When John finally did die, it was not from ballistic trauma or exsanguination. It was only after a fulfilling life, speckled with trouble here and there, and a wife, and a child, and no longer any near misses from bullets in Afghanistan. It was through old age, and once again, Death was waiting.
Heedless to John, Death had been there all along.
After their last encounter, the shadowy spectre in the rift had quickly taken on a story to the persona he had been given, and descended to earth to follow John Watson through the rest of his newfound life. He had created a name to go with his face, he had created a past, a present, and planned out the future.
Reapers did not usually traverse earth, but then, humans did not usually escape Reapers.
So, he had followed John, he had chosen a life with a fast-paced, impossible to ignore lifestyle. He had ensnared John's attention, and they had been together ever since.
And even now
"... Sherlock?" John looked at him groggily, looking around the rift. "... what...?" He looked very much the same picture that he had so many years ago when he had died, however briefly, on the battlefield. Age meant nothing after death.
He smiled softly at John. Funny how attached he had become to this human. "I'm not Sherlock."
John frowned, and then straightened up slightly, taking a step back. "Is this a dream?"
"You died."
The intense look on John's face did not lessen. "Well, I thought... I remembered..." He shook his head. "But that makes no sense. If I died, how are we here?"
He smiled slightly. "Because I was never alive to begin with." It was a simple explanation, and yet, impossible at the same time.
The flicker of irritation that he was now used to flashed across John's face. "Explain, Sherlock."
"I'm not actually Sherlock," he repeated.
"Who are you, then?" John retorted. Fighting again. "Because you sure as hell look like Sherlock."
"Sherlock was a name that I took on to take a place on earth. I used the persona to attract your attention once you returned from Afghanistan," he explained patiently. "I arranged for us to meet, and for you to move in with me. I was able to keep an eye on you that way."
John was looking at him like he was crazy. It was debatable, for sure. Having followed a human back to earth was not common, and the Higher Powers had not been amused. He hadn't minded. John Watson was his charge, and he would see it through. So what if he had a little... fun in the meantime?
"You and I met, many years ago, before you met me as the being you know as Sherlock. We met in this exact place, actually." He waved a hand around the barren landscape. "After you had been fatally shot in Afghanistan."
Still with the look on John's face. Although now with a slight comprehension. John was quick. He grasped onto things quickly, although not as much as the Sherlock persona had.
"You would probably recognise me better this way." He waved his hand and the familiar long coat and scarf vanished, replaced with the dark cloak customary to that of his kind. Leather gloves dematerialised and he held out a hand to John, fingers extended, palm displayed. Pale skin illuminated in the glow of the in between, and he watched the complete recognition light up John's face.
Surprise, fear, and ultimately, betrayal.
"I told you once, that I was a servant of Death. That still stands. My coming to earth with you didn't change that fact. When you escaped from me the first time, I decided it was only right to find you and stay by you. Your soul is my business, John Watson. I was never going to let you get away."
John took another step back. "No." He shook his head. "No, Sherlock, you cannot tell me that you're- you're Death!"
He tilted his head. "I'm not. Just a-"
"Servant of Death, yes, apparently, you keep saying!" John said. "That can't be true! You were human, you're human, we... you..."
"I was human, because I wanted to appear to be. I had a past, because I needed one. It was all a fabrication of my own doing."
"... No. No." John continued to shake his head. "You cannot tell me that this was all a lie!"
"It was," he relented. "For all intensive purposes. But the past, how long has it been in your time... fifty-one? years... it has been a lie, but it has been true, also." He tilted his head. "I've never lived as a human. Rarely do I experience things in the way that humans do. So, it was a false truth created in order to reach a purpose, but... it was truth. The cases, our adventures. The... friendship."
Friendship was not a familiar concept to a servant of Death.
How flummoxed he had been when he had started to realise he was genuinely happy in John Watson's company. The outcome was unfortunate, knowing the exact moment that John died, he would be in charge of taking him to the next realm, but at least there would be some familiarity in it. Right?
"Trust me one last time. John."
"But you... you..."
He grinned. "Okay, so I'm not human. Didn't you tell me that repeatedly throughout your life?"
"That is not funny," John retorted.
"But you were right," he replied, "and maybe, unconsciously, you knew that. Maybe, for the same reason, that was why you stuck around." He straightened up, clapping his hands together and pressing fingertips together. "But enough of that. I need to escort you to the realm of the beyond."
John was looking at him warily, as though he couldn't believe it. Apparently, he could not. And that wasn't surprising, because it was a shock. But he knew John now, and he knew that John knew that he wasn't messing around with him. He may not like it... but John would follow him.
Which he did.
"You're such a liar," John said eventually.
"Yes," he agreed.
"The person I thought I knew."
"You did, though." He glanced sideways at John. "Everything you know about me is true. Not the past, not the things I needed to round out the story. But the cases... what I said at your wedding... all of that. That was true. Our kind," he said, lifting his chin, "have no room or reason for emotion when it involves other people, especially human. Yet you made me feel that, right from the moment I met you the first time," he mused. "It was interesting. Being amused. Depressed. Having fun." He huffed a breath. "I never experienced those things. I've never been human. Then you came along, and I experienced all of that." He looked at him again. "I should be thanking you, John Watson."
"So it was all just a thrill for you," John replied. "Thanks. Thanks a lot."
"It was for you, too," he retorted. "Knowing what you know now - if you even believe me - would you change any of it?"
John didn't answer, because both of them knew the answer.
He was quiet for awhile before he spoke to John again. "Besides, it wasn't just a thrill."
It had been fun. Having an existence in the middle of not existing. Being a detective, making acquaintances, working on experiments and solving cases. Being John's friend.
It had been a thrill... true. But it was more than that, too.
He couldn't explain it. But he wouldn't change it, either. He was glad that John had gotten away from him the first time... so glad.
Even if it had grated on his pride a little bit.
It was funny, now, how angry he had been in that moment, when John had woken up on the battlefield. He wouldn't change any of that, for any version of any world.
"This is it," he announced, gesturing. A doorway had appeared, and he looked back at John. "Where we finally part ways."
"Wait, you're not coming?"
He shook his head. "I do not live nor die."
"Oh. Well." John's fingers curled into fists momentarily, then relaxed as he gazed at the doorway. "... I swear if this is all just some dream, or elaborate joke..."
"My sense of humour is morbid, but this would be a tiny bit out of its range," he interrupted. "Unfortunately, it's not a trick." He held out his hand, again, this time, for a handshake. "I will miss you. Which may surprise me more than it surprises you," he added thoughtfully, and then shrugged.
"We end as we began," John muttered. "Right? Since we met here." He reached out and took his hand. "Are you gonna be around? Servant of Death and all?"
"Oh yeah." He grinned slyly. "Besides, I'd get bored if I didn't have my blogger for company now and again."
John rolled his eyes. "Yeah, no hijinks in Heaven. Or whatever afterlife is in store."
"Oh, you'd be surprised."
Like so many other times, they shared a look and a chuckle. And then John turned around, shoulders back, head high. The bravery of the soldier. "... Thanks. Sherlock." Without waiting for a reply, he strode through the open doorway.
The humour fell away from the brunette's eyes as the doorway faded to nothingness. The grin was replaced with only a wistful smile, remembering every detail of the past fifty years with clarity as though it had happened yesterday. "... No. Thank you," he murmured, running his finger along the small, metal chain around his neck. He unearthed it from the folds of fabric and looked at it, eyes tracing the familiar engraving.
John's dog tags, given to him only moments (how long had it been?) ago in the hospital as John had lay dying. Taken from the world of the living to his life in between, a memento of, without a doubt, the most exciting part in his non-life to date.
He clutched at the metal in his hand and smiled and, after reaching back to pull his hood back into his face, took off for the shadows again.
A/N: I have a tiny bit of an issue with adding this on because it feels a little cold and impersonal... but keeping in mind Sherlock is a Reaper in this verse, I think it's just enough to be acceptable in this verse. I hope. xDD
Still in love with Reaper!lock... but back to TAB stuff soon xP Thanks for reading!