The Cartographer Called John
(After)
(…Just another solider, on the road to nowhere...)
It was the 7th of September when John refused to wake. john closed his eyes and tried to forget the world; he tried to forget the feeling of the morning breeze, of fingers brushing against fingers; he tried to forget the carefree moments that he had shared. he simply shut his eyes and clawed at his blankets. It was a simple task: forget. Yet, it seemed to be a task that John Watson could not accomplish. Forgetting was supposed to be easy; after all, the human brain only needs to be trained. John clawed at the sheets that blocked him from the world as though it were him memories. Johns body was screaming at him to move; it craved his natural morning exercise,of running after criminals with sherlock, but he would not give in. he wished to stay in his bed. It was the only place he felt safe; in his blankets no one could hurt him as many had tried to do. John fought back a scream and tried to block out his emotions. He abhorred his emotions; they made him weak and vulnerable. John Watson could not afford to be weak and vulnerable, he was in the army after all. He bit his lip until he brought about blood and kicked his feet until his legs hurt, then he kicked a little harder. Nothing John did could take away the bittersweet pain of losing sherlock.
On the 7th, John went silent.
(Before)
(...Lean on me, when you're not strong
And I'll be your friend
I'll help you carry on...)
"Alone is what I have. Alone protects me." Sherlock argued.
"No. Friends protect people." John shot back.
They were in st. Bartholomew's hospital, John had just got a text to say Mrs Hudson the landlady at 221B had been shot. Sherlock of course knew it was a lie, and refused to leave his work, John left Sherlock and kept a lid on his emotions, he wanted to scream at Sherlock, and tear him apart. John couldn't do that though because Sherlock was his best friend. Sherlock was silent, knowing his death was coming soon, he hoped to stay this way and leave a note later on, to show John it wasn't his fault. Sherlock knew the end was coming. Molly hooper walked in and decided to ask if sherlock needed anything, when Sherlock said no an upset Molly left him to be himself, sulking and moaning around the place.
On the 2nd everything went downhill.
(After)
(...When the darkness creeps in,
I feel my nightmares watching me...)
John sat in detective lestrade's office, drinking a cup of tea silently. Mrs Hudson was also there crying softly.
"It wasn't you're fault John, you couldn't have stopped him." Lestrade told him.
"Greg, he was my best friend. And now he's gone, dead. I'll never get to see him again." I whispered, my voice cracking.
They did this everyday, mrs Hudson, Greg and John. They would meet up and talk about him. Sherlock. He changed all of their lives so much,but he left them with so little. John couldn't go back to Baker Street anymore, he couldn't catch a taxi anymore, He couldn't do anything except stay in bed all day and meet up with the death left a massive hole in all their hearts, one that nobody could replace.
Nobody was the same anymore, there weren't many criminals left now, moriarty was now dead. Mycroft (Sherlocks brother) was sad and silent now, but John was completely silent unless they were having they're daily talk. Most people knew who Sherlock was, but most thought he was a fraud, this made John very angry.
On the 25th, John made a decision.
(Before)
(...I will be brave
I will not let anything
Take away
What's standing in front of me...)
"I don't have friends, just one." Sherlock told John.
It was one of the most heartfelt things John had ever heard, the man Sherlock Holmes. Otherwise known as the ice man, was saying John was his friend. It made John happy to see Sherlock admit that he had human emotions, that he was capable of these things, he was capable of expressing emotions. John had always thought Sherlock was a human underneath all that coldness. That was Sherlock for you though, cold, calculate, and sarcastic all the way to the bone. John was touched that Sherlock had a heart, and actual beating heart. But Sherlock had taken away all his defences all his safety precautions to say that, and now John saw they were all back again. Was he ill? John didn't know, Sherlock knew something though but John was going to forget about it for the moment.
On the 19th John was happy.
(Reinenbach.)
(...If all the rules were made to bend
And you swore you were my friend
Now I have to start all over again
Cause no one's going to take your place
And I'm scared I'll never save
All the pieces of a friendship we made...)
"No, stay exactly where you are. Don't move." Sherlock instructed.
"Alright." John agreed.
" Keep your eyes fixed on me. Please, will you do this for me?" Sherlock insisted looking around scared.
"Do what?" John asked not finding the joke funny.
"This phone call, it's... it's my note. That's what people do, don't they? Leave a note." Sherlock asked, a single crystal clear teardrop dripping down his cheek.
"Leave a note when?" John shouted.
"Goodbye, John." Sherlock whimpered.
"No. Don't—" John started.
John never got to finish his sentence. Sherlock hung up the phone and with one last smile at John, he jumped off the top of st. Barts. Sherlock was falling, flying, falling, flying. he felt like he was flying but yet in reality he was actually falling to his death. Now did John finally understand the final problem, survival. Sherlock fell and it seemed to go on forever, but was really a few seconds, as soon as he hit the floor people came running over towards him checking to see if he was still alive. Johns ears were ringing, all he could he was Sherlocks last words to him. Sherlocks last note...'goodbye John.' Sherlocks limp body was hung over the pavement, his blood decorating the floor.
John couldn't look at his body, Sherlocks once brilliant mind was now splattered on the pavement.
On the 2nd Sherlock died.
(After)
(...Make me whole again
Open your eyes
Taunted by the shadows
Of your lie
Cold and far away
Like you're not even mine
Undo everything
And take me...)
John Watson was going to his funeral today. He was dressed in a immaculate black suit. This wasn't going to be a fun experience, he knew that. He had to go, had to say goodbye to Sherlock, his only best Friend. John kept getting flashbacks of the moment Sherlock jumped. The cracks were beginning to show in the press, proving Sherlock was innocent and it was Moriarty all along. Lestrade and the others were all grieving, even Anderson and Donovan. They would all be here today.
John had prepared a eulogy, he didn't know if he would be able to say it but he was going to try. Mrs Hudson had been strange all week, watching John as if he were a piece of glass that might break at any one time. He could and he was like glass but he needed to say goodbye. John had started seeing his physchiatrist again. His limp was back, worse than ever before and he now needed his best friend now more than ever. But Sherlock wasn't there anymore. He was dead and gone. John was all alone.
It was raining outside, the perfect day for a gloomy funeral. There were a lot of people there.
"Sherlock Holmes died on the 2nd of September 2013, a day that I'm sure will never be the same for us again. Everything happens for a reason, it really does. I don't know much about much, but the statistical probability of Sherlock dying was zero. I thought he would have found a way to outsmart Moriarty, but I guess that wasn't supposed to happen. I never thought that in a million years that he was going to be my best friend. I thought of him as a brother. someone I could tell anything. he was the most important person in my world. I miss you Sherlock, I really do and I'll miss you forever. Everyone here will miss you. God I miss you so much you don't understand how much I need to hear you're voice. Hear you shooting the wall. Come home to find you fighting an assassin. I miss you and my life will never be the same again."
'
'They're all crying for You Sherlock can you see them? They're all crying. Can't you come back? Even Anderson and Donovan. Surely God could make an exception just this once. He was a liar, and now because of him and his evil games, you're dead.' John thought.
After the heartbreaking ceremony everyone left, even mycroft. John stood alne next to his grave.
"Um. Hm. You... you told me once that you weren't a hero. Um. There were times that I didn't even think you were human. But let me tell you this, you were the best man and the most human... human being that I have ever known, and no one will ever convince me that you told me a lie. And so... there. I was so alone and I owe you so much. Please, there's just one more thing. One more thing. One more miracle, Sherlock, for me. Don't be... dead. Would you do that, just for me? Just stop it, stop this..." John cried.
John sank to his knees and cried, unaware that all the other guests were watching him sadly from the church window.
On the 8th, John Watson cried.
(Before)
"How do you feel about the violin?" Sherlock asked.
" I'm sorry, what?" John replied
" I play the violin when I'm thinking. Sometimes I don't talk for days on end. would that bother you? Potential flatmates should know the worst about each other." Sherlock said casually,
"Are you—? You told him about me?" John asked Stamford.
"Not a word."
"Then who said anything about flatmates?" John asked curiously
"I did. Told Mike this morning that I must be a difficult man to find a flatmate for. Now here he is, just out to lunch with an old friend. Clearly just home from military service in Afghanistan. Wasn't a difficult leap." Sherlock said casually
"How did you know about Afghanistan?" John asked, shocked.
"I've got my eye on a nice little place in Central London. Together we ought to be able to afford it. We meet there tomorrow evening, seven o'clock. Sorry, got to dash. I think I left my riding crop in the mortuary." Sherlock finished
" Is that it?" John asked sarcastically
"Is that what?" Sherlock asked looking up from his work.
"We've only just met and we're going to go look at a flat." John said confused.
"Problem?" Sherlock asked.
"We don't know a thing about each other. I don't know where we're meeting. I don't even know your name." John vented.
"I know you're an army doctor and you've been invalided home from Afghanistan. I know you've got a brother who's worried about you, but you won't go to him for help because you don't approve of him—possibly because he's an alcoholic, more likely because he recently walked out on his wife. And I know that your therapist thinks your limp's psychosomatic, quite correctly I'm afraid. That's enough to be going on with, don't you think?The name's Sherlock Holmes and the address is 221b Baker Street. Afternoon." Sherlock said knowingly, and with a wink he left the room.
"Yeah. He's always like that." Stamford admitted.
On the 22nd, John Watson's life changed.
(After)
Johns limp was getting worse, he could no longer sleep. His life had spiralled out of control now. He was on tablets to help him drive away the nightmares, but they didn't help John at all. John kept seeing Sherlocks body. The ghost of his last smile still etched upon his face.
Only now was it beginning to sink in. Sherlock wasn't coming back. John had helped lestrade's on a few cases, he had picked up off Sherlocks talent. Everyone was trying to get him back into the world, none of them personally knew Sherlock though. Except for a select handful of people. Henry knight had been talking to John telling him its okay to lose someone. it wasn't.
Johns life had been torn apart, the second time it had done that. The first time anything like this had happened was in Afghanistan. John felt like there was nothing left for him anymore. There was nothing left to be happy about.
He was alone.
John limped slowly towards the desk in the hotel room he was staying at. John couldn't bear to live in 221b anymore. He pulled out a slick white piece of paper and began to wrote a note.
His suicide note.
On the 25th John began to let go.
(After.)
John stood poised on the edge of the wall, if he fell he would hit the floor and die like Sherlock. It was okay though, John didn't want to live anymore. All he wanted now was for it all to be over and done with. He wanted peace. Even though he never got peace with Sherlock around, to John the sound of bullets hitting a yellow smiley face were peaceful. But they were all gone now, so John was going too.
"John please come down." Lestrade called.
"I'm sorry Greg I have to do this." I shouted.
Tears filled up as john remembered Sherlock all those good times that had had together. It seemed like a million light years ago. And yet it was only a few weeks ago.
John turned out wards now facing the city and lestrade.
"Please let me do this. None of you have any idea what he was to me! He was my best friend!" John sobbed uncontrollably.
A slick black car rolled up and a man got out...mycroft. In all his shining glory mycroft stood there glaring up at lestrade.
"John!" He called.
"Yes?!" I shouted back.
"Sherlock wouldn't have wanted you to do this, everyone misses him! Not just you!" He called.
Mycroft Holmes, the ice man, had just practically announced that he missed his dead brother. The amount of times they had argued over the silly things, and now he was openly add imitating his love for him,
Mrs Hudson was watching wearily from Sally donovans side shaking her head repeatedly.
"Mrs Hudson! Thanks for being an amazing landlady!" John shouted.
"I was you're housekeeper dear!" She shouted back, crying her weary eyes out.
"I'm sorry lestrade." John said simply.
John flung himself off the edge of the building, where sherlock had done the same just a while ago. John was falling, flying, falling, flying. It was a mixture of both. Johns arms relaxed and stayed by his side as he fell, waiting to die. As he fell, a man in a navy coat came running around the corner, it looked like Sherlock.
"John!" The man called.
It was impossible sherlock was dead wasn't he?
Sherlock and the others screamed as John fell.
Goodbye and hello Sherlock - John thought as he hit the floor.
He hit the floor with a crack and died instantly.
On the 26th September, John Watson was reunited with Sherlock Holmes
(After Johns death.)
(...On the first day that I met you
I should have known to walk away
I should have told you you were crazy
And disappear without a trace
But instead I stood there waiting
Hoping you would come around
But you always found a way to let me down...)
Sherlock read the letter over and over again, tears streaming down his face. Why didn't I tell him? Why didn't I go back to him? He's dead now because of me! Sherlock thought.
'Dear Sherlock;
You're dead and that's not okay. But I'll be joining you soon so I guess it is okay. Why would you give your life for me? I'm nobody important. I never was. Nobody ever cared, except you. You saw something in me just like I saw something in you Sherlock. I saw a heart underneath all that other crap, and I was right. Never in a million years did I think someone would give their lives for me, and I certainly never thought I'd have a friend like you, well any friends actually.
After you died the image of you falling was permanently stuck inside my head in a loop, and you know what? I just can't take it anymore. I want to live in peace so you know what? I'm coming for you. I'm going to join you up there in heaven or hell, whichever one you're in.
So this is me, and here's hoping to seeing you again old friend. Who knows, maybe whilst I'm writing this you're solving crimes somewhere out there.
I'll see you soon Sherlock.
Thank you for giving me my life back, thanks for taking me on all those adventures and crimes. Most of all, thank you for being my friend.'
Sherlock read the letter multiple times until it finally sank in. John thought he was dead. This was all Sherlocks fault. Mycroft's words echoed in sherlocks head, and in this case they were right.
Caring is not an advantage; and for sherlock, it never would be again.