Author's Note: I've been planning this for a while, ever since I started working on my fem Sherlock cosplay. Yes this is at the funeral, before John makes his heartbreakingly beautiful speech at Sherlock's grave. This one is a bit closer to the scene from Sherlock Holmes: A game of shadows. This is a one shot I came up with after listening to Regina Spector's The Call. I own nothing.
The Call
It started out as a feeling, which then grew into a hope, which then turned into a quiet thought, which then turned into a quiet word. And then that word grew louder and louder, till it was a battle cry. I'll come back when they call you, no need to say goodbye.
John sat in the front row of the church as he watched people take the podium and talk about Sherlock. There were more people here than he'd expected especially after Sherlock had been attacked in the media and they had discredited everything she ever did. But no one could ever convince him that she had ever been wrong. He recognized at least half of the faces here. Greg Lestrade sat two feet away from him. John had never seen him look so sad. He had tears running down his face as he watched one of several people speak about Sherlock as if they really knew her. Only Mycroft was honest.
"My sister and I have never gotten along. We were always fighting, always arguing. But we cared about each other. We may not have been the most conventional of siblings, we always identified more as enemies rather than friends but we cared about each other. She will be missed." It was quick and concise, much like Mycroft himself. He was a lot like Sherlock in that respect. Sentiment was not something he indulged in any more than she had. But there were tears glittering in his eyes, something John never expected to see. The rest of the funeral was a bit of a blur.
Just because everything's changing doesn't mean it's never been this way before. All you can do is try to know who your friends are as you head off to the war. Pick a star on the dark horizon and follow the light. You'll come back when it's over no need to say goodbye.
A few weeks later he came back to the grave, bearing flowers and a frown. Now he knew whose fault it was she was gone. Not just Moriarty, no someone had set him on her. He still lived at Baker Street but all of Sherlock's things were gone. One of Mycroft's men in suits had come by a few days after the funeral to collect all her things. They had cleaned the place from top to bottom. They even took her experiments from the kitchen. All the thumbs and fingers and heads were gone. He had managed to convince Mycroft to let him keep two things of hers. Her violin and Victor, her skull. He felt he owed it to Sherlock to make sure no harm came to her favorite tool for concentration. He didn't trust Mycroft at all and he soon discovered that he was well within his rights not to. He was visiting Mycroft the day after he had picked up Sherlock's things when he happened upon a file that made no sense. It claimed that Mycroft had had Moriarty in custody long before the fall. And that he had let him go.
"Ah hello John, how've you been?"
"What the hell is this Mycroft? You had Moriarty in custody and you let him go!" John threw down the file in front of him and glared as his face remained as placid as ever.
"Yes." John froze.
"What?"
"Yes, we had James Moriarty in custody, during what I believe you called The Hounds of Baskerville in your charming little blog. And yes I did order his release." John reached out and punched Mycroft hard in the face. He staggered back, his nose dripping blood.
"It's your fault! All of that happened because of you! She trusted you!" He swung at Mycroft again catching him on the cheek.
"Yes it did. But there is absolutely nothing that can be done about it now." John struck at him again punching him hard in the gut. He coughed hard and stumbled back as someone burst into the room and dragged him out as he yelled back at Mycroft.
"It's your fault she's dead! It's your fault!" Mycroft sat down in his chair and pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and dabbed at his nose. A small creek alerted him to the secret door being opened.
"You know it really is your fault. "
Now we're back to the beginning it's just a feeling and no one knows yet. But just because they can't feel it too doesn't mean that you have to forget. Let your memories grow stronger and stronger 'til they're before your eyes. You'll come back when they call you, no need to stay goodbye.
Sherlock watched as John knelt down and spoke to her grave. Her long dark wavy hair hung down around her face as she listened to him beg her not to be dead. She turned up her collar and walked away. She couldn't tell him she was alive. She needed to unweave Moriarty's web first. Or he would kill John. She would not let that happen.
You'll come back when they call you, no need to say goodbye.