So after getting that through my head I came up with one for John, kind of based around the same line, except this one is a loooooong time after Sherlock's 'death'.
Thank you very much for the reviews by the way :) And for everyone who did read it but kept quiet :P
Disclaimer: Nope, still don't own it :( Shame, I really want Benedict and Martin.
Warning: I got depressed writing this, so I really hope it doesn't read too depressing. Might've just been me.
- John -
Some people have two faces. The one they show you and the one they don't want you to see.
The face John showed was the traitor. The one that hid every ounce of feeling and emotion behind a stern, blank mask. It nodded tiredly when Mrs Hudson made tea or asked how the job at the clinic was going. It smiled tightly and waved a dismissive hand whenever Lestrade dropped by to check up on him. It chuckled forcibly at Molly's jokes, her attempts to lighten the dark mood that he carried wherever he went. It remained as blank as a brick wall whenever Mycroft 'abducted' him in a black limousine and met him in some abandoned warehouse to apologise, again and again and again.
Most importantly, it stayed in unwavering respect and refused to tear up, refused to break down, whenever he found himself standing in front of the black marble grave stone with so many words to say, but never saying them.
The face John didn't want anyone to see was the truth. It hid behind the other out of cowardice, mostly, because the things it wanted to do weren't the acceptable things to do. It wanted to ask Mrs Hudson for two cups of tea instead, or where the skull had gone – it had vanished before he'd even gotten back to the flat after that day, and never been seen since. It wanted to tell Lestrade to get lost and ask why he'd ever doubted Sherlock. It wanted to ask Molly why she was trying to laugh when there was nothing to laugh about, and how she'd managed to cope so well when he hadn't. It wanted to take Mycroft by the shoulders and shake him uncontrollably and demand why he'd done it, why he'd destroyed his brother, why he'd betrayed him.
It wanted them all to understand that it wasn't okay – that it would never be okay, ever again.
Most importantly, it wanted to look up unexpectedly one day and find Sherlock standing in the street or waiting outside the flat to be let in or sitting in his armchair, screeching away on the violin, looking undoubtedly alive, and it wanted to curse at him for doing such a horrible thing before hugging him tightly and crying and never letting the man – his best friend – his dead best friend – go. It wanted to tell Sherlock everything. It wanted to talk and say all the things John had never got around to saying. It just wanted him to be there.
For a long time, the truth and the lie had been fighting each other, because John really didn't want to believe it. But one day, 10 months later, the battle finally ended. John returned to Baker Street after discovering that he could no longer remember Sherlock's vioce or his smell, or his sarcastic smile, or that knowing glint in his eyes. He couldn't even remember the face, the one that always used to annoy John – the one he now needed so desperately. To his horror, he found that they were gone, forgotten over time and too much grief. The lie had won. John never forgave it.
- John -
:S
I don't really know. This one seems a little down for me, but I figured this is what John would be like afterwards anyway – he'd just give up. Sherlock was his life, after all, and with him gone...I don't know why Sherlock ever thought this was a good idea.
Oh, p.s. I'm thinking of doing a third chapter, maybe a renunion for when Sherlock finally comes back? Thoughts please :) And pretty please leave a review if you enjoy it :)