Hi all! I've got a longer story all written, but it's still waiting to be looked over by my beta. In the mean time, I just wrote this and thought you might all be obliging enough to give me some feedback.
The idea came when I was watching the Granada adaptation of "The Final Problem," when Watson gets on the train and for a moment he thinks Holmes isn't coming. So I thought, what if he wasn't? I could have fleshed it out into something more elaborate, but I think I like it as is. I'd be overjoyed, as always, to know what you think.
ok, enough rambling, but lastly, I want to dedicate this one to the amazing KayMoon24 for all her support and encouragement. I hope this one doesn't disappoint, dear.
It was an agonizing decision for Sherlock, but at the same time, perhaps the easiest he had ever made. It was the indisputably logical choice, the only thing he could do, really. Even if it did make him numb in a way that made him finally understand what feeling really meant.
The plan was elaborate: a complicated series of trains and planes and boats crisscrossing the globe. It was more than even the largest and most thorough organization could possibly track. Decoys had been arranged, alternate contingency plans laid out. And the fake passports arranged by Mycroft had certainly helped. It had all been timed perfectly down to the minute, hotels and safe houses arranged, trusted help secured. It was a huge undertaking, but it was all to protect the one thing that mattered in the world. For that Sherlock would have jumped through any hoops, called in any favors, swallowed his pride and begged for help from any quarter.
It had been even more difficult to convince John to go along with the plan. John never backed down from a fight, and Sherlock knew he would see this as surrender. It had taken his full arsenal of logic and reason, backed up by promises and oaths and reassurances. Ultimately he had played the one card he knew John could not resist: Sherlock's safety. It was manipulative, but Sherlock knew John's protective instincts would outweigh his pride. And so he had finally agreed to go, with Sherlock following closely behind.
Sherlock could imagine John's face when he reached the final destination, a secret that no one knew, not even Mycroft, and found that Sherlock wasn't there, would never be coming. He would be furious, Sherlock was certain. Angry and frustrated and probably horribly offended. John hated being lied to, but more than anything he hated being protected.
But it wounded Sherlock just as deeply. He hated to break the first promise he had ever made to John. Lying had come so easily before, but now it mattered, and he knew without a doubt that John would never forgive him.
But even that thought comforted Sherlock because it meant John would have to be alive in order to hate him. Angry as hell, but living, breathing, existing. That was what mattered. Even if Sherlock could never see him again, just knowing that would have to be enough to keep him going. If not for himself, then for John, wherever he may be.
That was why John had to disappear. It was time to settle this once and for all. Moriarty had promised to burn his heart out, and so Sherlock had saved him the trouble by amputating it himself. One less liability, one less danger, one less beautiful thing that they would leave broken and damaged and defiled in their wake.
Once the air cleared, if he survived, there would be time to deal with John's anger. A lifetime, he hoped.
But now the last restraint was removed and it was time to declare war. He hoped Moriarty was ready, because he was coming for him.