Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock. (Insert witty comment here.)
A tall glass of fine scotch every night. That was all The British Government allowed himself. One glass to drown his sorrows, to concentrate all his mourning into, before the sun rose with unstoppable predictability once more and he became the stoic, invisible face of the nation again.
It all changed in a moment, of course. Unwanted dietary advice from a deadman, a conflict resolved with words, long suffering sighs and sarcastic remarks; and the glass lay smashed on the floor, forgotten for a very, very long time as hopes were raised, grief abolished and fury flared.
The Fallen One had arisen - he always did love to be dramatic - and battle plans were to be made, transgressions forgiven, innocents protected, wounds licked clean. An invisible war to be fought by an avenging angel.
The invisible man and the unseen angel had come a terribly long way from being the two posh boys that don't know the price of milk - they could find out easily enough, any interested parties were always told, they just didn't care (unless a major economical crisis or a case with lots of baking were involved.)
The stoic, invisible face of a nation, the General of a hidden war, observed quietly, with pride and fear in his heart, as the fallen avenger - disgraced and determined - went into battle.
A/N: My first ever 221B! The word count on here is different than the one on my computer, don't know why.
As ever, any and all reviews and PM's are welcome, whether you liked it or not. Constructive criticism is very useful to me. I will endevour to respond to all of them.