Hi readers! Um, sorry for not uploading stories as often, I'm lacking inspiration to do them anymore, but I'm determined to keep writing. This is based off a thing I saw on tumblr. Sorry if the wording isn't british enough, I am American. Enjoy!
DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT own Sherlock BBC or any characters in the original book series and TV show.
What's going on?
John was on the ground, across the street from St. Bart's hospital, on the phone with Sherlock, looking up at him on top of the rooftop, on the ledge.
I'm a fake.
A fake? No, it couldn't be.
The newspapers were right all along. I want you to tell Lestrade, I want you to tell Mrs. Hudson and Molly. In fact, tell anyone who will listen to you. That I created Moriarty for my own purposes.
There was no way he faked this. No one could.
Okay, shut up, Sherlock. Shut up. The first time we met—the first time we met—you knew all about my sister, right?
No one could be that clever.
You could.
I researched you. Before we met I discovered everything that I could to impress you. It's a trick. It's just a magic trick.
No. Alright, stop it now.
No, don't move. Stay exactly where you are.
Why was he doing this? John stayed where he was, on the verge of tears.
This phone call...it's….it's my note. That's what people do, don't they? Leave a note.
Is he doing this? Is he really doing this?
Goodbye, John.
John watched in horror as Sherlock leaned forward and fell off the roof.
"Sherlock!" John screamed as his body fell to the pavement.
Just a magic trick.
John's vision wavered as he ran across the street. A cyclist ran into in the middle of the street, knocking him over.
Just a magic trick. Just a magic trick.
"That cyclist was perfectly timed…" John thought. "And Sherlock would never let anyone tell him he's a fake, and he certainly wouldn't say it himself…."
"Oh, you bastard."
John got up, making his way towards Sherlock's 'body'.
"Excuse me, he's my friend. That's my friend. I'm a doctor..." John said, still in shock, though he knew what was going on.
He leaned down next to Sherlock's ear once he got to him. "I know what you're doing, you utter cock." John whispered to him.
Sherlock barely smirked. Unable to speak, he tapped his finger (carefully so he didn't give himself away.) in morse code.
S E E Y O U S O O N
John nodded barely as Sherlock was taken away in an ambulance. John knelt there, still not knowing how to react. Though he knew Sherlock was alive, he'd still seen his best friend 'commit suicide'. Besides, no one else could know that Sherlock was alive, or that John knew he was alive.
(pause)
It had been 3 months since Sherlock's 'death'. Mycroft had come by, keeping a watchful eye on him. Mycroft knew Sherlock wasn't dead, and he knew that John knew. Mrs. Hudson didn't know, and spent her days either keeping John company, cleaning, or in her flat. John hadn't been doing much, just going to work, accepting sympathy calls, and waiting for Sherlock's return.
He didn't know when Sherlock would come back. It could be months, years, maybe even when John was 70. It was hard to tell with Sherlock.
He hadn't touched his blog since the fall. In fact, he hadn't even touched his computer. He obviously had no clients, as Sherlock wasn't here. No one seemed to care about John.
John was now sitting on the couch, absentmindedly staring at Sherlock's empty chair, thinking of all the adventures he and Sherlock had. A tear fell from John's eye."You better come back soon, Sherlock." John thought.
"Oh, John." said Mrs. Hudson, who came in to bring him tea. She saw John's tear and set his tea down, sitting next to him on the couch. "I miss him too."
John nodded, not speaking. They sat in silence for a while before Mrs. Hudson spoke again. "I think you should get a therapist."
John shook his head. "No, Mrs. Hudson. I'm okay, thank you."
"John, you just lost your best friend," John twitched. "See? You twitch everytime I mention him. You need help, John."
John sighed. "Fine. I'll research one. Thank you for the tea."
Mrs. Hudson smiled. "Oh, good!" She rubbed John's shoulder. "It'll help, believe me."
She started out the door.
As John sipped his tea, he looked at the laptop. All the blogs he's ever written flashed into his head. He set his tea down, got up, and walked to the laptop. He picked it up, opened it, and the first thing he saw was his blog, still there after 3 months. He exited out of the tab quickly, then going back to sit down in his chair with the computer. He started researching a therapist, now thinking maybe he did need one.
Sherlock may not be dead, but him not being here wasn't much better.
(pause)
It's been 6 months, no sign of Sherlock. The news reporters had found out that he was not a fake, and John gradually stopped seeing Sherlock in the papers as people went about their lives. John had gotten a therapist by Mrs. Hudson's request. He knew Sherlock wasn't dead, but still wasn't quite ready to accept life without him.
"How are you feeling?" his therapist, Issa, asked.
"Um, I don't know." John relied, crossing his legs. "Nothing, I guess."
"Is this a typical feeling of yours? Nothing?"
"Yes, actually."
Issa tapped her pen against her cheekbone, which made John think of Sherlock.
You being all mysterious with your cheekbones and turning your coat collar up so you look cool.
...I don't do that.
Yes you do.
John smiled at the memory.
"What are you smiling about?" Issa asked.
"What?"
"You smiled. You haven't smiled since we started our sessions."
John shifted his position. "Just...a memory of Sherlock."
"Did you feel anything other than...friendship towards Sherlock?"John looked at her surprised. "Uh, no. We were just good friends."
Truthfully, John did feel something towards Sherlock. But it wasn't something he was going to admit. It wasn't like Sherlock would feel the same way, whenever he did come back.
Issa looked at John. "If it's something you're ready to talk about...what was your favorite case you had with Sherlock?"
John flinched. The tremor in his left hand had came back, which John hid. Nothing interesting had been happening to him, naturally because Sherlock wasn't here, so his tremor came back. Mycroft was right-he did miss the action.
"No, I don't think I'm ready yet."
"Okay."
(pause)
John stood at Sherlock's tombstone. It's been a year. John came to his tombstone almost every day, sometimes with Mrs. Hudson, sometimes with Lestrade, but mostly alone.
"Saw my therapist today. It was bloody awful. It doesn't help." John says out loud, as if Sherlock could hear him."Did you tell Mycroft to look after me? He keeps turning his security cameras at me, as if I can't see them."
John sighs.
"I miss you. I have no idea what you're doing, but it better be worth it. As soon as you get back, you are telling me what you've been doing."
John places his hand on the shiny black stone. "Don't die while you're at it, okay?"
Then John turns, heading back home, to 221b.
(pause)
Year and a half. He had met Mary Morstan at work, and they became good friends. Not like Sherlock, but good friends. They were on break now, talking in the break room.
"Hey, so, I was wondering," Mary said, turning towards John.
"Hmm?"
"I was wondering if you'd like to go get a drink. You know, as a date."
John froze. He knew Mary had been attracted to him, but ever since he'd realized his feelings for Sherlock, he'd lost interest to be in any other relationship.
"Uh, sorry Mary," John said. "You're a good friend, but I think that's all there is."
Mary nods. "Worth a shot."
(pause)
It had been 2 years now. John had begun to lose hope that Sherlock was still alive. Maybe he had imagined the morse code, or he had died along the way. He was with Mary at 221b, who had become one of his closest friends, watching crap telly. (She still wasn't at Sherlock status, no one could except Sherlock.) When John heard the doorbell ring.
"I'll get it," John said to Mary, who just nodded with her eyes still on the screen.
John walked down the stairs and went to open the door. As he pulled the door open, Sherlock's perfectly chiseled face stood outside. John, stumbled back, surprised, relieved, a bit pissed, and so much more.
"Sorry," says Sherlock. "I must've lost my keys while I was gone."John, reacting on impulsed, punched Sherlock in the nose. Sherlock stumbled back surprised.
"That's for leaving me on edge for 2 years."
Then he hugged the consulting detective as hard as he possibly could, resisting the urge to kiss him. He let go. "That's for coming back."
"John?" Mary came down the stairs. She saw Sherlock, standing at the doorway.
"Sherlock? How…"
"I'll explain later," Sherlock said. "Is Mrs. Hudson here?"
"Sherlock?" Mrs. Hudson said on cue, dropping the tea she was going to bring Mary and John.
"Hello Mrs. Hudson," Sherlock smirked. "Miss me?"
The next day, Mary, John, Lestrade, and Mrs. Hudson all sat in 221b, waiting for Sherlock to explain himself.
"I was dismantling Moriarty's network. It took a long time, but he can't bother us anymore. It was a vast network, he had spots all over the world."
"How did you do it?" asked John. "Fake your death?"
"The criminal network Moriarty headed was vast. Its roots were everywhere like a cancer, so we came up with a plan. Mycroft fed Moriarty information about me. Moriarty in turn gave us hints – just hints – as to the extent of his web. We let him go because it was important to let him believe he had the upper hand. And then I sat back and watched Moriarty destroy my reputation bit by bit."
"I had to make him believe he'd beaten me, utterly defeated me, and then he'd show his hand. There were thirteen likely scenarios once we were up on that roof. Each of them were rigorously worked out and given a code name. It wasn't just my reputation that Moriarty needed to bury – I had to die. But the one thing I didn't anticipate was just how far Moriarty was prepared to go. I suppose that was obvious, given our first meeting at the swimming pool – his death wish. I knew I didn't have long. I contacted my brother; set the wheels in motion and then everyone got to work."
"It was vital that John stayed just where I put him. That way, his view was blocked by the ambulance station. I needed to hit the airbag – which I did. Speed was paramount. The airbag needed to be got out of the way just as John cleared the station. But we needed him to see a body. That's where Molly came in. Like figures on a weather clock, we went one way, John went the other. Then our well-timed cyclist put John briefly out of action, giving me time to switch places with the corpse on the pavement. The rest was just window dressing. And one final touch-a squash ball under the armpit. Apply enough pressure and it momentarily cuts off the pulse. Everything was anticipated; every eventuality allowed for. It worked perfectly."
"Molly was in on it too?" asks Lestrade.
"Yes. You remember the little girl who was abducted by Moriarty? You assumed she reacted like that because I was her kidnapper. But I deduced Moriarty must have found someone who looked very like me to plant suspicion, and that that man – whoever he was – had to be got out of the way as soon as his usefulness ended. That meant there was a corpse in a morgue somewhere that looked just like me. Molly found the body, faked the records, and I provided the other coat. I've got lots of coats."
"What about the sniper?" asks John.
"Mycroft's men intervened before he could take the shot. He was invited to reconsider."
Lestrade, John, Mrs. Hudson, and Mary take in all the information given to them for a second.
"You brilliant bastard." Lestrade exclaims.
Sherlock smirks. "Yes?"
John shook his head.
"John figured out that I wasn't actually dead, which was kind of apart of the plan."
Lestrade, Mrs. Hudson, and Mary turn to John. "You knew? How?"
"I didn't tell you because I assumed I wasn't supposed to know. I didn't fake being sad, by the way, he still wasn't here. I knew because the set up worked to perfectly- the cyclist, the fact that there was a perfect amount of people surrounding him so that I couldn't see him, the ambulance that came almost immediately, and other factors."
It's just a magic trick.
Sherlock nods. The group spent the rest of their time together talking and catching up. John introduced Mary.
"This is my other good friend, Mary. You two will probably get along well."
Sherlock shakes her hand. "Hello."
"Hi," Mary responds, still kind of astonished. She checks the time.
"Gotta go home, its late." She turns to John. "See you," she winks at him as she leaves his flat. John, confused, sees her out. Returning back upstairs, he sees that Lestrade was about to leave to. "Glad you're alive." he says to Sherlock.
He turns to John. "See you, Dr. Watson."
"Bye, Lestrade."
Mrs. Hudson retreated back to her flat after hugging Sherlock and John, so it was just them left in their flat.
As soon as Mrs. Hudson left, Sherlock went up to John and kissed him hard on the mouth. John stumbled, surprised. Sherlock broke away. "Sorry, I've been waiting to do that for 2 years, I couldn't resist."John looked at Sherlock.
"You...kissed me…"
"That did happen, yes."
"Do you...you know…"
"Like you? No, Watson." John was really confused now. "I'm in love with you."
It was now John's turn to kiss Sherlock. John broke away, blushing profusely. "I love you too, you git." Sherlock smiles. "So are we a thing now? Officially?"
"If that's what you want."
Sherlock kisses John again, this time on the forehead. "Of course."
John smiles. "Takeaway?"
"Sure. I just can't be seen. The papers don't know about me yet."
"That can be done."
Sherlock smiles at his new official boyfriend, and makes his way back to his room.
He was alone for 2 years, absolutely miserable. He missed John, and missed his city. Now he was back a better man because of John, and ready to be Sherlock Holmes again.
As for John, he had everything he ever wanted. He was back to being himself, the army doctor with a big heart, and a lot cleverer than he looked.
The Baker Street boys were back.
And that's that! I hope you liked this one-shot. I might do one in Sherlock's POV, but probably not for a while.