Shock – Concerning John Part 2
AN: Sorry that this is short- but it /had/ to end there for it to work properly. This is the last part to the first part of the story. There is SO much more to go. SO much. It just takes a little for me to get around to changing it from roleplay format to story format. Instead of it being from two povs I have to get it down to one. Meaning I have to re-write literally half of it. So the next chapter will be even longer coming. Sorry again.
If you would like to ask anything about it, or maybe even read some of the unpolished parts then ask me for a link, or find us on Tumblr (user names: cravingdeduction and sherlockholmmes).
– – – SHOCK – – –
I apologize for the delay in my correspondence, and the brief length that this shall be.
I spoke to John.
He's moving out.
The wedding is next week.
I'm still invited.
I'm not sure whether or not I should go, but John has assured me that, no matter what, I am still his best friend. I believe the current term is "friendzoned". He was angry, very angry at first. He believed that it was once again another attempt for me to 'interfere with his relationship'. It took me twenty minutes to convince him otherwise.
Then, even worse than the anger, the pity.
This was two days ago. Suffice to say my last forty-two hours were spent decidedly /not/ sober. This did not help John's mood. Instead of anger, he was 'disappointed' and insisted that Mycroft send me to rehab again.
When I came home, half his possessions had already been removed.
Suffice to say, I have not yet contacted Torchwood.
The email was sitting there, on his computer when finally set it up. He stared at it for an hour, then another, wondering how he could even articulate his response. He felt numb. Empty.
Slowly, he started to type.
John and I have a silent agreement with each other. Whenever he breaks up with one of his girlfriends, or, more often than not, they break up with him, we have what I came to call a Post-Girlfriend Reflection Night.
It basically consists in an uncommonly silent John making me dinner and tea, and settling down next to me on the couch as we watch crap telly until we fall asleep. No words (except mine when I shout abuse at the telly), no discussions, just food and company and sometimes, a smile.
It first happened after Sarah. And from then on it has been a thing that regularly occurs after yet another failed relationship.
This time was no different. John came home and started making dinner and I fell into the mistake of feeding the bubble of joy that was bubbling up in my stomach.
Little did I know that this was also his way of 'breaking up' with me. We ate, we sat in front of the telly and he started to talk.
He was not supposed to talk.
He said that he was asking Mary to marry him.
And I blurted it all out. It came out in an inconsistent and embarrassingly incoherent mass of babbling and after a well-aimed punch to my face, he started shouting abuse at me.
I can't really blame him, but I do know what you mean about sobriety and how absent it was after the argument.
Needless to say that Mycroft and Mother alike have me locked up in my old childhood room at the Holmes Manor in Sussex.
I'm sorry about your John, Sherlock. I guess Holmes and happiness just don't go together.
Hands shaking, Sherlock read over his response before resolutely hitting the 'send' button.
Staring out of the window, he waited for another reply.
I am sorry. Though you are quite lucky for the fact that you still have mummy. My mother died when I was still young. Unfortunately, it was my fault.
But we can get more into that later. Right now, I do have something that may alleviate your loneliness (and don't try telling me that you're not lonely without John. I know as well as you do that there will never be another like him.)
Last week, I was allowed to contact my "cousin" Gwen. I need your exact co-ordinates and I believe I can cross the barrier between our realities. I traced the signal of our communication and found the gap.
Gwen has loaned me Jack's vortex manipulator (and though the temporal shift is broken), which acts like a transporter (I'm not sure if your John has insisted you watch Star Trek or not, but if not, you can google it. I can't be bothered to explain how it works).
Suffice to say, I can arrive at any time you're willing to house me and leave whenever you like. But I need the co-ordinates. Preferably the garden (I don't want to accidentally materialize in a wall…)
Sherlock looked at the message and frowned. He didn't have the exact co-ordinates, but he was sure that Sherlock would know where he was if he gave a specific building he might be able to find him.
I'm not lucky to have Mother. Believe me, if I had an option I'd switch places with you in that matter. I could give you my mother if you're so eager for one, though I wouldn't wish that curse over anyone, much less over another me.
I'm glad you found a way. As I'm sure I've mentioned in my previous letter, I'm currently stuck in Sussex. I don't know if you had had a childhood home in here, but in case you did, and in case you know the area as well as I do, then you must know that clearing near the lake where I (we?) used to go and ride on my mare. And if you know the area as well as I do, then you know the exact coordinates of it. I am allowed to leave the house, but I don't have access to any means of transportation. Except Calla, the mare. Tell me if the clearing is good enough of a place. Whenever you want to come you are welcome.
And don't worry. If you materialize in a tree, I promise to invest in a top market irrigation system.
I'll be waiting for you.
And there it was. Possibly the last email to be sent trans-dimentionally. He swallowed, reading over it one more time before sending. Now would be when he finds out if there was any truth to this or not. Now would be when he met... himself.
This would prove to be interesting. Very interesting indeed and it may actually decrease the boredom of this oppressive house.
– – –
The clearing was in a slightly different place in this reality to where Sherlock was used to it, and instead of landing safely on the grass, he landed several feet in the air-above the lake.
Climbing out of the water, he grimaced as he looked down at his now ruined suit and sighed softly. Opening a panel on the vortex manipulator that was strapped to his wrist, he sent off another message.
"I am in the clearing. Bring towels. -SH"
He had to wonder about this. Was it really a good idea to meet himself? Even if it was another version of him, with a slightly different past, was it egotistical to think that perhaps this was the only person in all the realms would could understand him and his recent heartbrake?
Looking down to his clothed arm, he thought of the new track marks that were there. Three weeks sober and it was still painful enough to want to go right back to a drugged out bliss.
A gust of wind caught his sodden clothing and caused him to shiver. Looking around, he noticed a low hanging branch of a nearby tree and sat on it, waiting for his other self to appear.
– – –
Un-beta'd. Any mistakes are more than likely mine.
Please review. Both Mia and I love them.
