Okay, I decided I wanted to make a continue on my other story, Welcome to a ride on the Emotional Roller Coaster. Mostly because of flattering reviews and wishes, honestly. (Thank you very, very much, it really keeps me going!)
The reason why I make a new story, instead of just a sequel or some more chapters is that I'm pretty happy with the ending, even though I want them together. That's why, in justice to myself, I write this as another story.
If you pretend it's a book, this is book number 2!
This was the worst Sherlock Holmes had ever experienced. He was having trouble doing normal things, or, that is, normal things for him. He still deduced well, but his experiments went all wrong, and he didn't want to work. Mrs. Hudson told Lestrade in confidence that she'd caught him drinking whiskey a couple of times, and Sherlock never drank. Smoke yes. Cocaine, he'd tried twice. But he never drank. It didn't help him think at all, actually, the opposite. Which was just what he wanted at the moment.
On the other side of London, John was not doing any better. Every day he regretted going away, but couldn't bring himself to go back. He was also a little hurt that Sherlock hadn't come after him, but as he kept telling himself: He had said he didn't want him too. Never the less, he felt that Sherlock wouldn't even come to fight for him.
When Harry had given him her phone, she'd wanted him to stay in touch, but she was more than surprised when he stood outside his door with everything he owned. She surely hadn't expected that, but John didn't care. Though, now four weeks had gone by, and John was sick and tired of seeing Harry come home drunk every night. He wanted a place of his own. No, that wasn't right. He wanted to go back and live in 221 B Baker Street.
"Why hasn't he come back? Why? WHY?" Sherlock yelled, out to no one. As it was, Lestrade was coming up the stairs, hoping to get Sherlock to come out and help him with a case, and came in the door just as Sherlock shot five bullets in a row into the poor wall.
"CALM DOWN! Put that gun down now, Sherlock." Lestrade said, stern and a bit scared. Sherlock turned around, pointing the gun at Lestrade.
"Oh, for God´s sake!"
"Where is John? Why hasn't he come back? Why haven't I heard anything? For all I know, he can be dead!"
"Sherlock Holmes, put the gun down! I don't know, he didn't tell me he was leaving! And I'm pretty sure you, or I, would've heard it if he were dead." Lestrade said this quickly, eager to get Sherlock to point the gun elsewhere, or better yet, put it down.
Sherlock put the gun down, and threw himself in nearest chair. He curled up, facing the wall, sulking like he used to when he was born.
"Why are you here. I'm not interested in any case. All I want is John back."
Lestrade threw his hands up in the air, wondering why he was even trying. After John disappeared, Sherlock had been unreliable, unwilling to work, even more rude and inappropriate than usually and sulky beyond compare. He didn't want to talk to anyone, and spent his all his day in the flat, shooting at the wall or looking at his website.
"If you want him back so much, why don't you go look for him? You, of all people, would find him with once, I'm sure." Lestrade was so in despair over Sherlock, he just wanted him to find John, and shut up for a while. Still, he needed his help.
"If you help me on this case, I'll help you find John."
Sherlock almost looked insulted.
"What kind of help would you be? If I wanted to find John, I would've found him. But he wrote that he didn't want me to look for him." Sherlock looked away, and said something so quiet, Lestrade wasn't sure he'd actually said it.
"If I look for him, he won't ever come back."
Lestrade felt weird. He wanted to pat the poor wreck of a man on the back, and tell him it was all going to be okay, same time as he wanted to punch him really hard. He had the feeling that Sherlock often gave him, the feeling of being with a child, mature on some points and clueless on others. He stood there, awkwardly.
"When have you ever listened to something someone told you? If you want to get John back, go find him. Convince him to come back. I'm one hundred percent sure John is as miserable as you."
Sherlock snorted.
"Obviously not. Then he wouldn't have left. If you are done now, please leave."
Lestrade turned on his heel and went out of the room. There was only so much he had patient to take on one day.
John looked at his phone. He quickly touched the screen, and a note came up that said: Anonymous caller ID has been activated. He dialed the number, without finally touching the call-button. He really wanted to. He'd sat like this so many times, but this time, he couldn't help himself. He wanted to hear Sherlock´s voice.
"Yes. Who is this?" Sherlock answered after one ring. John thought he'd prepared himself to hear his baritone voice, but realized he'd been very wrong. He wanted to say something, but couldn't.
"Who is this? John? John is that you? It's you."
Silence. Sherlock obviously waited, and John wanted to hang up, but couldn't to that either. He was spellbound to that beautiful voice, which had a slight tone of despair and need in it.
"Why do you call me? What do you want? OH!" Sherlock made the noise he always did when he found something obvious out. John could see in his head just the way Sherlock looked right now, like he'd just had THE revelation.
"You want me to find you. You want me to find you!"
Happiness slowly filled the voice, and John smiled because he was the one making Sherlock this way, and he imagined just the familiar way Sherlock was when he got eager. In one way, he wanted to say no, that Sherlock shouldn't come and find him, but he couldn't. So he stayed quiet.
"I'm hanging up now, John. And then I will come and find you. Okay? I have to get to work this instant." Sherlock hung up. John felt happiness float through his body; he'd have to take the worrying later. Right now he just wanted to see Sherlock again, and was still high on his voice.
Sherlock jumped up, and half-danced around in the room. He didn't to it for long, though; he soon sat down and started thinking. Where could John have gone?
If he wanted to avoid Sherlock, - Sherlock flinched of pain by that thought, he wouldn't be somewhere near. John didn't want to leave totally either, and he imagined John would stay in London, especially since he'd at least planned on coming back.
John didn't have any friends, though, not that he knew. He probably wasn't with Sarah, she'd been avoiding him ever since she got engaged, Molly didn't have room and Lestrade, well, he'd just been here, hadn't he.
Who could John have gone to, then? He didn't have any money, that's why they'd become flat mates in the first place.
Sherlock´s many thoughts got interrupted my Mrs. Hudson, who'd thought Sherlock´s flat was very silent compared to what it usually was, and came to check on him. She brought tea, hoping to cheer him up a bit.
"Sherlock, what are you doing?" Mrs. Hudson asked, gently, because she didn't know what kind of mood he was in. He was just sitting in the sofa, with his hand forming a pyramid under his nose, and his elbows resting on his knees. Sherlock was clearly thinking hard on something, which was a nice change from sulking, drinking or shooting the wall.
"Thinking." Sherlock´s answer was short, but not very rude.
"Thanks for the tea, Mrs. Hudson, you can put it on the table."
This certainly surprised Mrs. Hudson, this sudden thankfulness and warm voice. He sounded happy, he really sounded happy.
"Did something good happen?" Mrs. Hudson asked, curious. She bit her lip instantly, Sherlock never liked it when people put their nose in his cases, but Sherlock just sent her a little smile, the first one since John left. Mrs. Hudson felt like a hundred punds just had been eased off her shoulders. Sherlock was starting to do better. He didn't answer though, so Mrs. Hudson put the tray down, and started to walk down the stairs.
"Oh, Sherlock? I'll be gone for a week; my sister and I are going for a cruise. Be a good boy and don't burn down my house, or shoot my wall in pieces."
Sherlock jumped up and almost ran down Mrs. Hudson.
"Say that again! Say that again!" He shook her, a bit rougher than he probably should.
"Ehm," Mrs. Hudson seemed really taken back.
"Be a good boy and,-"
"No, not that part!"
"I'm going to a cruise with my sister?"
"SISTER! Of course! Sister! He's with his sister! Thank you, Mrs. Hudson, thank you!" He kissed her cheek, twice, and then he was out the door without further explanation.
Mrs. Hudson stood back, looking after him, a bit worried. When Sherlock was in that mood, you could never know if he would go and do something stupid.
So that's the first! Hope I'm not disappointing someone who read my first fic. If that's so, be a sweetie and tell me. As you can see, you don't have to have read Welcome to a ride on the Emotional Roller Coaster, to understand the story. Reviews are always very welcome, and I try to answer everyone :)