Sherlock drabble
"You know what Sherlock!" John exclaimed. "You can be a huge prick sometimes."
John M. Watson was sitting in his favorite chair shouting at the chair opposite him in the living room of 221 B Baker street. The casual observer might think this looked odd as the chair being scolded appeared to have no occupant and while the doctor was aware of this fact he could not stay quiet any longer. He did however take solace in the fact that while what he was doing looked completely mad, he at least knew it looked mad, which meant he wasn't actually mad … right?
"You call me to leave your bloody note" John spat out the last word as though offended by its very existence. "And you don't even say anything, you just spout a bunch of nonsense about everything being a lie and then … jump off the god damn ROOF!" the last part had taken a lot of effort and Johns voice had cracked from the strain of it. "You could have at least said something that had meaning."
"John" he began doing his best impersonation of the famed detective.
"I need to tell you where I buried all the gold … bodies … golden bodies." John was trying so hard to reach the deep pitch of Sherlock's that he was beginning to sound like a poor portrayal of Brian Blessed (Fat Albert for my American readers!)
"Or better yet you could have mentioned WHY THE HELL YOU WERE GOING TO JUMP!" "Because anyone who has even met you knows you would never … never even think of…" He still couldn't bring himself to say it. Only a week had passed since the incident and today on the day of his funeral John still couldn't say it out loud.
"The best part is you know your being a right git and you probably think it's funny, hilarious even. You always did have a flare for the dramatic."
"I have a right mind to write you off. You know, you have done and said a lot of shitty things over the past year and a half but this defiantly tops it." John glared accusingly at the empty chair in front of him.
Remembering that he didn't have much time the ex-soldier finally looked at his phone to see that the ceremony would start soon. As Sherlock's best and only friend stood up and prepared to leave he took one last long look around the room. What few things he had, he had already moved to his sister's. Harry had been nice enough to let him stay there for now. Now that he was gone something was very wrong in this flat.
There had been such a wonderful feeling here once. Despite the bullet holes in the wall, the head in the fridge next to the milk, all the strange smelling chemicals suspended from a rack in test tubes in the kitchen. Despite it all it had felt like home. It might have even been because of all those things, John wasn't sure anymore. The doctor closed his eyes and breathing deeply tried to remember it.
He could almost hear the rain on the window and kettle screaming while Sherlock stared with rapped attention at a beaker filled with a yellowish liquid only to throw his chair backwards minutes later in victory.
"Look at it" Sherlock had cried at his confused flatmate.
"Look… at what?"
"The test tube of course, don't you see?" Sherlock brought the test tube to within an inch of his friends face.
"It's … fizzy?" John shrugged.
"Yes, yes it's fizzy. Well done John, you should really become a consulting detective yourself." Sherlock mocked while he withdrew the container.
Instead of replying John had just fixed Sherlock with a flat stare.
Sherlock seemed able to ignore this successfully for a few seconds until he finally spoke. "Oh very well, it was fizzy and technically that was the important bit, but it's why its fizzy that is the real clever part."
"And I should have known why it was fizzy?" John sighed settling himself into his favorite chair and picking up the paper.
"Well…" Sherlock began excitedly as he plunged into a rather longwinded explanation of his newest case and its rather obvious conclusion.
"You know what it was that made this place warm Sherlock?" John whispered to an empty room.
"It wasn't the furniture or the insulation" John smiled softly to himself.
"It was you."
With that John Watson closed the door to 221 B Baker street for what he was sure would be the last time.
A darkly clad figure emerged from the same flat, moments after John, wearing a mournful smile before disappearing once more into the shadows from which he came.
Author comments:
Not urban camouflage by the way XD, I figured he was just in his room eavesdropping.
So I have written almost all of the second chapter of "The Rescue" and to reward myself for minimal effort, I decided to take a break and get this off my chest. I realize this scene has been written a million times since the last episode but I have needs and I needed to just write this down and see how people felt about it. BTW I will be posting the second chapter of "The Rescue" soon, I promise. I just need to get to a better stopping point so the chapter won't end oddly. Thanks to everyone who took the time to read this.
P.S. comments are always welcome!