Sherlock – I Believe in You
By Allyson
(A/N – Sherlock is owned by AC Doyle and the TV Series by Mark Gatiss & Steven Moffat)
It was your funeral yesterday. You have no idea how hard it was to write that. Admitting that you're de-. I can't write it. I know it's ridiculous. If you were here you'd roll your eyes and give me that look of yours that tells me I'm being an idiot. But you're not here, are you?
I can't even lie to myself on paper. Despite seeing your dea- broken body on the pavement, your lack of pulse, even though I can remember that awful silence-shattering moment when Molly announced you were – even standing at that gravestone with poor Mrs. Hudson; I can't shake the feeling that you are still alive somewhere. I know you don't believe in miracles, that you would turn up your nose (yes, you would) and proceed to prove me wrong with that amazing logic of yours, quoting odds and observations until you've dazzled me with your deductions again. But right now I need that miracle.
Dammit, Sherlock, I need you to walk through that door and prove that I'm right for once. That this is just one of your more cruel experiments. Stop it now. It's too hard to find that everything has changed so quickly. It's not fair.
I know that you were set up, that you never created Moriarty, that it was a lie. You may be the cleverest man I have ever met but I could always tell when you were lying to me. And I know you must have had a good reason for doing it. Even if I will hate it. I hope you weren't trying to protect me or I will hunt you down and make you wish you'd never thought of such a stupid notion. You are the most infuriating contradictory sociopath I have ever known – I wouldn't trade you for the world.
I refuse to believe I have lost my best friend. I will hang onto my shreds of hope that you are still alive because I believe in you, Sherlock Holmes.
Don't. Don't be . . . dead.
This isn't a goodbye letter because you'll be back. You'll come back home to 221b Baker Street so there's no need for me to say goodbye.
Sherlock's eyes were glued to the scrawled signature of John Watson at the bottom of the crumpled up piece of paper (torn from a journal, screwed up and thrown away in haste) as if it was his last lifeline.
"I thought you should have it." Mycroft's voice broke through Sherlock's preoccupied mind. Too many thoughts raced through the detective's head for him to concentrate properly. Unconsciously, Sherlock's face became its usual impassive mask so that his brother wouldn't see his distress. "Sherlock, is this wise? I fear-"
"Your concern has been noted, archived and deleted," Sherlock interrupted, briskly getting to his feet. Carefully folding up John's letter, he placed it protectively in his inside coat pocket. A warm glow seemed to spread from where the letter rested, making Sherlock feel unexplainably lighter. John still believed in him. "Goodbye, Mycroft."
With a swish of his long coat, Sherlock Holmes swept out of the room and into the night.
The End