A/N- Partially inspired by weirdnessunleashed
I Believe in Sherlock Holmes.
The words boldly graced the wall, covering the previous graffiti. John stood and looked at it for a long time, thinking. It must have been one of the people who had heard his speech at the funeral. John gave a half smile to the writing and continued on his way, putting the image out of his mind.
A week later there was another message, Moriarty Is Real, was scrawled on the wall by the train station. John had frowned and looked around, as if someone would be standing by ready to explain. He had finally left, brow furrowed.
The third time he saw the graffiti it read: Fighting John Watson's War. The use of his name made him stop, his train of thought derailed. War? What war? For a moment his mind jumped to Afghanistan but he banished the thought. Why would someone use his name in the graffiti? Was it supporting Sherlock?
Apparently it was, because further down the wall, in smaller letters, was scrawled Sherlock Was Not a Fake. Curious now, John searched through the graffiti covering this stretch of wall and found similar messages, some half painted over. It seemed like he was not the only one who believed in his friend. Feeling lighter than he had for days, John kept walking.
The instances became more common as the week progressed. It was almost frightening how quickly they spread. The messages were showing up everywhere there was graffiti and more where there was not. Walking to 221B, John saw a message scrawled across a heart with wings that read IOU. Probably an unnoticed message from Moriarty long ago. It was hard to make out now, though, because a large spider had been sprayed over the top of it with the words Moriarty Was a Spider.
Soon it was not just graffiti. Pamphlets with prints of Sherlock and tear off tabs saying, "I believe" began appearing on every flat surface available. Once John saw a tee shirt sporting the Moriarty slogan. Upon calling Greg, the man answered in a strained voice that the movement had become too big for the police to contain. Those who were participating were smart, keeping their heads down and avoiding trouble. They could do nothing against the tee shirt wearers, as there was no proof they were doing anything more than declaring a fashion statement. "Don't get me wrong," Lestrade had said, "I bloody want to join them. You started a revolution, you know, with that speech of yours at the funeral. So take pride because the world is noticing Sherlock and they want him back."
If only Sherlock could come back. Still, John appreciated the campaign London seemed to have taken to heart. People would recognize him on the street and come up to him, saying "I believe," or touching him on the shoulder before moving on. Over time, angry store clerks took down the posters and the graffiti on the important buildings was scrubbed away. London slowly lost interest in the detective as nothing new was found in the investigation about Moriarty and Richard Brook. The man had played his cards well; making sure his actor persona was real in every way.
As people again started ignoring John, the man drew into himself. He was alone in his devotion and trust to Sherlock. What point was there in living when everyone hated Sherlock and John was simply the wallflower to be pitied? It was these times that John sank into deep depression and considered the bullet that would end his pain. His life, once so colorful with Sherlock, was sliding into shades of monotone.
When John pulled the trigger that put him in the hospital for months, he did not know that London had not forgotten about Sherlock. It had simply holding its breath, the calm before the storm. Those behind the movement were waiting for the citywide demonstration and wanted as little attention as possible. The stage was set and plans were in place for the "big reveal", but upon learning of John's depression and suicide attempt, the demonstration was moved up. Shirts and armbands were handed out, spray paint cans were purchased to write messages of support for Sherlock, flyers were printed, and tactics were discussed in small cafes. When London woke the morning of the demonstration, it was in for a shock.
Messages were everywhere. Sherlock's homeless network had organized most of the graffiti, able to move without detection through the night. Many storeowners had agreed to let the supporters decorate their windows with washable paint. An article was written for the newspaper and a few certain individuals ensured it appeared on the first page. Some of the newscasters who were participating started off their reports with the main slogan, I believe in Sherlock Holmes. Nearly everyone seemed to be sporting a tee shirt or black armband. The door to 221B was plastered with posters and the steps were overflowing with flowers. The same occurred at Sherlock's grave and outside St. Bart's. A small donation collected by the supporters was left for Mrs. Hudson as compensation for any inconvenience she suffered, as well as a variety of notes stating their belief and support.
New Scotland Yard was flooded with emails, letters, and phone calls berating them for the lack of progress on the investigation. Thousands of letters were delivered to John, who was still under anesthetic in the hospital, along with an overwhelming number of flowers. Unsure of what to do with the letters, the hospital let them pile up in a back room until Mycroft took the initiative and picked them up. The flowers, he had suggested, should be enjoyed by the all the patients and were soon passed throughout the hospital. Still, John's condition remained critical as the movement was stirred into a frenzy. Protestors, no longer staying underground, appeared outside New Scotland Yard and had to be forced back. Heaven knows how, but they managed to hang giant banners that said We Believefrom many of the main buildings in London. The furious companies quickly took them down, but the point had been made. London believed in Sherlock Holmes and they wanted something done about it.
When John awoke and started to improve, he was not told of the events for fear of his delicate condition and Mycroft made no mention of the letters. Once John moved into his old flat, Mycroft made sure no one bothered the man. Fortunately for John, he stayed in all the time as he worked on adjusting to normal life again. By the time John was out and about again, the protest had died down and been contained, its members gone underground again. They still bubbled under the surface though, and messages popped up here and there. The group watched John's recovery with avid interest and John would often find a flower or small token on his doorstep, much to his confusion. It quickly circulated through the ranks that John's memory was spotty after his recovery, so no mention was made to him about his best friend's suicide. Still, the flowers continued and the movement planned their next big move. London would not forget them quickly.
When Sherlock first heard of the movement supporting his innocence, he paid little attention. What did it matter to him what people thought? He had not really committed suicide from shame. Sherlock worried about his flatmate, focusing on how he handled the loss. John, however, seemed to appreciate London's efforts, smiling once or twice and seeming happier after seeing the messages. They must mean something to John, something Sherlock did not understand. The messages were just words. Perhaps John did not want to be alone in his belief in Sherlock's abilities. Sherlock wished that John would accept the story he had been fed: that Sherlock was a fraud.
Sherlock worried continuously about Moriarty's network and the men that would inevitably be watching John for a long time, just in case Sherlock had somehow managed to dupe them all. John's rebellion against Sherlock's fall from grace might be taken as a sign that he did not believe Sherlock's death. The thought both cheered Sherlock and made his heart sink. He liked to think that deep down, John knew that Sherlock had lied. They had lived together for eighteen months; surely John had faith in Sherlock. Still, with each passing day, John accepted his friend was gone and started to protest less when someone insisted Sherlock had been a fraud. Did John really trust him so little? Sherlock wrestled with these questions, glued to his computer day after day as he tracked John's movements.
When the supporters staged their big movement, Sherlock was catatonic and missed it. When he awoke, he alternately spent time checking on John in the hospital or throwing himself into a frenzy of work, hunting down Moriarty's men. The next time the underground arose; Sherlock had gone away to America. Upon his return he saw some of the signs still proudly peeking through quick scrubbed walls or fresh paint. He speculated who was leading this movement, who believed in him so deeply. His mind wandered to the fan that often posted on John's blog and a smile slipped across his lips. Jacob Sowersby, he recalled. Yes, he would be crazy enough to put this revolution together.
Then Sherlock dove back into the whirlwind of cases and clues, forgery and scandals, murder and mystery. The messages appeared and disappeared through London, unnoticed by the man they were supporting. When Sherlock moved to the country with Irene, he effectively moved himself out of the movement's range. Mycroft did not tell Sherlock of the many letters that still arrived at his "grave" or of the notes to John. Sherlock would not care and, for John, the emotional danger was too great until his memory improved.
One day, perhaps, the movement would get their wish and Sherlock's name would be cleared. One day their hero might return. Whether the ill-fated hero would appreciate or understand their devotion remained to be seen. The underground had no idea that they may one day see Sherlock again, but that would not deter them. The slogans continued to appear and the message slowly spread across the country: We believe in Sherlock Holmes.