I am so sorry that this took so long, school, work and theatre productions have not been kind to me. I just hope you guys haven'tleft me for more reliable authors...
Just as a quick aside, The movie Third Star, starring Benedict Cumberbatch, is absolutely heart breaking. I watched in an hour ago and I can't even find the words. Films don't tend to move me like this but...
If you can, go and watch it. The song at the end is... beautiful.
It took John Watson a long time to adjust to the death of his best friend. A long time.
John wonders how long it will take to get used to the fact that his best friend isn't dead. That his best friend is alive and breathing and walking and talking and being an arrogant, intelligent fuck.
He thinks it might take a while.
John used to dream of Sherlock being alive. Used to dream of Sherlock suddenly walking back into his flat, back into his life. Walking back and telling him his clever plan, how he fooled Moriarty, how he faked his own death, how he was clever and brilliant and fantastic and all that had happened was just a lie.
John used to dream of Sherlock being alive.
The reality is different.
The reality of Sherlock being alive, John decides, hurts a lot more than it did in the dreaming. He never dreamt of the feeling of betrayal that would attack his core, or of how the anger would attack his head, or how that feeling of loss that centred in his heart would just... stay there. John thinks that the other two feelings are reasonably fair and relatively unsurprising but he had always dreamt of the loss leaving his heart. He doesn't understand why it persists, but he wishes desperately that it would leave. It hurts.
Mary's doing a fantastic job, she really is. She's what's keeping him together, handing him duct tape for the cracks before he even realizes he needs it. She does so much and John can't even begin to thank her. He tries, once. The words won't come out, they just get stuck there, right at the top of his throat. He receives a sad smile a quiet I know for his efforts and with it, the knot in his chest tightens and the concrete grows heavier.
But he will not fall apart. Not this time. This time he has something this time; something to stay strong for, something to keep him strong. He has his family and he Will Not Fall Apart. He will stay strong for his boys and for his wife and for his dog because they Cannot See This. The simply cannot. He will not fall apart on his family.
No matter how fucking hard it is.
No matter how fucking hard it is, the reappearance of Sherlock Holmes will not disrupt this family that he has built.
The voice in the back of John's head tells him that it won't be that simple. Not by a long shot. The voice tells him that he is being silly. Sherlock will disrupt his life, Sherlock will always disrupt his life. The voice tells him that he should be grateful for the fact that Sherlock is around to disrupt his life. It tells him that this is what he has been wishing for for the past three years, how can the return of his best friend possibly be a bad thing? It tells him that disrupt does not always necessarily mean destroy.
Helped along by Mary and by his children and by- of all people- Mycroft, the voice slowly, oh so infinitely slowly, takes more and more hold on John. It takes days, weeks, for it to be noticeable but the anger slowly abates, the betrayal fades slightly, the hurt becomes less heavy.
It takes days, weeks, for it to happen but, eventually, John is ready. He tells his wife, she smiles a real smile and tells him she loves him. He tells his kids, they hug him because now he Will Not Be Sad Anymore (well, Thomas does, Ewan lies there a burbles, but John likes to think that the tiny human knows, on some level). He even tells the dog, she solemnly looks him in the eye and licks his cheek, John suspects she understands what is going on better than even he does.
Finally he tells Mycroft, the man smiles over the phone and sends a car. It takes much deep breathing and copious amounts of tea, but John eventually gets in. He spends the drive quietly trying to remember how to breathe.
Too quickly, they get where they are going, and John wants to get very quickly and very quietly back in the car. It's safe in the car, it hurts less in the car.
It's too late though, Mrs Hudson's already seen him through her curtains and opens the door. John takes a deep breath and tells himself that this is a good idea, even if feels more like a heart attack, that this will make him feel better. Besides, it's his move, his turn to do something. And even if it wasn't, he has to do something about this and he has to do it now. He has to do it now or he never will.
And John Watson will be damned if he will lose his best friend a second time.
John takes a deep breath, goes up the stairs and enters their –Sherlock's- their flat without knocking.
Sherlock's standing in an instant, turning to John, watching his face, watching to see how he'll react, how the other man feels, watching for answers. John stares back, waiting.
It takes a little while, an eternity for John and no more than 30 second for Sherlock for the answers to be found. Sherlock holds his arms out and suddenly they're both moving, collapsing on each other in the middle of the room. John buries his head in Sherlock's chest and sobs his heart out. Sherlock hides his face in John's hair and holds him hard and close enough to hurt. John thinks that Sherlock might be crying too, but he's not certain til John feels wetness on his head.
They bury themselves in each other for a long, long time. Long enough for Mrs Hudson to come up and check on them. Neither of them notice her, she doesn't exist yet, she doesn't exist and neither does Mary or Thomas or Ewan or Mycroft.
All there is right now is Sherlock Holmes and John Watson.
Reviews would be lovely?
