Title: Like a River's Flow
Author: The Emcee
Pairing: Johnlock (what else?), and some Ben/Martin too (let's face it, some of us have shipped them even though they're straight as an arrow).
Rating: K
Summary: John and Sherlock have known each other for a long, long time.
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters, actors, or the fandom. Nor do I own the quote.
A/N: This popped into my head and I just had to write it. Tell me what you think! R&R. Enjoy!
Like a River's Flow
Time passes, people move…like a river's flow it never ends. A childish mind will turn to noble ambition… Young love will become deep affection…
Sheik
…
They had been friends, the closest of friends. Nothing could or would ever change that. As infuriating as Sherlock could be most of the time, if not all of the time, John had never wavered in his love for the man. Of course, it was merely brotherly love and nothing more. Admitting to being in love with another man would be asking for a death sentence and although John wasn't as brilliant as Sherlock, he wasn't an idiot. He knew when to keep his head down and his mouth shut.
So, they continued living together and solving cases together while John's brotherly love turned into something so much more. It was almost unbearable. Living with Sherlock had never been easy, but living with him while being in love with him was a different matter entirely. John honestly did not know how he managed to survive it, especially since Sherlock was incredibly intelligent and very observant. Perhaps Sherlock had found out. If he had, then he had never said anything for which John was grateful for.
He often found himself thinking about the man. It was hard not to, considering that they lived together. John thought about how brilliant he was which usually lead to thoughts about how frustrating he could be. But then, he would think about beautiful his eyes were and how handsome Sherlock was and then he would stop. Thoughts like those would get him killed. No one could find out and that was the end of it.
But after a while, Sherlock began to say and do things that made John believe that he knew and perhaps even reciprocated the feelings the good doctor harbored. Granted, it was only in little gestures and things he said, but it gave John a sense of hope and it made his heart beat like a jack rabbit. Even the slightest touch would cause John's world to spin upside down. It wasn't right, he knew that all too well, but he couldn't prevent himself from feeling that way. Sherlock was his best friend and he loved him deeply. That was John's biggest strength and weakness.
That was why he was more than happy to have met Mary. She wasn't Sherlock and she would never be able to compare to Sherlock. No one ever could or ever will, but Mary was smart, funny, beautiful and kind. John wished that he could love her as much as he said he did or as much or even more than he loved Sherlock, but it was futile. Thankfully, she never caught on; she never discovered just how sick of a man John really was. And John felt incredibly guilty about the fact that he could never be in love with her. Sherlock had captured his heart and he would forever hold it, whether or not he knew it or not, wanted it or not. As wonderful and incredible as Mary was in her own right, she wasn't Sherlock.
John considered himself lucky to have met Mary because it gave him someone else to occupy his time while Sherlock dabbled with Irene. Irene was, for all intents and purposes, a female version of Sherlock. She was beautiful, intelligent, determined, and head strong. Truly, she was magnificent and absolutely perfect for Sherlock, which caused John a great amount of pain merely thinking about it. However, as much alike as Sherlock and Irene were, the detective never bated an eyelash at her. He never once showed any interest in her that went beyond the intellectual realm. Although that gave John some hope, he knew that it was only because Sherlock's work took precedent over everything else. It was a double-edged sword. While Irene would never capture Sherlock's attention, neither would John, but that didn't stop his heart from beating faster or his mind wishing and craving for so much more than friendship whenever he thought about Sherlock.
However, John knew that there was only one option for him, for Sherlock, for them, and he took it. He moved out of 221 B Baker Street and married Mary, but he remained close to Sherlock. Not that Sherlock wanted him to; on the contrary, he was pretty upset and it was obvious. To be honest, John found it endearing that Sherlock would act out in jealousy. Seeing Sherlock pout, even though he'd never admit to doing so, and sulk made John believe that perhaps he wasn't the only one who felt an attraction that was impossible and deadly to feel.
They continued working on cases together with John documenting them. Years passed. Time moved on. John wished he could say that he moved along with it, but that would be a lie. He would never stop loving Sherlock, he knew that, and he would never want to stop. But he couldn't risk Sherlock's safety over the fantasy of one day being together and being able to love each other regardless of the repercussions. So he remained with Mary, being as happy as he could be, until her death.
Although he didn't love her, her passing affected him tremendously. He had spent many years with her, after all, and he regarded her as a close friend. John loved her, although he had not been in love with her, and he felt incredible sadness when she passed on. After Mary's death, John moved back in the Sherlock. When Sherlock retired, they both moved into a quaint, little farm in Sussex Downs where, much to John's great amusement, Sherlock spent a great deal of time as a beekeeper. It was amusing, watching the great detective observe and study bees and even write a book about them. Typical Sherlock.
They had only one case during Sherlock's retirement and after that there were no more. As much as Sherlock hated to admit it, his body had grown too old to function as it once had, something that angered him to no end. John, naturally, was in the same boat. He wasn't a young man anymore and it was hard work for him to keep up with Sherlock even when the man was well into old age. Both of their deaths were practically on their front door step and the only comfort John had was the fact that he wouldn't die alone.
John Watson was an old man when he died the first time and he left Sherlock Holmes, the greatest detective the world had ever known, alone with nothing but his bees.
...
Time changed. Technology flourished. Fashion trends came and went. Ideals and views broadened or narrowed and people changed along with them. Things were different from the 1800's. Very different. But one thing that didn't change and that would never change was the fact that John still loved Sherlock with his entire heart and soul. Nothing could ever possibly change that.
As the years went on, John, who went by many names and whose face often changed with every death and rebirth he experienced, had hoped to be reunited with his long lost friend and love. But alas, Sherlock remained far away and John feared that it was because of his unnatural love for the man that cursed them from finding each other again. Perhaps there was a God after all who could see into his mind and read all of the vile and filthy things he thought and dreamt of. Was it possible that he was being punished for loving Sherlock?
Such a thought filled John with a sorrow and dread that he had never experienced before. But as the years went on and as he continued to die, either before his time or not, and be reborn, his belief that he'd reunite with Sherlock began to fade. Even with each generation becoming more tolerant and accepting of homosexuals, John still believed that he was being punished. All he wanted was to see Sherlock again, to make sure he was safe and okay. That was all. Nothing more than that. His wish was denied every time.
By his final incarnation, John, who had actually been born Martin, had lost all hope in finding Sherlock. He believed whole heartedly that he'd never even get to see the man who had meant everything to him ever again. As much as he tried not to drown in the pain and sorrow that filled him, he couldn't help but drown. Even though John – Martin – had tried to keep himself from doing so, it was simply too much, too unbearable. By that time, he was an accomplished English actor, something that was so very different from being the simple, good doctor he had been when he first met Sherlock. John – Martin – loved doing what he did, he really did, because it was different from anything he had ever done before, but Sherlock was a constant presence in his mind and it affected him greatly.
And then he was given the role of Dr. John Watson for a new TV show, something which made him laugh and he enjoyed the irony of it all. It was about Sherlock and him, but mostly Sherlock, and it brought back old memories that had been buried deep within him. Memories of happiness and laughter stirred within him, and with that they brought memories of sadness and despair, none of which he'd trade for the world.
It was before filming even started on the first episode of the series that John met him again. After so many years, a century practically, John finally came face to face with the only person he could ever love: Sherlock. He wasn't called Sherlock anymore of course; that'd be ridiculous. Instead, his name was Benedict, something that made John smile for the simple fact that it suited Sherlock so perfectly.
God, he was as beautiful as John had remembered and then some. His high cheek bones and bright blue eyes made him positively breathtaking and John wanted so much to tell him so. But he didn't. Instead, as they locked eyes for the first time, part of him feared that Sherlock wouldn't even remember him, that he had moved on and forgotten all about ordinary, average Dr. John Watson. And then their eyes met and a familiarity flashed in Sherlock's eyes that John didn't miss even if he wanted to. A small, warm, and intimate smile slowly spread across Sherlock's – Benedict's – face and John – Martin – felt himself smile in return. Sherlock extended his hand and John took it immediately.
"Benedict," Sherlock spoke in the same low baritone that he had had before. John beamed up at him, feeling so very happy and relieved that Sherlock recognized him.
"Martin."
The familiarity in those bright blue eyes made John want to leap for joy. He was beyond happy that he had found his great love, his Sherlock, again. No matter what happened from here on out, he would never forget the way he felt right then and there. Everything was going to be all right again, John just knew it. They lived in a different time than the one they had lived in together previously and there was hope now. As John released Sherlock's hand and they began to talk, he made himself a promise.
No matter what, John was not going to let Sherlock slip through his fingers this time. He was no going to hide from his feelings and keep things hidden from the man who was his greatest friend and love anymore. Even if it killed him, John was going to tell Sherlock about his feelings and that, as long as the detective was happy, he'd be more than comfortable remaining friends if the man wasn't up for a romantic relationship. But something in Sherlock's – Benedict's – eyes told John that his feelings weren't entirely one sided and that they had more in common than a friendship that spanned back for over a century.
For now, however, they made small talk and became reacquainted once more. That was all John could really ask for. After all, Sherlock was alive and well and he was happy. Not only that, but they were together again, back in each other's lives again, and that was truly a wonderful thing.