Authors Note: Ok, here we have the last in the 'Behind' stories...unless I write them for the first three episodes too; let me know what you think and I will act accordingly.
As always; I claim no ownership, just love for Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Steven Moffat & Mark Gratiss. Bunch of wonderful men that they are.
~ Behind The Fall ~
There was a swirl of panic and torment in the pit of John's stomach as the judge addressed the jury after the chosen selection had decided that Moriarty's fate be prison – free. He knew what this meant; where Moriarty would target next, and there was seemingly nothing he could do but phone Sherlock.
Before the judge had landed the hammer, John was walking briskly out of the exit and heading straight for Baker Street;
"Not guilty" John puffed angrily into the receiver of his old mobile phone.
"What?" Sherlock's voice crackled in his ear.
"The verdict was not guilty, Sherlock, you know he's coming after you, don't you?" John panicked as he waited for a response that obviously was not forthcoming.
"Sherlock?" John asked but received a blank dial tone for his troubles. With a harsh swear John broke into a run, he ran as fast as he could whilst attempting to hail a taxi or two, within ten minutes he had arrived at 221B.
Running up the staircase, the ex military Doctor banged open the living room door and panted wildly as he looked around the room.
Sherlock was making tea, calmly and collectively. He had the best bone china laid out; John had always wondered what he was waiting for to use them. He watched the tall man pour the boiling water into the teapot without looking up at the sudden intrusion.
"John, kindly go into my bedroom." Sherlock muttered quietly.
"What do you need?" John asked with wide eyes.
"Stay in there, and be quiet" Sherlock said with clenched teeth as his dangerously bright eyes fixed him with a stare.
John nodded curtly, acknowledging that this was not the time for questions, he obediently walked town the hall and into Sherlock's empty bedroom.
The room itself was plain without much decoration. John marvelled at the framed periodic table and the respectably made double bed before briefly wondering why there were no photographs, ornaments or seemingly; belongings, the room was emotionless – just like its owner. The Doctor shrugged off his coat quietly and set his phone to 'silent' as he sat gingerly on the bed sheets, his hands clasped together tightly on his knees.
He listened intently to Sherlock's violin playing, noticing the broken melody as a creak on the steps below cracked the air, Sherlock resumed the solo until the familiar squeak of the living room door was heard. For a moment he silently smiled in thought; not even the infamous Moriarty could defeat that creaky door; John had tried so many times in vain to do so, but it had always woken the inhabiting genius from his Mind Palace trances or his mid afternoon 'bored' naps.
Muffled talking broke John's reverie and he stealthily moved toward the closed door, leaning gently upon it, he listened keenly to the conversation between the two masterminds.
What did Moriarty mean; 'the fall'? What did he mean about 'I owe you'? John's mind was reeling out of control as he listened to the criminal bounce down the stairs and out onto the street. John decided to stay where he was and wait for Sherlock to come and get him; he slipped off his smart shoes and lay down on top of the sheets, settling his head causally into the duck feather filled pillows. As he did this, the Doctor was surprised at how the mixed waft of rapeseed, mint and disinfectant made him feel. The smell was unmistakably Sherlock, and it made him feel safe and warm, happy even. Despite the events of the morning; John could easily drift off into a calm wonderland of sleep in this current state of peace.
Without further intermission, the door opened and Sherlock popped around it.
"What are you doing?" Sherlock asked with his eyebrows furrowed.
"Lying down" John answered lazily, closing his eyes.
"On my bed" Sherlock finished for him.
"It's much more comfortable than mine" John said with a faint smile, all thoughts of the dangerous Moriarty out of his relaxed brain.
"John, have you been drugged?" Sherlock asked as he approached the bed, he bent over his friend to feel his temperature and pulse. John opened his dark eyes to survey his concerned flatmate; he caught the steel grey eyes examining him and couldn't deny the excitement he felt at their close proximity, his body hummed at the touch of Sherlock's cold hands to his forehead and wrist.
"Come talk to me" John said as he patted the mattress beside him.
"We are talking" Sherlock said, evidently confused.
"Talk to me about him" John said bitterly as he made a move to sit up.
Sherlock sighed heavily and sat on the edge of the mattress closest to him, his back nudging John's side. John's breathing hitched for a millisecond before he relaxed and raised a hand to Sherlock's upper arm;
"What did he mean about the fall?" John asked, suddenly the feeling of panic returned.
"Well, I'm not entirely sure but I think he means my death." Sherlock mused as though talking about the weather.
John bolted upright, his hand clamped tightly around Sherlock's arm "W-what?" he stammered.
"Obviously the 'final problem' is who will continue. He wants to beat me." Sherlock said dully.
"We can put you into hiding, send you to America." John blurted quickly.
Sherlock snorted before letting out a hearty laugh. "Rest assured, John, I will not be heading abroad." Sherlock got to his feet whilst he spoke and headed for the door, resting his hand on the door handle he paused to look back at John.
John looked up at him with the utmost concern. "Why?" he asked with a slight tilt of his head.
"Because I will win" Sherlock said before leaving the room and allowing the door to close quietly behind him.
000
Throughout the case of the missing Hansel and Gretel; the blogger and detective did not get much chance to talk. John was anxious to aid Sherlock as much as he could, examining photographs and evidence, avoiding stopping for food and sleep and generally being at the taller mans every beck and call.
John stared at the photographs, no longer seeing the items within. He was suffering somewhat from sleep deprivation and hunger when his ears tuned into the conversation between Molly and Sherlock in the far corner of the lab at St. Barts.
"You look sad, when you think he can't see you." Molly whispered. The words blew John's brain to pieces; he stood stock still, his frame bent over the lab desk with magnifying glass poised to view the glossy photographs.
What did this mean? More worryingly so, why was Sherlock not telling her to shut up or go away?
John decided to pretend he hadn't heard, shuffling around the desk for more evidence as Molly left the room.
When the young girl screamed, John found it hard to look away from the consulting detective, his firm stare out of the window confirming that he did not want to interact as his great mind was at work. John held the fort, talking with Lestrade and Donavon.
"Is that what he meant then? The fall?" John questioned as he ran to catch up with the tall brunette as they left the police station.
"This cab is mine, you get the next." Sherlock muttered as he elegantly climbed into the black taxi.
"Why?" John asked tiredly.
"People might talk" Sherlock said without a hint of amusement.
"They do….little else" John mumbled as he watched the black cab drive off into the darkness. He did as he was told however, and hailed down the next available taxi.
When the Doctor saw the shooting, his blood ran cold. He threw a ten pound note at the taxi driver as he shouted for him to stop. John ran full pelt for Sherlock and noticed his visible tremble.
"Come on" John said as he grabbed Sherlock's jacket lapel and dragged him across the street and down towards their flat. Once they had reached the flat John threw open the front door and manhandled Sherlock inside, pinning him to the wall as he closed and locked the door securely.
The two men stood panting in the dark corridor.
"I recognised him, he's one of the Russian neighbours we have acquired" John wheezed. "Mycroft told me about them"
"Its happening" Sherlock muttered as he wriggled free from John and bounded up the stairs.
"What's happening?" John shouted after his friend. "Sherlock?"
"In here, John, now!" Came the urgent call.
John travelled up the steps willingly and found that Sherlock was in his own bedroom.
The two sat side by side on the double bed in silence.
"John, I'm going to have to die" Sherlock said gently only glancing at John once.
John's mouth fell open as he stared incredulously at the detective.
"Publicly" Sherlock said looking to the floor. He let his elbows rest on his thighs as he pursed his slender hands together.
"Sherlock – " John started, not quite believing what he was hearing.
"John, you will have to as well." Sherlock said calmly. "It will need to be done in stages. Are you willing to help me?" Sherlock turned now, allowing his razor sharp eyes to roam the Doctor's face. He knew John would do anything to help, he knew he would sour his own name just to save the detective's life, that was why John was invaluable.
"To die, Sherlock?" John started once more, without any real words to follow.
"For the press and for our protection, John. We need to fake my death and then yours. We will have to inform Mycroft, we will need cash funds, and Molly, yes, Molly." Sherlock was now just thinking aloud. John listened intently, keeping silent.
"John, if I were to die suddenly, with our current situation – would you feel sufficiently depressed? Sad? Possibly suicidal?" Sherlock asked with no visual sign of amusement.
John looked into the eagle eyes of his best friend and for once, allowed himself to tell the truth; "It would destroy me" he whispered.
Sherlock's eyes widened a fraction and his mouth parted slightly with shock. "Great. That's, that's good then…" Sherlock started, arranging his face into a faint smile only to be wiped from his features a moment later and replaced with confusion; "Why?" he asked cautiously.
John coughed awkwardly. "Because you are the most human, human being I have ever known. I was so alone before I met you, and I owe you so much. You are…my hero" John finished, looking down at his knees.
"You should say that at my funeral" Sherlock smiled sadly. "Do you think others will believe that you would be miserable enough to end your own life?" the detective asked with narrowed eyes.
"I'm not sure. I mean, they already think that we are more than flatmates don't they?" John questioned rhetorically.
Sherlock thought for a moment before glancing back to John with a half smile; "Perhaps we should create no doubt that we are." The taller man said.
John's head snapped round to allow a full stare up at his flatmate. "What do you mean?" he shook.
"I mean, John Watson, that we should behave like a couple for the next two weeks. Are you adverse to this?" Sherlock said slowly as he leant on the hand closest to John to free his other hand; reaching up he moved John's fringe gently away from his face.
John's eyes fluttered closed at the touch as his breathing hitched uncomfortably in his throat.
"That will be a no then." Sherlock mused with a smile as he hovered his lips above the Doctor's. As John was lost in Sherlock's closeness, he vaguely noted that Sherlock was whispering; "Three, two…one".
The bedroom door banged open and DI Lestrade burst into the room, Sherlock remained in place holding John tightly as he leaned in the last centimetre to place his lips to the Doctor's in a chaste peck.
Lestrade stood in stunned silence as he watched the two men sitting on the bed.
"Yes, Lestrade?" Sherlock asked nonchalantly as his eyes roamed John's frozen face freely.
"Sherlock, will you come to the station, we want to – to ask a few questions" Lestrade asked, faltering when John seemingly snapped out of his shock to nuzzle into Sherlock's neck contentedly.
"No" Sherlock said with some ease as he rested a hand on the back of John's neck.
"I'll come back with a warrant" Lestrade threatened in slight anger.
"Then come back with a warrant" Sherlock mused as he allowed his hand to rub soothing circles in John's cropped hair.
The bedroom door closed with a bang and the two men sat still listening to the DI running down the steps and out onto the street.
"Bravo, John, bravo" Sherlock said, patting John's back lightly before pulling away. John let out a groan at the sudden absence of his warmth but stood with Sherlock to enter the living room.
"Now, dust…" Sherlock said enthusiastically as he began to pounce around the living room in search of the camera he knew must be hidden away somewhere. "John, get Mrs Hudson."
000
Sherlock went willingly, being assisted down his own steps and out toward the awaiting police car. He smiled lightly at John's sudden presence at his side.
"Joining me?" Sherlock asked with a coy smile.
"Apparently it's against the law to chin the chief super-intendant" John huffed as he felt the metal cuff close around his wrist and then chastised himself for the slight flutter he felt at being chained to his flatmate.
"I was thinking of our immanent and daring escape." Sherlock said quickly, he spotted the radio volume controls on the dashboard of the car and in a flash the pair were armed and backing away from the situation. John opened and closed his mouth like a goldfish, suddenly being pulled into Sherlock as the consulting detective shouted out that the Doctor was his hostage.
The pair ran, Sherlock telling John to take his hand was the single most magnificent moment of the Doctor's life and he smiled widely at the thrill of it all.
Once in the alleyway, John held the cuff of that brilliant coat and smiled at Sherlock whenever he got the chance. Tonight was turning into quite an evening.
They walked hand in hand to the journalists flat. They walked slowly but with purpose so as not to draw attention to themselves. Despite the situation, John felt surprisingly calm; he revelled in the feel of Sherlock's fingers entwined with his own as they walked.
"Does it bother you?" The Doctor mused.
"Does what bother me?" Sherlock asked with a slight glance down at the sandy haired soldier.
"This" John held up their hands for Sherlock to look at.
"Not so much." Sherlock mused. "Of course, I know that you are enjoying yourself. You've never looked happier" the taller man smiled.
"I-I-I" John stuttered.
"..haven't had a girlfriend in over two weeks, not to mention your flustered behaviour when I catch you looking at me combined with the fact that I hear you saying my name in the shower quite often, all point towards the fact that you have wanted me to behave like this for some time now." Sherlock said, his smile wider than before as he squeezed John's hand.
John looked to the pavement with embarrassment. How did he honestly think he could keep a secret from Sherlock Holmes?
"John, don't try to keep things from me, you know me, it doesn't work." Sherlock said as he glanced around them surreptitiously, secretly hoping that Mycroft was viewing the CCTV. "Anyway, it is necessary for our survival." Sherlock said quietly as he took his opportunity below the street camera above the bank; he pushed John into the red brick of the building, his free hand splayed flat against the brick above John's head trapping the shorter man in one place as he forced his lips upon the Doctor's.
Within seconds, John could tell that kissing was new to the consulting detective and he began to take over, fervently wrapping his free hand into the mass of dark curls above Sherlock's neck, he tilted his friend's face to angle himself as he proceeded to bestow the most passionate kiss of his life, pouring everything he had into the action.
As they broke apart they stared at each other with wide eyes, their breath coming out in short puffs of steam in the cold night air though neither felt cold.
"Come on" Sherlock said gruffly as he tugged on John's hand and the pair ran around the corner towards the set of flats they were headed for.
"Jesus, Sherlock, what are you doing?" John questioned as he watched Sherlock fiddle with the lock.
"This is more commonly known as breaking an entering, John" Sherlock hissed as he fiddled further with his own set of keys.
"Are you even sure this is her flat? Why don't we just sit outside?" John questioned further, stooping slightly to accommodate Sherlock's hand movements.
Sherlock stood, a slight flush filling his cheeks at his close proximity to John.
"Because I'm guessing you do not want me to do what I'm going to do in public." The taller man said in a dangerously low tone, his eyes were almost black and he surveyed John like prey.
John swallowed hard before allowing a curt nod in understanding.
Finally Sherlock lost his temper with the lock on the door and forced it open with his shoulder. The door banged open and granted entry to the living room. Within seconds, John found himself flat on the couch, pinned down by the weight of his flatmate.
000
They heard the door to the street opening and only just managed to get themselves dressed in time, Sherlock flicked the light off and the pair sat in the dark, holding hands until the small lispy journalist entered her flat cautiously.
John was sad when Sherlock managed to unclasp his hand from the handcuffs, but with a small glance from the taller man, John felt reassured.
How Kitty couldn't smell the evident aroma of masculinity in the small living space, the pair didn't know.
John's heart fell a few feet when Jim walked into the living room and explained himself an actor. He couldn't believe what he was hearing for a second time that night. How dare this man insinuate his Sherlock was a fraud? John wanted to strangle him with his own bare hands.
"Sherlock, I'm not getting this" John burst as he fixed Richard Brook with a frustrated stare.
Sherlock remained silent throughout the exchange, only staring at Richard Brook in defiance; he allowed himself a quick glance down at the couch that he had made John surrender on only minutes ago…would John believe this story? Would Sherlock become a fraud in the eyes of his only friend?
000
John slept on his arm in the lab at St. Barts; it was early morning and the buses had become more frequent as they rolled down the street. Sherlock was lost in thought, he had many ideas for where they would go when this was all over; it pained him to think of Mrs Hudson grieving, but in order to save her life, it was necessary. For Sherlock knew what was going to happen. He knew exactly what was going to take place in less than an hour's time. He allowed his eyes to roam John once more, scarcely believing what had occurred in Kitty's living room the previous night. He had completely surrendered to human emotion, the anxiety taking its toll and rendering the consulting detective speechless for twenty minutes. Anything could have happened during those twenty minutes; the world could have ended or Moriarty could have been sitting in the room watching and Sherlock wouldn't have cared.
John's phone rang, Sherlock's heart jolted but he made every effort not to move until John was out of the room entirely. As if on cue, the text alert from Sherlock's phone rang out. The roof, just as he planned.
Sherlock may have been anticipating the fall, but he was not entirely prepared for Moriarty ending his own life. He did his best to transfer the shock into an act of panic as he approached the ledge of the building. The taxi below stopped and Sherlock watched as a very familiar form exited onto the street. Picking his phone from his pocket; the tall man dialled John's number.
"John, I'm a fake" Sherlock said and John was sure he could hear the waver in the strong man's voice.
"Sherlock…?" John contested angrily.
"The newspapers were right all along. I want you to tell Lestrade, I want you to tell Mrs Hudson and Molly, in fact, tell anyone who will listen to you…that I created Moriarty for my own purposes." Sherlock said, his heart breaking at the lies as his eyes betrayed his emotions.
"Ok shut up, Sherlock, shut up. The first time we met – the first time we met, you knew all about my sister, right?" John said attempting to control the anger and panic flowing through him.
"Nobody could be that clever" Sherlock said quietly
"You could" John bit back without so much as a beat of silence.
Sherlock let a breathy laugh escape his throat as he looked down at his best friend.
"Please, will you do this for me? This is my note" Sherlock said as a hot tear escaped his sky blue eyes. "That's what people do…don't they, leave a note?" Sherlock asked, his heart breaking clean in two as he watched the Doctor panic on the street below.
"Leave a note when? Sherlock…?" John panicked, his hands turning icy cold as he watched the man fall from the great height "Sherlock" he whispered in shock.
The world started to spin as John ran towards the hospital, he heard a fast rushing sound in his ears as he started to see things with blurry vision; a passing cyclist hit him hard in the side and he fell to the ground with a slight crunch. John had to get to Sherlock, had to check that it wasn't real, it wasn't meant to be real; Sherlock must have faked his death, he must have.
John collapsed at the sight of his friend. The blood was real, his eyes were open and unfocused. There was only one person with eyes that colour, only one person who could wear that coat and scarf so well, only one person who could have lips that shape. Sherlock Holmes was dead.
John was left alone in the street as the body was quickly uplifted and taken inside the building. The rain began to fall, the sky had turned almost black with angry cloud. John's knees gave in and he sat against the wall of the building, allowing hot sobs to escape his eyes as he put his hands over his face.
Passers by stared at the broken man, no one stopping to ask if he was ok, no one caring in the centre of harsh London town.
"John? Doctor Watson?" A soft female voice called. John felt the presence beside him but did not immediately look up.
"John, you've got to come inside, it's raining." Molly said gently as she lay an unsure hand on John's forearm.
John sniffed wildly as the short pathologist pulled him to his feet and helped him walk to the buildings entrance.
Once inside the empty corridor and out of harms way; Molly helped John to lean on the wall.
"John, are you ok?" Molly asked.
"Of course. I'm not. Ok. I just. Saw. Sherl" John sniffed violently between his words and almost howled as the unusual name passed his lips.
"John, snap out of it." Molly said urgently. "I need to tell you what to do and you need to listen" She urged as her hands held the Doctor in place by his shoulders.
John sniffed once more and looked at Molly as though she was mad.
"You have been drugged, John. The same chemical we were exposed to in Dartmoor. I drugged you so that you would see me fall and not the dead body I had pushed over the ledge." Molly explained with a vague facial expression.
"'We'?" He whispered. "Molly…Molly are you - is he-?" John stuttered as he fought Molly's surprisingly strong grip on him to look in her ear, there was a small black earpiece set neatly in her right ear.
"Shh." Molly said forcefully. "Now, John, you must wait two weeks. Two weeks today, ensure you speak to Lestrade beforehand, give him the impression you are suicidal. I will arrange the body; you just need to arrange 221B appropriately. Wait for the police to vacate the area, then disguise yourself, go through my wardrobe and find something suitable. I will be waiting for you at Piccadilly tube station." Molly finished and blinked as she looked up at John with a shy smile.
"He's alive?" John asked as he sighed and let a silent tear roll down his face.
Molly nodded and looked at the floor.
"Thank you, Molly. Thank you" John said gratefully as he weakly smiled at the short female.
"No problem. He asked for help, I couldn't turn him down." She said meekly with an equally small smile. "Are you ok?" Molly asked as a somewhat afterthought.
"I-I-" John started and then burst into a relieved laugh. "I'm going to kill him, but yes I think I'm fine." John said with a wide smile. Molly mirrored his smile and let a small laugh of her own escape.
"Ok, I'd better go" Molly said with a vague hand movement to the doors behind her. John nodded, smiling once more.
"Molly?" John called as the young woman started to walk away. Molly turned on a heel and looked back at John. "Thank you" he repeated as he held a hand over his jacketed heart.
Molly smiled and carried on with her journey, running once she had passed the double doors.
John smiled in relief before berating himself. He had to act as though he was suicidal. He had to become the broken man he was a mere few moments ago once more in order to not raise suspicions of anyone who may be watching.
Giving himself some time; John marched up the sets of stairs to the roof access door, he saw Sherlock throw his phone down before the jump and he had a sudden desire to fetch it and keep it safe.
There was a large puddle of blood on the roof, as John followed the puddle he discovered the body of Moriarty. He felt uneasy at the crazed expression covering the dead man's face but now had a rough idea of what had taken place before Sherlock pulled his stunt.
Finding the phone, John swiftly vacated the roof space, bounded down the steps and out of the building. Zipping up his black jacket he bowed his head and walked back to 221B Baker Street in the rain.
Mrs Hudson's face was tearstained as she bustled through the corridor towards John, the down stairs living room door remained ajar and John could hear the news reporters comments on the 'Suicide of Fake Genius'. The Doctor allowed the suffocating cuddle he received from their landlady, and it broke his heart to see her so needlessly mournful; but he couldn't tell her, Sherlock needed to keep it a secret, needed to remain hidden, safe.
Over the next week, John hardly left 221B. He remained seated in his old armchair in the quiet, often without his socks or jumper. Mrs Hudson worried over him; ensuring food was given to him – although the Doctor tried his best not to eat all of what he was given in order to add to a convincingly disinterested appearance.
Lestrade visited once or twice, talking to John but not receiving too much of an answer in return.
There was a surprisingly large turn out in the graveyard the following Thursday. The day was grey and the grass was crispy under John's black shoes.
John had applied some cosmetics to his face with guidance from Molly, in order to look like he was gaunt and lifeless, he rubbed dark eye shadow under his eyes to display a lack of sleep and he had not washed his hair for a couple of days to give the image that he did not care any more about his own personal hygiene. Many of the griever's approached him after the ceremony to give him their condolences. John heard a few of the whisperings around him; he heard speculation about the newspaper article that had made its way through the city the previous week; the article that stated plainly that Sherlock Holmes and Doctor John Watson were 'involved romantically'.
John and Mrs Hudson remained at the graveside after everyone else had dissipated. John examined the gold letters on black marble. It was all wrong; the stone, the freshly turned soil, the location…it wasn't Sherlock.
After Mrs Hudson had left, John waited a little longer; imagining what Sherlock would really have as a funeral; the Doctor was sure he would be cremated, probably to be buried at sea or in Dartmoor. John struggled to not let a smile escape as he thought of this; instead he opted for a grimace thinking he should probably say something at this point.
"Erm, you told me once that you weren't a hero, there were times when I thought you weren't even human, but let me tell you this; you were the best man, and most human, human being I have ever known, so there." John breathed as he let his eyes focus on another person in the graveyard visiting a loved one just over Sherlock's grave.
John walked towards the stone, he laid an uncertain hand on the corner of the tombstone – if anyone was watching him, at least they would see movements if they couldn't hear what he was saying.
"I was so alone, and I owe you so much." John whispered; he felt the tears well up in his eyes, he berated himself for being so emotional considering this was all more or less pointless; Sherlock would laugh if he was watching this performance he was sure.
Finally, John did loose it at this amusing thought and a mixture of laugh and sob escaped him into his clasped hands.
Trying to sort his face into Military correctness, he nodded his head curtly and went to 'move out' in army style.
From the shadows; Sherlock looked on, slightly startled by the act the good Doctor had performed. He watched until John disappeared from the graveyard before he stealthily moved, himself, to vanish into the busy streets of London.
000
John played the part of a broken man easily. He was simply back to square one, in London on an Army pension and a psychosomatic limp for company. Of course the limp was only pretend, but never-the-less he couldn't help but feel empty without Sherlock's constantly erratic personality bouncing around the living room.
000
On the two week anniversary of Sherlock's end, John called Lestrade and asked him if he could give him a lift to the cemetery. DI Lestrade was more than happy to assist, trying vainly to recover their friendship.
"Jesus, John, you look terrible" Lestrade said in the way of a greeting as the Doctor got awkwardly into the passenger seat of the silver car.
John nodded curtly, just once; his face remained stony until they had pulled up outside the graveyard.
"John" Greg said sharply and his hand shot out to grab John's arm before he could leave the car, John turned to him with a questioning expression. "You aren't going to do something stupid are you?" the salt and pepper haired detective asked.
John remained silent, his eyes looking hard at the dash board, his mind otherwise occupied – giving the very impression Molly-Sherlock had asked him to give.
John managed to struggle out of Greg's grip as he swung open the car door and got to his feet, limping with the aid of his old cane toward the new grave that awaited him.
Ten minutes later, John returned, he clambered into the car once more and Greg wordlessly drove him back to Baker Street, it was clear that neither had an idea of what to say until they arrived at 221B.
"Thank you, Greg, you've been great." John said quietly. "A great friend." He muttered as he shut the car door behind him.
Lestrade watched on sadly as John fiddled awkwardly with the keys, resting his cane against the doorframe.
Once John was inside he walked slowly up to their flat. He went into Sherlock's bedroom to retrieve his gun and was startled at the discovery he made.
Sitting on the floor with his back leaning against the bed was a deceased man. A bullet hole in his left temple was most definitely the cause of death, but what caught John so much by surprise was the startling resemblance this dead man had to the Doctor himself. His hair was ashen in colour, cropped neatly to match his very own style. The face was heavily wrinkled and his eyes were a dark blue. The body wore one of John's jumpers and a pair of jeans. John quickly caught on and grabbed hold of the body; lifting him soldier style. He struggled through to the living room and placed the body in his own armchair, walking back to Sherlock's room for the gun to complete the picture.
000
Mrs Hudson sat at her small dining table in her own kitchen, the crossword puzzle was harder than ever and she was close to giving in. Eventually, after another ten minutes she cleared the table and threw the newspaper in the bin. Just as she had wiped down the empty table surface she jumped violently as the unmistakable whip crack of a gun firing filled the house.
"Oh…Oh no" Mrs Hudson mildly sobbed as she scuttled down the corridor and up the steps. The sight of a still and bloody body in the living room made Mrs Hudson scream. She ran down the stairs once more and headed straight for her landline telephone. As she shakily dialled the emergency number - she stopped short at the sight of a new box of her favourite chocolates on the table she had just cleared. Inside the lid was a small note;
Do not let out the flat. Mycroft will be in touch with regards to rent.
Do not worry. We are safe.
Beside the box of chocolates were two mobile phones; one with deep scratches across its screen and 'Harry Watson' inscribed across the back, the other completely smashed but vaguely recognisable the phone that John had retrieved from the roof of St. Bart's hospital. Mrs Hudson let a squeal of delight burst from her as she hung up the telephone. Those two buggers would suffer her wrath when they returned but she couldn't help but smile widely at the knowledge that they were still alive, and together.
John knew it was risky, but he couldn't abandon the poor woman who had been so kind to them. Not to mention they might loose the flat if she didn't know, he smiled slightly under the policeman's hat he currently wore and snuggled down into the large collar of the yellow high visibility Police jacket as he walked up the street away from 221B.
The black shoes were a little too large and caused John some irritation as he walked to the Baker Street tube station, but he didn't care, he was going to see his friend again. His best friend, colleague, flatmate and according to the rest of the city, his lover, was going to meet him in a few stops time.
John buried his chin in the scarf around his neck – the purple scarf that had been faithful to Sherlock over their years together; it still smelled slightly of Sherlock and that served to only excite John further.
As soon as the tube stopped its rocky ride at Piccadilly station, John bounded out the door, through the crowd and up the escalator. Forced to stand still as the escalator made its slow ascent, the Doctor heard eerie music, a busker at the tube stations entrance no doubt, John reached the top of the moving staircase just as the sad tune picked up pace. The good Doctor looked up to see a homeless violin player leaning against the tile of the adjacent building, the tune was easily recognisable and a smile stretched the ex-soldier's face as he stared at the tall blonde with the grubby face.
"Hello, Officer." The man said gruffly as he spied John and let his bow hand fall to his side, the violin remaining tightly packed under his chin. "I'm not breaking the law, I'm onie buskin'" The homeless man said in a carefully crafted cockney accent.
"How about I move you down the street then" John said, looking about him with an air of authority.
Sherlock smiled. "Ok then, I know jus' the place" he said as he stooped to grab up his violin case and untidy backpack.
John kept a careful distance as he walked side by side with his well disguised companion.
Once arrived at the safer location of Golden Square Gardens, Sherlock swiftly pushed a small roll of notes into John's police coat and stood away to resume his violin solos. John understood immediately and turning on a heel with a smile he headed off to the nearest cluster of shops.
John laughed as he chose his new hair colour from the selection in the large chemist, he settled eventually on a copper brown and smiled shyly at the check out lady who eyed him suspiciously. A shop across the street caught his eye and he entered it to buy an added disguise.
The clothes he chose were far from his own choice and he had roamed the shops for a good hour before he settled on three outfits. He smiled as he spied Sherlock sitting on the brick wall in the centre of the empty gardens he had left him in.
"Still here?" John asked in his best Police Officer's voice.
Sherlock smiled as he spied the bags.
"Nah, I'm headin' back to Holiday Inn, they keep me safe in there they do; room 221" Homeless Sherlock smiled at John and started to put his instrument away carefully, without much thought John caught the item that flew through the short expanse of air between them. It was a key.
"Make sure that you do" John said as he walked away. The Holiday Inn was easier to find than John first thought, he received some weary looks when wearing the police uniform and he removed his hat as he travelled through the reception area, taking the lift to the second floor and promptly finding room 221.
The room was empty, with a few stray clothes across the double bed. John smiled at the thought of Sherlock staying in a Holiday Inn alone.
The next hour was spent with the ex-soldier sitting on the side of the bath reading and washing the dye from his hair. By the time the Consulting Detective had returned, John was sitting on the bed, dressed in his new red shirt and dark jeans watching the story about his own death on the news through his new black rimmed spectacles.
Sherlock smiled as he closed the hotel room door behind him, John turned to look at him with a slight smile; Sherlock carried the backpack that housed his homeless disguise in his right hand and his violin case in his left. He was immaculately dressed once more in crisp dark trousers with matching blazer and a startling white shirt to set it off. His short blonde hair would take some getting used to but it never-the-less suited him.
Sherlock put down his items and approached the bed swiftly; he knelt on the mattress as he reached for his dark copper haired Doctor, John met him half way and the pair enveloped each other tightly and silently.
"Sherlock, I've missed you" John mumbled into the taller man's neck.
Sherlock smiled as he inhaled John's scent, slightly covered by the smell of his new hair dye job.
"I missed you too, John" Sherlock muttered as he placed a large hand at the nape of John's neck.
The pair finally pulled back from the hug to look at each other carefully, noting each change in their two week separation.
"Nice touch, the glasses" Sherlock said as he pointed to the rectangular frames.
"Nice touch with the hair" John smiled as he looked up at the blonde curls.
Sherlock smiled and ran a hand through them; "Its' different" he agreed.
"What do we do now, Sherlock? We are dead to the world, we don't have money, ID, we have nothing" John said in sudden dismay.
"Oh, I wouldn't say that." Sherlock said with a smirk. "I'm in contact with my dear brother, Mycroft; we have enough money for a lifetime on the run. Mycroft covered ID for us too. As for having nothing; I have my blogger, and that's all that I require" Sherlock finished with a flourish as he threw himself back onto the pillows.
John smiled despite himself; "And why did we have to die?" the Doctor asked as he crawled across the bed sheets to loom over his friend.
"Because Moriarty's men were going to kill you, Mrs Hudson and Lestrade unless I continued his 'fairytale'; I had to die. As for you dying; well, I must admit that was a selfish idea thought up by me. I could easily take down the criminal web alone, but I wanted you by my side." Sherlock admitted as he looked to the television screen behind John's copper hair.
"I'm flattered" John said with a snort of laughter.
Sherlock looked to him in surprise at his sudden outburst and couldn't help but join in.
After a while the pair calmed down, John cupped Sherlock's cheek fondly and looked down at his blonde detective with a homely smile, a smile he had been reserving for two whole weeks.
Sherlock returned his gaze and found his smile strangely infectious, he watched as John approached him carefully, slowly and hesitantly, until his lips firmly closed in on Sherlock's.
When they broke apart, Sherlock lifted his hands to John's new glasses and removed them carefully as John spoke;
"You know, we don't have to appear to be together now, Sherlock." He said with a sad smile.
"No" Sherlock mused as he folded the glasses up and put them delicately on the bedside table. "John, what makes you think I do not want to continue this" Sherlock said with a vague arm gesture between the two.
"Because you are Sherlock Holmes, 'everything else is transport' and 'married to my work' not to mention the fact that I am in no way gay". John said incredulously.
"John, John, John" Sherlock tutted as he ran a hand down the side of the Doctor's face. "Once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable must be true" he said in a low rumble.
"Yes, I would have thought you having an emotional relationship was impossible" John said with a confirming nod of his head.
"Well then" Sherlock said uncharacteristically high pitched, "You thought wrong".
John smiled widely.
"I'm always wrong" the soldier said with a light laugh.
"Not always" Sherlock said with a half smile and glistening eyes.
"Oh yeah?" John asked as he inched closer to the detective.
"Just sometimes" Sherlock said in a smiling whisper.
"Well you'd best keep me right" John said in a husky whisper as he closed his eyes.
"Of course" Sherlock said quickly before lifting his head from the pillow to close the final gap that remained between them.
000
Living a different life was somewhat fun when you were sharing it with Sherlock Holmes, John mused as he sat in the comfortable old armchair in their small abode's living room.
They had just arrived back at their current flat in Switzerland after an entire night of activity – threatening, chasing, tracking, finding and killing Moran. The last of Moriarty's exceedingly dangerous army.
John ran a hand through his own dark curls as he looked through their flat toward the bathroom. He heard Sherlock - or as he was so called – Benedict, now, whistling in the shower, the bathroom door was open and the steam was puffing around it into the hallway. Shortly after, Sherlock walked into the living room.
"Do you have to walk around with nothing on?" John asked, rather badly hiding his amusement and lusty gaze.
"Martin" Sherlock said accusingly at John as he fixed him with a stare; "if I am not very much mistaken, you are blushing"
John picked up the paper once more and attempted to hid behind it as he said; "then you are mistaken".
A black walking stick flattened the top of the broadsheet and slowly pulled the newspaper down into John's lap; revealing a rather wicked eyed and wet haired Sherlock.
The strange walking stick made its way down John's thigh to his knee before Sherlock smiled triumphantly.
"We should think about going home" He said as he dropped the walking stick to the floor and walked away from the slightly agape Doctor. He walked to his usual armchair and plopped down bare backed, crossing his legs and steepling his long fingers with his elbows resting symmetrically on the armrests.
John managed to compose himself and played nervously with his collar; "Really?" he asked with a slight cough.
"Yes, well, we have done our job; we are free men again…not to mention I miss my cases." Sherlock said with a wide smile to John.
John got to his feet throwing a sharp and familiar look to Sherlock; John left the room. He headed for the bedroom, knowing full well that his companion would follow.
000
Mrs Hudson cried and laughed, Detective Inspector Lestrade punched both men and then hugged them tightly directly afterward, Donavon smiled warmly and Anderson glared.
The MET held a special ceremony to welcome the men back with honour and gave them a chance to tell their story. The Queen requested the pleasure of meeting them and gave each a knighthood. Throughout the following month, the men were Britain's Heroes, noticed wherever they went, spotted and sought after. People saw them but Mycroft was the only person to observe them.
The matching pair of silver bands wrapped delicately and discreetly around the third finger of each man's left hand went relatively unnoticed by the masses, even through the growing newspaper photograph collection and the many public ceremonies.
The pair would act no different outside of 221B, only exchanging in glances and small words at crime scenes and police stations.
Inside 221B, however, was a completely different story.
_The End_