"Redemption"
By Robin-Song95
Summary: As season 3 nears, my telling of what happened to John after Sherlock jumped. How he coped and survived until of course, the truth came out. Possible Johnlock.
AN: So I don't really know where this story will go guys. I've got a vague outline in my head of what's going to happen but the events in between are subject to my whims of the moment. Right then this will likely be the longest AN you'll ever get from me. So here we go:
Flames will be used with chocolate, graham crackers, and marshmallows for s'mores.
Disclaimer: I own nothing. And most certainly not Sherlock or anything affiliated with it.
Warnings: Violence, Possible Slash (Johnlock), Language, And sad John Watson.
**Also my stories are fanfiction, yes people fanfiction. I've read a lot of it on here on various fandoms and also seen the movies/tv shows and read the books for the different fandoms I may write for. That means my work, just like everybody else's is subject to influence by what I've read, seen, experienced, ect. However if this looks similar to an idea or story that someone else had, let me know and I will gladly give them credit. That goes for my stories as well, you wanna use an idea or something please do ask first. It's only polite.
Chapter 1: Aftermath
John wearily closed the apartment door behind him. The bleak room that greeted him, so similair to the accommodations he had lived in when he'd first returned to London, made him long momentarily for his former lodgings on Baker Street. Those days though were gone, buried under the cold black headstone along with his best friend.
It'd been a year now, well almost a year, next week was the anniversary. John hadn't lasted two weeks in the flat by himself. It had been after a desperate month of looking hopefully at every flash of a black coat or glimpse of dark curly hair, After slowly feeling like he was going insane, that he'd found the will, somehow, to move out of the flat. He'd made his apologies to the understanding Mrs. Hudson and taken his things, moving back across London to cheaper accommodations.
As far as he knew, Mycroft had kept up the rent on the flat, stating that if he ever needed it, he could go back. John honestly doubted that he would though
The change in scenery had helped a lot. He now worked in the E.R. of one of the smaller London hospitals. The shifts were long and the work challenging enough that most of the time, he could forget what he had lost.
A knock at the door he had been staring at for the past half hour, had him rising from his chair, hand moving on instinct to draw his gun, before he realized he didn't have it, and likely didn't need it. This wasn't one of Sherlock's, he winced the name still hurt to say, weird clients. It was probably just the crazy cat lady next door wanting some sugar.
He opened the door to a rather, unusual sight. A young man stood in his doorway, homeless, though John might not have noticed the signs that told him that just a few short years ago. After all, one cannot follow in the footsteps of Sherlock Holmes, let alone live with the man for over a year, without learning something. They stood there, staring at each other, neither willing to break the silence that had fallen.
Finally John shifted slightly and with an internal sigh, motioned the man inside.
"Do you need anything? Tea? Water? I'm afraid I don't have much elseā¦." John asked as he opened a cupboard, yup he was right: tea, bottled water, and a box of biscuits that the mice had made short work of. He looked back to see the man sitting in the desk chair that John himself had recently vacated, shaking his head.
"No thank you Mr. Watson I just got into a bit of a scrap on the way and you were closer than the 'ospital." The man said and John blinked slightly in surprise,
"Alright then, I don't have much here in the way of supplies but I'll do what I can." The man nodded and rolled up his sleeve to reveal a cut running from his wrist halfway to his elbow.
John quickly rummaged through his medical bag, that he had left by the door after his last shift, to find the supplies he would need. He set everything down next to the man and got to work.
~Time Skip~
As John finished winding the bandage he finally asked,
"So you know my name, and where I live. Judging by your inclination to come here, and your attire, I'm assuming you're one of Sherlock's network then?"
The man, who he still didn't have the name of, looked hesitant about answering,
"Aye, Mr. Watson, we've been keeping an eye out for you like he asked." He carefully replied. John growled slightly,
"Mycroft, His arrogance knows no bounds! I told him to leave me well enough alone! It's bad enough he bothered me before Sherlock," John paused for a moment in grief before continuing in a softer voice, "It's bad enough what he did before but he has no right to continue to interfere with my life now."
The man looked at John askance and decided not to correct the Doctor as to which Holmes brother he was referring to. He'd get enough trouble from the man just for being here. Though he knew he would be interrogated for answers pertaining to how the doctor was doing after the lecture and disapproving looks.
John packed up his supplies and walked the man to the door,
"I'm glad you stopped by-?" At John's significant look the man blinked and answered, "Skif, Sir." He supplied. John smiled and continued,
"I'm glad you stopped by Skif, this could have gotten nasty had you left it be. If something like this happens again," he hesitated slightly before finishing, but this he reasoned would be something he could do for, in honor of Sherlock, "Feel free to stop by, that goes for the rest of you too, you understand? He wouldn't want you all to not be taking care of yourselves." And deep down, he knew that was true. Sherlock had cared about the people that he let into the metal fortress that was his heart.
Skif grinned at him and left. John closed the door and started to prepare himself a cup of tea, feeling better than he had in a long time.
