(AN/ SURPRISE EARLY UPLOAD! I COULDN'T STOP WRITING AND BRAINSTORMING!
This was written at, like, 3am so I apologise for cliche's and portraying my strange fantasies x.)
Late November
A year later
Lay in thick snow, Waterloo Road was quiet. In the second from top flat of the pristine apartment building, Victoria Watson sat inside getting ready for a night out with some Government officials as per Mycroft's request. Few cars drove by the street, their engines roars muted with the dense snow on the ground.
The dark sky was hidden with grey clouds which continuously churned snow. Debating wether it would be approapriate to ruin her new Louboutins, Victoria stared out of her living room windows at the blizzard picking up on the banks of the Thames. She gazed over at her new shoebox and then back to the windows. I could get a cab she thought, I could just get a taxi. Her brain tossed around ideas and plans to make her social ends meet and eventually, she settled on the cab idea.
Victoria swanned around her apartment, zipping up zips and buttoning buttons when she was attracted to a scene outside. Flipping her hair back onto her shoulders, Victoria headed towards her kitchen window where the silence was being disturbed. Glancing downwards to the streets below, Victoria was filled with rage. An old homeless man being mugged by a young gang in the darkness. She raced to her front door and grabbed her keys before rushing down the fire-escape to the glistening white lobby. The glass doors to her apartment building was pushed open and the bracing blizzard hit her, destroying all of her makeup and hair. Her clothes were soaked through and her feet were blue and Victoria hadn't even stepped outside. Victoria shouted several times at the youths and pushed towards the old homeless man, her arm wrapping over his back as she fought off a youth with another hand. "It's okay," Victoria reassured the man during the violence she was springing onto the gang, "It's alright. I have you."
Moments fluttered by and the gang was laughing and chortling down the street, joking with the gang member Victoria fought off single-handedly. Victoria gripped the homeless man's hand and shoulder and guided him inside to her building. She nodded at the receptionist who imediately handed over plush towels and a complimentary dressing gown and slipper set. As the items were tucked under her arms, the homeless man refused to look up from the ground when standing in the elevator beside her. Victoria didn't know what to do or say to the man who remained silent on their journey up to her apartment.
Once inside, Victoria sat the homeless man down on the edge of her bed with the building's complimentary items. The homeless man held the plush fabrics in his long, delicate hands, stroking each loop of cotton with precision and passion. He continued to stare down, his face shadowed by his dirty beanie hat. She got up to leave him to it, but knelt beside him first, "Would you like to do this on your own? Are you able to? Do you want me to stay?" Victoria queried in a soft tone and a gentle smile. The man shook his head, still silent. Victoria chewed at her lip before looking back up at the man. It was now evident, in the light of her bedroom that the man was bleeding. Shock took over her. It was bad. As she closed her eyes to invent a sensitive approach to the man's injury, the image flashed into her head. The blood. The pavement. John at her side. Sherlock's body lying in front of her. It scared her, made her shake and almost fall backwards onto the floor. Her eyes opened wide and she blinked away the horrible image she had avoided for a long year, "W-Would you like me to-?" she gestured towards the blood. Again the mans head shook and Victoria slowly and carefully left the room.
Victoria sat in her second bathroom with a glass of wine and her head in her hands as the homeless man got dressed in her bedroom. So long she had gone without the thought of him. She felt empty all over again. Victoria sniffed away her feeling of the dead detective as she heard movement from the kitchen. Victoria grabbed her small first aid kit from under the bathroom sink. Her kettle boiled louder as her footsteps grew nearer, "D-Do you still want me to sort your head? I have some bandages." Her voice was a slow and sharp whimper, her hands shook as they firmly gripped the medical kit. The homeless man sat with his back to her in the soft white robe. His feet were bare and surprisingly clean against the bar stool. The mug beside him was steaming with tea. Victoria forced herself to put the first aid kit down and turn the homeless man around but as she went to release her grip from the box, the bar stool turned and there he sat. The blood still on his face, his hair sticking to the wound. His grey eyes bright and his lips still thin. Victoria smashed the first aid box down onto the kitchen counter before sharply smacking her hand off of his cheek. Victoria stumbled backwards in shock as his cheek grew pinker and redder. Her mouth went dry. No words could have been made. He sat atop the stool, guilt on his face, "I'm so sorry."
"NO! You're supposed to be six-feet under! You're supposed to be dead!" Victoria screamed and rubbed her eyes, believing this was all a horrible dream. Her head shook several times and Victoria looked up at him with her hands pressed to the side of her temples, "S-Sh- No. This isn't real!" she remarked in a harsh tone. Tears were brewing clearly in her eyes and with a second look at him on the stool, the tears flooded her face, "How could you have done that?" she wept at him, "We couldn't cope for weeks! Where were you when you were meant to be dead?! Where were you, Sherlock?!" Victoria was now completely unstable. The anger and sadness swelled her heart until it was fit to burst through her chest. Her throat ached from the tears and her lungs grew sore from her sharp breaths. He sat still for a second before stepping down to stand in front of her,
"I was with Mycroft. I travelled for a while. Only he and Molly knew."
Victoria stared up at him and her bottom jaw stiffened, "Mycroft?! Mycroft knew?!" she stammered and pushed herself away from him, "The man I work with everyday?! The man who told me to 'forget' knew all about his little brother's plans?! The man I am to meet with within the hour?" She was now laughing with anger. Victoria was delirious with this tidal wave of emotion,
"I tried to tell you, Victoria, I did! But by the time I looked out of the window you were gone! You were leaving for Harriet's! I was going to tell you first!" he argued back, following her with the blood starting to ooze with his high pressure. Victoria had her arms across her chest and a hand at her throat. Sherlock's eyes pleaded with hers desperately,
"I should be so lucky." She seethed with sarcasm before pointing, "John is crushed! Mrs Hudson doesn't know what to do with herself! All because of you not telling u-"
"If I didn't jump, you, John, Lestrade and Mrs Hudson would have been killed. I feared for you. You all would have died if I had turned to cowardice! I saved your lives!" he fought back harder than before which only made Victoria cry more,
"The great Sherlock Holmes got scared and in turn- killed himself!" huffing and puffing, Victoria held her fringe back with her hand on her hip, violently shaking, "I was beside you! You were dead in the middle of London. You were cold as ice, Sherlock! I could feel you, Sherlock." The room grew quiet and only Victoria showed her inner thoughts. Sherlock had his head slightly bowed though he was a dog who had wronged his owner, "Leave."
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