The World Is Watching - Two Door Cinema Club
Everyone is here except for me
Who is on their own I wonder?
You could be the one to set me free
I want you with me
Through frosted glass as winter crept in, Sherlock watched Lestrade struggle with the corkscrew. Already, the bottle had been passed around two others and the cork stayed stubbornly in place. Sherlock knew that Lestrade would be able to open the wine because Lestrade was even more stubborn than the cork.
Inside a satisfying pop announced that Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade had succeeded where John Watson and Mike Stamford had not and glasses were generously filled, all except one, which remained empty on the table in a sort of salute to its absent owner.
Sherlock's breath misted the air as he exhaled a soft sigh. The light and warmth that exuded from the building was drawing him in but he had to resist. Inside, John accepted a toast from Mike Stamford and drew his fiancée closer. A shiver ran through Sherlock that had nothing to do with the cold and an ache settled that was entirely separate from hunger. John had done as he had wanted and moved on yet he hadn't been able to help but half hope that John would still be mourning because seeing the engagement party made Sherlock feel like he had finally been forgotten.
He couldn't stand loneliness.
A soft smile was exchanged between John and Mary Morstan and Sherlock could bare it no longer. Immediately a hand, soft and gentle, came to rest upon his shoulder and he turned into the offered embrace and comfort, clinging to the figure and to the human contact he had denied himself for so long. Shaking that was a mixture of cold and sorrow swept the detective's thin frame.
"Is that him?" The person to whom Sherlock had so desperately latched onto was glancing over his shoulder, gazing where he had been not a minute ago.
"Yes," Sherlock's voice was rough and unused, it shook with emotion. Another glance through the window was all that his comforter needed. Slowly, carefully Sherlock's companion drew him away from the merry gathering, both of them missing the beginning of a solemn speech.
"We couldn't stay."
"I know. I just had to see…"
"I understand." A hand on his back gently guided him towards their temporary lodging. Shivering as night closed in further Sherlock wrapped the shabby coat more firmly around him, thin clothes unable to protect him from the chill, leaning back into the touch for warmth and strength. He was well aware that they had a rough night ahead of them.
But after tonight, if they were successful, three years' worth of struggle and hardship, living in the shadows and fighting to survive would finally be finished.
John's flat was spacious enough for a gathering this size, the night was closing in and everyone had arrived. The obligatory speeches and embarrassing anecdotes were out of the way. Although they were there to celebrate the occupants of the room were becoming increasingly aware of the empty wine glass that graced the table. A clink of glass on glass drew everyone's attention to the newly engaged Watson. This was what they had been waiting for.
"I'd like to make a toast." John declared and the silence around the room became that bit quieter and respectful. A deep breath and a moment later John began to speak.
"I'd like to make a toast to Sherlock Holmes," gazes flitted to the empty glass, "who, sadly, is no longer with us. I know he'd probably be insulting everyone here and refusing to drink the wine, or make a toast but without him I wouldn't be here. Sherlock…" a pause, a swallow,
"Sherlock was my closest friend and accepted me unconditionally, he saw my flaws and he saw my strengths. Sherlock made me whole again and for that, I can never thank him enough. It is my solemnest wish that he be remembered tonight not as the media would like him to be, but as a friend to each of us in his own way and as the catalyst that led us all to realise the greatness within ourselves, even when he couldn't see the same in himself.
"To Sherlock Holmes, the most human man I ever met and the best friend I have ever known."
"To Sherlock Holmes," the gathering toasted, glasses raised. A long moments silence fell as everyone reflected on John's words before a gentle conservational hum started up again. In the corner, Mrs Hudson was carefully drying her eyes. No one commented on Mycroft's sudden need for fresh air.
"That was beautiful John." Lestrade came to stand by him, surveying the room. John smiled weakly.
"He would have hated it, you know that Greg."
"Absolutely," Lestrade agreed. Comfortable silence settled.
"Will you be my best man?" Lestrade turned in surprised, Sherlock's absence suddenly all the more painful. Sherlock would have been the best man.
"Of course, I'd be honoured."
The party continued into the night as frost gathered on the lawn.
An anonymous call led Scotland Yard to arrest Colonel Moran for blackmail and murder. A bullet was embedded in the wall, a spray of red surrounding it. The victim was nowhere to be seen.
Author's Note: The title is taken from Robert Frost's beautiful poem. The lines, Two roads diverged in a yellow road / And sorry I could not travel both, made me think of the diverging lives of Sherlock and John following the fall which in a roundabout sort of way led me to this. People change, and three years apart would not be forgotten easily, so I wanted to explore the effects the reunion would have on them both because their lives have changed so much in each others absence.
The Great Gatsby jumps out at me 'So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past.'
Because no matter how hard you try, you can never regain the past.