This is my first story I'm posting online and my first one written for the Sherlock fandom. Set Post-Reichenbach (but not too far. A month or two max). I'd love feedback of any kind, and I hope John isn't too out of character.
John was tired. No…he was exhausted. Not just his body, but his mind, his heart. He was just so…tired. He sat down on his bed, then turned and laid down on his pillow. He closed his eyes and waited for sleep to come.
But it evaded him like it had been doing since that day.
He sat back up and sighed. He really needed to just talk to someone, he realised. Someone that didn't expect him to be strong.
He stood up and headed downstairs to find his jacket that he had dropped to the ground earlier and – once it was located – pulled out his cell phone. He dialled a number that he had memorised many many months ago, then waited.
Ring
Ring
I'm sorry, this number has been disconnected or is not in service at this time. Please call back and try again later. beep
John pulled the phone away from his ear slowly, his eyes locked onto the yellow smiley-face on the wall but staring into a vast sea of nothing. A lump took place in the back of his throat, and swallowing did nothing to remove it. He lifted the silent phone up to his ear.
"H-hey Sherlock, it's me, John. I didn't realise you'd changed your number. Guess I should've asked Mycroft, shouldn't I? He always knows these things."
He stopped talking for a moment, and swallowed a couple of times until the lump diminished slightly. He felt the psychosomatic twinge in his leg and sat down in his armchair. However, looking at Sherlock's empty chair, he couldn't stop the waver in his voice as he began to speak again.
"Sherlock, things have gotten…so hard. Everything...everything's so wrong. People are either tiptoeing around me or accusing me of being in on the act. I've had so many hearings already, to work out if I was helping you con people. And…and the people I thought would be on our side...some of them aren't. Donovan and Anderson are convinced you're a fraud, but you're not their favourite person after all, always commenting on the affair that they thought was a secret but that everyone knew about, even before you started bringing it up. But Lestrade...he wants to believe in you, but there's so much evidence against you. And he's been getting a lot of crap from the director about allowing you in in the first place. Mrs Hudson still believes in you. You got rid of her husband for her. You never did get around to telling me that story. Your brother's been around, too, you know. He's...trying to help. He's covering your half of the bills and rent and I've got his number and permission to call him if I need anything at all. His words. And…and I don't know how to feel about that. I don't know if he did it because he wanted to help me, because he feels guilty about what he did to you...or if he did it because I'm the last link he has back to you, Sherlock."
John stopped as he covered his face with his hand as he blinked away the blurriness in his eyes.
"I know that soldiers are supposed to be strong, and fearless, and…and I'm not, Sherlock. I'm scared. I'm so scared. I'm scared of what they're going to do if they keep investigating you. I'm scared of what Moriarty was able to do to everyone around you. And…and I'm really scared of what is going to happen to me. If we figure this all out, if this all gets resolved, where do I go? What do I do? Am I…do they…do they just expect me to go back to being John Watson, former soldier, to just go back to the clinic and pretend that none of this happened? I just…I don't know if I can."
His shoulders were shaking now as his tone turned pleading.
"Sherlock, I can't do this. I need your help. This is all… overwhelming. The whole thing with your brother…and the courts…it's just too much. I'm so tired, Sherlock."
John let the phone drop to the side as his body shook with silent sobs. He hung up after a moment, just staring at the chair where his best friend would perch and shout at the television when they got something wrong.
o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o
o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o
One missed call, the screen on Sherlock's phone read. One new voicemail.