And Another Thing

by Aurora Borealia

This is the part of the elegy that will never be heard. This is the sound he will never make because he cannot find the words. These are the words he will never write down because he's afraid they will be read. But they are the words that really count, for they are the words inside his head. Angst. Pre-slash. Spoilers. One-shot.

Harry once said to me that it would take a miracle for me to admit I am gay. I told her everything about my life, but it was the things I didn't tell her that resonated the most because she knew them. Somehow she still knew them. I think it stemmed from the fact that she knew me so well. And she knew that I was too afraid to admit it…

Am I afraid? I've gone into combat. I've rushed into burning buildings. I have literally run through a hail of bullets - picture that will you! Picture John Watson literally running through a rain storm of brisk, grey shrapnel. I've done it all. I am a soldier. I'm not afraid…

Yes. Yes I am afraid.

I am afraid to say what I really feel.

And God, I'm still afraid. I am still so terrified that I cannot even walk. Harry told me it would take a miracle, but this is not a miracle: It's the worst thing that has ever happened in my life. This is not a miracle, this is just me being a bloody damn fool. Then why can I finally say it?

I can almost hear you agreeing with me, Sherlock. Telling me, "Yes, John. You are a bloody fool. But practically everyone is, so don't hang yourself up on it". I can see your little smile, the little smile you wear when deducing dead bodies, proving people wrong and looking at me.

Why is this happening to me? Am I really alone now? Yes. Yes, I am alone now.

Sherlock, I miss you. And I'm upset because I never had a chance to tell you what I've wanted to tell you so desperately. And I'm angry because I can't even say it now. I clear my throat. Time to try.

"Sherlock…"

It's such a shaky, broken word that's been snapped over my tongue, completely impossible to say. I've turned back after talking to you originally. I gave you a testament, I put flowers on your grave and I turned to leave. But I'm back now. Because I'll always be turning around to face you.

"Sherlock, my sister once told me something about miracles. She told me it would take one to get me…to get me to, well, admit something. I waited for one. I actually kind of prayed that it would never come. Because I'm terrified. Positively decimated. Savor that, because I'll never say it again. I miss you. I miss you already. I'm going to miss you for a long time. I'm going to miss that little cheeky smile and your gunshot wake-up calls and your annoying, utterly cryptic text messages. But, most of all, I'm going to miss the chance to tell you something very important."

How many times in this past hour have I wanted to add it? How many times have I wanted to turn around and say "And another thing, Sherlock, I love you. And another thing, Sherlock, I'm fine saying it now…"

"Sherlock, I love you…" I whispered to black granite.

There, Harry, I said it. There, Sherlock, I said it. Dear God, there, I said it. There…I'm no longer afraid of that. Now I'm just afraid of everything else.

Harry said it would take a miracle. It's a miracle I've just preformed. Now it's your turn, Sherlock.

I'm still waiting for mine.