I'll be writing a lengthier Sherlock fanfiction. Should be published within the week, keep your eyes pealed :)! Thanks for reading and I'd love you forever for a review! xx
It was late.
And John didn't know how late. Nor did he care to be completely honest. Lately, the days melted into each other and the only salvation was the little amount of sleep he was able to receive, regardless of the hour.
John knew that he had been awake in bed for a while. His body ached with an unrelenting pain that aspirin would not sooth and his mind refused to stop racing. Sleep refused to relieve him tonight.
Lying down on his back, John had found a sort of odd comfort by limply hanging one arm off the side of his bed while the other lay across his eyes, stopping him from examining the worrisome cracks in the ceiling of his old-but-new flat. A cool breeze floated through the window and he shivered slightly in response.
He turned to lay on his right side and settled into the uncomfortable mattress. His right hand found a niche under the pillow and he pulled it closer to him, shutting his eyes tightly, pleading his mind to shut the fuck up already.
Under the pillow, his hand brushed up against something hard and square. Gripping it tightly, he realized it was his phone.
When did I put it there?
He pulled it out in front of him and pressed a button to check the time. Blinking in the sudden light from the bright screen, he saw that he had a new voicemail.
Carefully balancing the phone to his ear, he closed his eyes, hit play, and pulled the blanket closer to him.
"Hey John!" a woman's voice sounded clearly. "It's been a while since we've see you at the surgery! I know you've been on leave since the—" She caught herself. The feeling of pity was so strong; John could almost feel her eyes on him, sad and concerned. Her voice came back, speaking quickly as if to make up for lost time.
"Anyway, we're really short staffed right now. If you're interested in giving us a hand, don't hesitate to call back!"
Despite what had happened between them, Sarah had always been a kind woman. Maybe working with other people was a way to get out of this emotional state. He considered calling Sarah back in the morning when the phone sounded again.
"FIRST SKIPPED MESSAGE."
"AHH JOHN." the sound of his sister's voice startled him. He pulled the phone from his ear and looked at it in disbelief. What the hell?
"YOU A RIGHTFUL GIT, YOU KNOW THA', RIGHT? YOU 'AVEN'T CALLED ME IN DAAAAAYS. I KNOW YER THNIKIN' SULKIN' IS GOOD FER YA, BUT IT JUST AIN'T PROPAH. LIVE A LIT'LE"
The sound of the pub roared in the background. Harry was obviously drunk again, without a care in the world, unless you count her concern about her baby brother's lack of communication skills. "GIMMIE A CULL SOMETIME, EHY JOHNNY BOY? I CAN SHOW YA TRUE 'APPINESS!" the message clicked to an end and John left in silence.
The machine continued.
"NEXT SKIPPED MESSAGE."
John pressed speaker this time and lied on his back. He put the phone on his stomach and attempted to settle his mind, hoping it'd be a dull message from the bank to lull him to sleep.
"John!"
Sherlock's voice sounded so clear, it was almost as if he was in the room with him. Almost as if he was alive.
Startled, John reacted quickly, ready to jump out of bed at a moment's notice. He took a slow survey of the room as his memory kicked in. No, John. He's gone.
Disappointment welled in his eyes as he scolded himself for being so foolish. He turned speaker off and brought the phone to his ear again, tracing the uneven cracks in his ceiling as his eyes adjusted to the darkness.
"Stupid, stupid! I'd have solved this case hours ago if it wasn't for Anderson's royal cock up with the evidence. I would say it was usual, but it managed to reach new levels of stupidity I believed weren't possible before now. I need you to stop by Scotland Yard and coerce Molly into giving you the ring the woman was wearing. I believe it needs further inspection from someone more competent." John heard him sniff in displeasure because of the setback.
After that, there was nothing. John's heart was racing and his stomach dropped. It couldn't end there. He didn't want to hear the automated machine remind him of the dreadful truth. He can't be gone.
The phone crackled again and broke the silence.
"Oh and be a dear and pick up something for dinner. Mrs. Hudson is on her weekly 'not-your-housekeeper' strike. She loves tending to us; she'll admit it one day. Time is of the essence, John! I'll see you at the flat at promptly 20:00. And don't be worried if you smell something burning. Harmless experiment. Goodbye!"
John's hand had been gripping the phone so tightly, it hurt to let go. He hadn't even realized it but he had sat up again. He crossed his legs and held the phone delicately in both of his hands.
"END OF MESSAGES."
The buzzing silence that replaced Sherlock's voice was not welcome. The eerie note pierced his brain and rendered him completely helpless to the feeling of complete and utter solitude. John's heart ached more than he ever thought was possible. No medicine or drug on earth could help soothe the pain of missing him. He pressed a button and the phone responded.
"OPTIONS: PRESS ONE TO DELETE THIS MESSAGE. PRESS TWO TO SAVE IT IN THE ARCHIVES. PRESS STAR TO REPEAT THIS MESSAGE."
As quickly as he could, the broken man pressed star and moved the phone firmly to his ear, wanting to hear every word, every breath, and every subtle catch in his voice.
John settled on his side again and listened to Sherlock's message all the way through. It was all so familiar, down to the bloody experiment that nearly cost them the flat.
"Why did you have to go and die, Sherlock?" John whispered into the phone. Of course he didn't receive a reply, just a demand to convince Molly into giving him a stupid ring.
I'd do anything to get you back, he thought. Anything at all.
He closed his eyes, tears falling silently on the pillow. He pressed repeat until he was able to fall asleep the sound of his dead friend's voice one more time. As he drifted off to sleep, John swore he heard the sound of the violin playing softly just outside his door.
(lo escribi porque te extraño)