Author's Note: Inspired (or perhaps irritated to the point of breaking) by those annoying trolls on the official BBC blog of John Watson. Hope you enjoy this bit of post-Reichenbach, pre-Empty Hearse (return) fic. Reviews are appreciated!
John was over Sherlock's death…more-or-less.
He could say the name without stuttering or tearing up, he could make it through at least a week with no nightmares, he had a stable job and was able to smile and laugh with friends. Really smile, not the plastered on fake grin he used for the longest time after Sherlock killed himself.
He was doing well, especially with the support of one Mary Morstan. John Watson was carrying on. But today was the anniversary-
No, that didn't sound right. Anniversary? That didn't sound like the right word for an event so tragic. The…recurrence? John didn't know, but it was the same day, one year later, that Sherlock had ended his own life and nearly destroyed John's.
But John was doing better now, he was going to visit the detective's grave. He had flowers, which Sherlock would've hated, but he wanted to honor the man. Sherlock deserved that much.
John was walking to the cemetery alone, Mary had offered to come but John wanted to do this on his own. To prove to himself that he could, that he was strong enough.
He was nearing the cemetery when a piece of paper was blown by the wind to rest against his ankles. Bending down to pick it up John was greeted with a sight he wished he could erase from his mind, it hurt worse than any blow, especially on this day.
Don't Believe the Lies!
Sherlock Holmes was a fraud!
Under the text was an image of John's best friend wearing the deerstalker he despised. Sherlock's face was marred by a terrible Photoshop job that appeared to be an attempt to make the detective look demonic. The eyes were red and the few fingers that appeared in the image looked to have blood on them, but whoever had done it had little to no experience on how to edit photographs.
Looking up, John could see the source of the hateful poster, it was a large group of people that had gathered in front of the graveyard, there was one individual standing above the group with a megaphone, shouting something John couldn't yet hear.
The doctor approached the scene, doing his best to ignore the searing pain that had suddenly appeared in his leg.
"Don't be deceived! On this very day a year ago the world was rid of a monster!" Shouted the person with the megaphone. The individual was wearing all black with a ski mask to cover the face. Bloody coward, won't even show his face John thought. They were others gathered around the speaker, dressed in the same manner they were handing out the fliers that John had seen. On each piece of paper the words condemning Sherlock Holmes were plastered in bright red.
"Anyone mislead by this man- this insult to the great city of London- is truly a fool! Don't be one of these idiots! Know the truth!" John's fist clenched around the bouquet of flowers and he felt tears sting at the corners of his eyes.
"Bastards." He muttered under his breath. John tried to take a deep breath but his body shuddered under the pain of being met with such a sight. He tried to walk forward, but his leg gave under him painfully, he was forced to grab hold of the fence that ran around the cemetery perimeter for support.
"C'mon folks, are you just going to carry on believing such lies? Sherlock Holmes was a murderer! He committed horrible crimes so he himself could solve them! He caused a perfectly sane and descent man, Richard Brook, to COMMIT SUICIDE! The world is better without him!"
It wasn't fair; Sherlock Holmes was the greatest man John had ever known. He had saved lives, stopped serial killers; he had practically brought John himself back from the dead. He had been John's greatest friend, he didn't deserve this. He deserved to be honored; they should've been holding a bloody parade in his honor, not this.
John couldn't do it. The mob blocked the entrance to the cemetery, John couldn't face them, he couldn't.
It hurt too much.
Just as John was about to turn away and go home he heard something.
"I BELIEVE IN SHERLOCK HOLMES!" Came a single voice, it rang out above the crowd and everyone fell silent.
John looked for the source of the voice and saw everyone gaping at a young boy, he was raggedy and dirty, as though he lived on the streets.
"I BELIEVE IN SHERLOCK HOLMES!" He shouted again. The air was heavy as the cry echoed across the buildings, then when it died out the silence was deafening. John could see as the boy's bravery faltered under the stares of so many people, he looked like he wanted to shrivel up and disappear.
"I BELIEVE IN SHELOCK HOLMES!" Someone else shouted. It was a woman, she looked vaguely familiar to John, perhaps she had been a client once upon a time.
"I BELIEVE IN SHERLOCK HOLMES!" Cried another. The person with the megaphone looked taken aback; he lifted the device to his lips, only to have it snatched out his hand by the boy.
"I BELIEVE IN SHERLOCK HOLMES!" He called through the megaphone. The masked person tried to grab it back, but the boy, who was barely half the man's size, punched him across the jaw. The man fell unconscious onto the ground and much of the crowd cheered as the boy stood on the platform the man had involuntarily vacated.
"I BELIEVE IN SHERLOCK HOLMES!" He called, and this time the shout was copied by the crowd.
"I BELIEVE IN SHERLOCK HOLMES!" More and more people joined in, the call ringing out into the city streets. John recognized many of them; some of the people even raised their fists into the air with each cry.
"I BELIEVE IN SHERLOCK HOLMES!"
"I BELIEVE IN SHERLOCK HOLMES!"
"I BELIEVE IN SHERLOCK HOLMES!"
John felt something brew inside him as strength returned to his leg; he stood firmly and began to walk forward. He felt confident and proud as he felt his lips mimic the cry.
"I BELIEVE IN SHERLOCK HOLMES!"
John's eyes began to water as he got closer, tears slid down his cheeks. Not because he was sad, but because he was filled with such joy and freedom and pride as he hadn't experienced in a long time.
"I BELIEVE IN SHERLOCK HOLMES!"
John wound his way through the crowd, catching glimpses of tear-stained faces such as his own from people in the crowd. Every person grinning broadly, John included, though his shoulders shook with sobs at the same time.
John made it across the grassy earth towards the black headstone of Sherlock Holmes, the group of cheering people unaware of his actions.
John came up to the gravestone, tears still dripping from his eyes, and as he laid the bright, colorful flowers in front of it the shouts behind him became faded in his mind.
Smiling and crying at the same time, John stood and gazed at the familiar name. The doctor didn't notice as the police cars rounded the corner and the masked Sherlock-haters sprinted away as fast as they could, dragging their leader with them. He didn't notice as the chanting only grew more raucous at the arrival of the cops. All John acknowledged was the warm feelings inside him and Sherlock's grave. And with one great big smile, John muttered five words.
"I believe in Sherlock Holmes."