A/N: I told myself I had to get this up before Series three came out and all post-Reichenbach fics were rendered null and void so here it is. The final chapter. I hope you like it!
The attacks were becoming increasingly more violent.
With the growing favour in Sherlock Holmes, those who believed in Richard Brook had to up their game. They had their own site now, growing by the day and were striking back hard. They accused the evidence found by the believers to be fabricated, hacked to wrong justice. They sympathised with Brook, explaining his disappearance as Sherlock Holmes having him assassinated to get rid of evidence.
But most of all, they attacked the shreds of Sherlock's reputation, claiming that no one could be that clever, the only logical explanations for his clever deductions was to have known beforehand.
Naturally, with both sides fighting with such passion, flame wars broke out between the two factions, and then street attacks. It didn't help that both sides wore their beliefs openly.
But, of course, believers in the Movement fought back even harder. The graffiti was becoming such a problem that Scotland Yard had picked up on the numerous complaints and kindly appealed to those involved to stop doing it. Which was promptly ignored.
And it wasn't just graffiti anymore. Posters were posted over every tree trunk and lamppost, the words were scrawled over toilet walls, whiteboards and desks and there were pictures, numerous pictures to prove it. Also were the photo edits and art of those who believed in the Movement, which were a sight to behold.
They were gaining momentum. People knew who they were, knew what they were fighting for. The daily hits for the website were rising fast and they had their own hashtag on Tumblr and Twitter (#believeinsherlockholmes, easy to remember).
But of course, the Brook believers had theirs as well (#richardbrookisinnocent), but they were winning that battle slowly.
She couldn't help but feel proud of her fellow associates, proud of how far they had come. They could do it, really do it. Win back Sherlock Holmes' reputation.
She wondered what he would have thought about their movement. Would he be proud, or think it childish? She decided she didn't know.
Because who knew what went on in his brilliant mind?
Except John Watson. He would have known.
She wondered sadly if he was okay. Then decided he probably wasn't. After all, he had watched his friend fall to his death and those kinds of things tended to leave scars.
And the media weren't helping one bit.
She glanced at her clock and realised she had to go to school. She ended her train of thought and picked up her bag.
…
She looked at the pro-Brook graffiti around the school and in the toilets and felt furious. It wasn't the graffiti as much as the obvious ignorance to it. There had been plenty of pro-Sherlock messages around the school before, and it had been cleared up in a couple of days and those involved suitably punished.
She didn't mind that much. They were adhering to the school rules. But this though, nothing had been done about it for almost a week. The school's bias shouldn't outweigh the rules.
This angered her beyond reason. And in her anger, an idea grew. And it grew.
She decided to act on this idea before logic and a cool head could catch up.
…
She took a detour on the way home from school. She planned to pass by a local art shop selling all sorts of art materials. That would be vital to her stunt. That, and a wait of a few days, when it would be less risky.
She had never thought about her route before, she just knew it. She never realised until now that her route took her through Baker Street.
She wandered through as if in a daze. The whole thing seemed so surreal, even though she had taken this path countless times.
And there, just like any other flat, was 221B.
She switched off her mental autopilot and gathered enough coherency to take in the scene before her.
Surrounding the door like vultures circle carrion were journalists.
Lots of journalists.
She would have expected this right after the events and for weeks after, but even now? So many months afterwards?
John Watson only had to open the door and the reporters would descend upon him, feigning sympathy, for some, others painfully blunt, without a car for his feelings or what he had been through, only seeing him as another source of money and headlines.
And one thing that sickened her was exploitation.
For now, she'd carry on to the art shop and get what she needed. The beginnings of a post were forming in her mind.
…
She turned on the lamp.
She booted up her computer.
She sat looking at the submission page.
She began to type.
…
Title: I fight John Watson's war.
Before today, I hated the media for their treatment of Sherlock Holmes as much as each of you. We know that they are eating this up like vultures, leeching off the sorrow of others, selective in obliviousness of other people's pain.
Which changed today.
Today I became aware that the journalists are still hounding Dr. Watson's door. Of course, a lot of you will already know of this, but I would like to talk about what this means to me.
The journalists and the news reporters must have acquired the skill to separate themselves from their hearts as they can still report about such a tragic event such as the death and nature of Sherlock Holmes spread such slander, without feeling a thing. That they view Sherlock Holmes not as a person, but as a headline, a news story. But they don't understand that there was a person underneath the hat. They don't understand that Sherlock Holmes was a very real man, with a very real life, with very real friends who knew what he was like, and that his death has had a very real effect on them, no thanks to the slander of the media.
Maybe they can do this because they cannot connect with him because they didn't know him, that they convinced themselves that he truly was a bad person, that they are doing the right thing.
Maybe they haven't thought about how they would feel if someone they knew, someone they cared for, was publicly humiliated and accused of crimes they did not commit, who then committed suicide right in front of them. Maybe they hadn't thought about how they would feel if the media still tore down their reputation in front of them, even after all they had seen, every single day.
Maybe they didn't know what it would feel like for the media to hound their door, even after all that.
They now know how John Watson feels every day.
It is said that you should treat people as you would like to be treated. Maybe those reporters outside Baker Street should think about that.
And to John Watson, I would like to add my support and say that I, too, fight his war.
-Sherlockian.
…
She had taken a few days to carefully plan her stunt. From the art shop; a yellow marker pen. A wait of a few days until one of her many revision sessions. Observing various toilets to see which ones the cleaners had just been in, so no one else would go in and intervene, see it until the next day.
There were three cubicles in this toilet. Perfect.
She took out her yellow marker pen from her pocket and uncapped it.
She was nervous. She wasn't used to this. Think of all the rules…
A calming thought in a raging storm of panic.
For Sherlock Holmes.
She began to write.
…
The hand writing was probably sloppy enough to keep her out of suspicion. So was her rule keeping reputation.
For Sherlock Holmes. For Sherlock Holmes.
She got out her phone and snapped some pictures. A gift for Tumblr and the website. Support for the Movement.
For Sherlock Holmes. For Sherlock Holmes.
She left the toilets.
…
'Post'.
Very anonymous usernames. No one ever knew she had accounts. It was fine.
An addition to the collection.
She realised she was kind of enjoying it. Being rebellious for the Movement. She wanted to get the message out, wanted to counteract the Brook supporters.
Tomorrow couldn't come sooner.
…
During her break the next day, she slipped into the toilets where she had left her messages.
There they were, for all to see.
On the door of one cubicle, the message: I believe in Sherlock Holmes.
On the door of the next, the message: Moriarty is real.
And on the last door, the message: I fight John Watson's war.
She'd heard people talking about it, the first pro-Sherlock message in a long time, since the others before, the praise, the disapproval, the passing comments.
And she thought about the talk about her work, as she looked upon it and smiled.
…
She was sure some of the pictures of her message were not her own. The camera angles were different to hers.
She couldn't keep track of her pictures anymore, as they had been reblogged a few times and added to lots of different photosets.
And she had seen a lot of new photos up. She recognised some from her school.
She'd started something.
She'd actually started something.
Her.
One picture caught her eye. A shot of one of her messages, but there was an addition:
'I believe too.'
…
She checked the next day and there it was, proud and confident on the wall, with new additions.
…
There was a graffiti war now, as well as an online one. It was getting so much more common, more and more pictures surfacing. The school couldn't keep up with painting over the messages. They wouldn't be happy. But no one really cared.
…
She sat back in her chair and contemplated the online war. The Movement was pushing back, gaining supporters.
And her? She'd made a difference. People knew of her posts and they'd done something. But then again, any post, any belief was a contribution.
And all she was was a username, the face behind a computer.
And that was the Movement, lots of ordinary people with one belief; Sherlock Holmes was not a fake.
You can't kill beliefs.
She clicked the 'New Post' button.
A/N: So I really enjoyed writing this fic and I really hope you enjoyed reading it. Enjoy Series three and we'll all try not to crash Tumblr and cause an apocalypse. Please review and goodbye!