I haven't posted anything in forever, so let's have a not-quite-thought-out multi-chap, hey? I don't really like it, but I felt the need to post SOMETHING. I have one more chapter written, but I'll only upload if people like this one. Enjoy!
"Just do one more thing, Sherlock. One more miracle, for me." John Watson looked down and took a breath, steeling himself. He needed to say this. "Don't be- dead." It took all his willpower now not to break down. "Could you do that for me? Just stop. Stop this." John opened his mouth to continue, but suddenly spun on his heel and walked away from the grave, his stride punctuated by the fall of his cane. Gritting his teeth, John told himself he wouldn't look back. He never saw the figure lurking in the shadows of the woods, not twenty meters from his best friend's grave. John Hamish Watson never saw- Sherlock Holmes.
"No! No no no, that CAN'T be how it ends!"
In her favorite bean bag, the floor littered with tissues, Ali sat frozen as the credits rolled on the screen. The theme music, which normally left her practically spewing excitement and happiness, now just seemed to mock her. Tears slid down her cheeks, but Ali was too shellshocked to register the fact, much less move to wipe them off.
As the final chord of BBC's Sherlock resonated through the basement and the TV screen cut to black, she finally noticed her tears and scrubbed them off, embarrassed. Damn, she REALLY needed to stop empathizing so much with fictional characters. Once the tears were out of her eyes and she replaced her glasses, the glowing digital clock on the cable box caught her eye.
It read 12:38 am. "Shit!" she cursed quietly, realizing she was no only still fully clothed, but that she had neglected her interdisciplinary project- again. Still mumbling curses under her breath, most directed towards the characters of Sherlock as well as the directors and producers for completely betraying her emotions, Ali crept up the two flights of stairs to her bedroom, thanking every deity she could name that both of her parents were sound asleep. She could only imagine the hell they would wreak if they found out she had stayed up this late.
Quickly, Ali woke up her laptop to see how far she had gotten before Sherlock and John's adventures had distracted her. She groaned- her sentence outline wasn't even half-finished. Ali sat on her bed and pulled the laptop onto her crossed legs. This needed to be done by tomorrow. Or rather, later today. She groaned again. Damn Sherlock, she thought. and damn John. Damn Jim and damn Lestrade and damn BBC. Damn it all!
Admittedly, damning her favorite TV show and its producers did not help in the least with her project, but it made Ali feel slightly better. As she stared at the blinking cursor, her mind drifted back to the episode she had just finished. How the hell did he do it? she wondered. Scenes replayed through her mind's eye: the kids eating the mercury-poisoned candy, Jim's Sir Boast-A-Lot's story, the handcuffed-slash-handhold run (Ali's inner fangirl squealed at that- she was an unabashed Johnlock shipper, after all), Sherlock telling Molly that she did matter, and, inevitably, the Fall. The image of Sherlock falling, falling to the ground seemed to be stuck on replay behind her eyes. She shook her head, trying to concentrate on the project in front of her.
Within minutes, Ali found that there was no way that she could finish the project in-she checked the clock on her laptop- five hours. Sighing, she decided that she could just pretend to be sick tomorrow. She hadn't used that excuse in a while, and she did have the beginning of a headache throbbing in her left temple. Yeah, she thought, I'll just play sick. With that, she shut down her laptop, climbed under her covers, and proceeded to ponder every aspect of The Reichenbach Fall. For a ridiculous number of times today, Ali sighed, resigned to her inevitable dreams of Sherlock.