that he never wore away from the danger of the rest of the flat. Something made him stop, and he pulled it out and laid it on his bed.
John was siting in his armchair with a cup of tea, laughing heartily; he was wearing the perfectly tailored, quite fashionable outfit that he'd found in the suit bag. Leave it to Sherlock Holmes to plan a day that would happen in over 3 years' time. He grabbed at his phone to send a quirky text to his genius flatmate about his choice in color coordination, when he realized that he was supposed to be dead. This was a frequent occurrence with John. The memories of his friend are so strong that sometimes it's easy to forget that it's been years since they'd solved a case together, or bickered like married pair over a small carton of orange chicken.
Nerves hadn't hit him until he was standing awkwardly at the entrance of the nightclub. It was a good location, far too many college students strung out on god knows what. Probably the safest place in all of London for someone trying not to be seen.
Why had Sherlock come back? Why tonight? ...When will he be back for good? Will he ever?
Incoming Message:
Unknown Number
Largest bar on the side wall towards the back. 30 feet to the left, 20 feet towards the DJ. Wait there.
Received 9:03 PM
John took a deep breath and entered the club. The booming of the bass and usual treble of questionable popular music filled his ears and made it impossible to think properly. It took him a while to locate the spot that Sherlock requested, but eventually he was making his way through the flailing and scantily clad crowd towards the only extremely small space in the area that he could find. His flatmate was nowhere to be seen; a small flicker of doubt flashed in his mind. What if it'snot Sherlock?
In answer, two impossibly long and pale arms wrapped around John's chest from behind and held him like there would be no tomorrow. For all John knew there might not be... The song faded out and a new one began as Sherlock rested his chin on the top of his flatmates head.
"This one's for you and me,
living out our dreams
We're all right where we should be
Lift my arms out wide, I open my eyes
And now all I wanna see
Is a sky full of lighters"
Sherlock began to sway John slowly to the music, still holding on to him as if he was the only thing left in the universe. John took a breath, and it felt like the best oxygen he'd ever had. The moment ended when a fast rap took over and as John was about to turn to speak to his friend, the squeeze of a hand on his arm told him to listen.
"BythetimeyouhearthisIwillhavealreadyspiralledup
Iwouldneverdonothingtoletyoucowardsf**kmyworldup"
John could have laughed if he wasn't so close to tears. He knew that the answers to any questions he might have would be in the words of this song. He layed his head back against Sherlock's chest and gave in, letting the lyrics consume him.
"Till nobody else even f**king feels me, till' it kills me
I swear to god I'll be the f**king illest in this music
There is or there ever will be, disagree?
Feel free, but from now on I'm refusing to ever give up"
'I can't come home yet'
"TheonlythingI'llevergiveupisusing.Nomoreexcuses.
Excusemeifmyheadistoobigforthisbuilding"
'I'll be good for you, John'
"Brainfuzzy,causehe'sbuzzin',wokeupfromthatbuzz
Nowyouwonderwhyhedoesit,howhedoesit
Wasn'tcausehehadbuzzardscirclearoundhishead
Waitingforhimtodropdead,wasit?"
'This is for you'
"Orwasit,causethembitcheswrotehimoff
Littlehussyassfusses,causef**kit,guessitdoesn'tmatternow,doesit
Whatdifferenceitmake?"
'I won't let anyone ever hurt you, John."
"Whatittaketogetitthroughyourthickskulls
Asifthisaintsomebullsh*t
Peopledon'tusuallycomebackthisway
FromaplacethatwasdarkasIwasin
Justtogettothisplace"
'I had to do it like this, I didn't want to, but it was the only way'
"Nowletthesewordsbelikeaswitchbladetoahatersribcage
Andletitbeknownfromthisdayforward
Iwannajustsaythankscauseyourhateiswhatgavemethestrength
Soletembic'sraisecauseIcamewith5'9?butIfeellikeI'm6'8?"
'You're my heart, John.'
The soft music returned and John turned around to pull Sherlock's chest into his, their hearts beating in unison, two people becoming one. They held each other in the closest embrace possible, and cherished what little time they had left.
"You and I know what it's like to be kicked down
Forced to fight
But tonight we're alright
So hold up your lights
Let it shine"
At this Sherlock freed a hand to tilt up John's chin and look into his eyes. Anything that could ever be said passing through them in these soft moments. An entire lifetime of love and affection passed between them in their gazes, and they held each other close as the song faded out., each silently begging for it to never end.
"Causethisone'sforyouandme,
livingoutourdreams
We'reallrightwhereweshouldbe
LiftmyarmsoutwideIopenmyeyes
AndnowallIwannasee
Isaskyfulloflighters
Askyfulloflighters"
"Soon" Sherlock whispered, pressed his soft lips gently to his flatmates forehead, and disappeared into the crowd.