I finally gave in. Decided to make a little contribution to the Sherlock fandom to help gear me up for Nanowrimo. Here's a little drabble for you regarding post-Reichenbrach in which Sherlock pays John a visit. Not intended as Johnlock, but some people might interpret it differently. Enjoy~
I do not own Sherlock.
Nameless
It's silent tonight.
The paved streets are damp from a recent day's deluge. A lamplight on the corner of the sidewalk flickers every few seconds, trying to hold onto its last, precious breaths of electricity. After another shuddering minute, it hisses and burns out, giving up the remnants of its energy and plunging the surrounding area into darkness. There are no other light sources—all were extinguished some time ago.
It's quiet out, and it's the perfect cover as a shadow ghosts across the road amidst the nocturnal air, flitting soundlessly from one patch of darkness to the next. It is avoiding something—the moves are calculated and precise. High atop a brick wall seemingly unobtrusive sits a lone camera, filtering in information of the vacant street shown below. In the alley the shadow waits, silently counting to a certain figure before it is spinning down the sidewalk again, invisible to the camera which has just faced the opposite direction.
A few more breathless steps are taken before the shadow reaches a particular, wooden door. Its hinges are loud and decrepit from years of usage, but the shadow knows this, and with a few methodical adjustments the door swings open as still as death's wish. The shadow takes no second of reassuring glance to survey its surroundings as it enters—confidence. It has done this before, perhaps many a time, and each breath is almost as if it were rehearsed.
Night veils the perimeter of an ancient building as the door shuts softly, unnoticeable. There is a hall to the right, and straight ahead are a questionable set of rickety stairs. The shadow ascends. It places absent feet on patches of wood that will not give way to its presence. There is a sudden allusion to a ghost again, and for a brief moment the shadow drops its guard as a soft chuckle exhales past pale lips. All too soon the sound is swallowed up and the shadow is as silent as before, traversing another set of stairs as it bypasses a door—empty—that leads into another hauntingly familiar room.
When the top floor has been breached and the silence is as daunting as ever, the shadow edges inside another room across the hall, uncaring to whether the door shuts or not.
Cool gray eyes sweep the interior of the room. Spotless. It is the only word suitable for the accommodations. Not clean nor tended to, but spotless. It is almost shocking how remote the room is, and were it not for the lump bundled underneath a set of sparse blankets on the adjacent bed, the shadow would deign the room unoccupied. However, the shadow knows better, and it is why it glides over to the side of the bed, swift yet careful.
It is evident upon reaching the bed that the huddled figure is shaking, violent tremors rattling throughout a thin frame. The shadow clicks its tongue in annoyance. A nightmare. Those are nothing new, but it does not make them any less terrifying, and this shadow has a fair idea of what the disturbed one dreams of.
The hands that reach out and stroke the blanket are white in stark contrast to the enveloping black of the room. A cool palm rests comfortingly over a sweaty forehead, and pale lips descend to mark the spot with a tender kiss. Slowly, the shudders of the figure abate, and it is not until they fully subside that the shadow rises, unaware that it had been hugging the poor soul through the blankets. Slender fingers hesitantly retract from brushing the soft strands of hair, and tugging the covers over the shoulders of the sleeping individual, the shadow departs.
Down, down the stairs it descends, exiting out of the flat and into the chilly air as silent as it was earlier. It is cautious to avoid the cameras once again—the time to be discovered is not yet. But soon... Soon, the time will come.
For now, the shadow sticks to the darkness, mingling with the vacant night and stubbornly ignoring the yearning that has returned to its chest.
Before it disappears soundlessly away, it turns to face the building one last time. It is unable to resist the small smile that comes to his lips. No one is here to see him. His guard drops on its own accord, the blank slate of emotion threatening to burst.
And then, he is gone, a whirlwind of darkness that snaps in the air, much akin to a long overcoat.
Inside, nestled underneath the warmth of a blanket, a man dreams in the plume of darkness, a familiar set of gray eyes shining in his dream, and he smiles unbidden for the first time.