Disclaimer: These characters don't belong to me, they belong to their respective creators.
~ How Soon is Now?
The temptation to roll his eyes at his last patient of the day was immense, due to hearing the young man's acne problem that could lead to the potential ending of the world. His patient only reminded him of his school days, which he loathed entirely and was glad to be an adult. The teen was dressed in the latest of cool hip-hop fashion, trying too look like some heartthrob out of a teen girl's magazine.
"So, you see my problem Doc, I can't be seen with this volcano on my face, I've got an image to maintain."
The young man's demeanor rubbed John the wrong way, the doctor found him arrogant and nearly cringed when the teen called him Doc, John did not like being called Doc.
"So, you want a quick working ointment that'll get rid of that blemish in two hours for a date?" The dirty blond blinked bluntly
"Yes, finally someone who understands." The teen enthused.
"Well, Mr. Clayton, since this a small clinic, I'm afraid we don't carry a two hour miracle working ointment. What we do have is an antibacterial facial wash that works in 24 hours."
With hidden enjoyment, he watched the teen's face fall from previous joy, sitting back in his chair behind his desk.
"No, no, that won't work. I need something before my date tonight."
This time, he really did roll his eyes, which went unnoticed by the young man sitting opposite of him. John glared a bit at the teen, he wanted his patient to know he was getting him irritated.
"Is your image that important to your date?" The dirty blond dulled out.
"Yes, she's perfect. She's so perfect with perfect hair, makeup, body, voice." The young man sighed dreamily
"Perfect personality…" the doctor mumbled.
"That too!"
John observed the teen and thought of some advice for him.
"Then, maybe she'll understand if you could postpone your date until that so called volcano, goes away?"
"Oh no, no one puts off a date with Marion Drysdale. If I even suggest something like that, I'll never get another chance with her."
"She's that pretty?" John's voice dripped with sarcasm that still went unnoticed to the teen.
"Yes!"
"I guess the 24 hour face wash won't do."
"No shit Sherlock." the teen murmured, but John caught it and it lit a fuse.
"I'm sorry, what was that?" John sat up, giving his patient his full attention.
"What?"
"That thing you just said?" The doctor formed a thin line with his lips, just barely restraining fury.
"The 'no shit Sherlock' thing? It's just something everyone at school says, you know, after that Sherlock bloke killed himself for being a fake."
The lit fuse was mere milliseconds from exploding.
"Get out." John told the teen curtly.
"What?"
Boom.
Sarah was finishing up on setting a future appointment with a patient when she heard it.
"Get out!" That was John along with some muffled scuffling. The door to his office opened where she was shocked to see the doctor throw the young man out of his office by his shirt collar.
"Wait, what about my blemish?"
"I don't care, you pretentious little prick! Get Out!"
John was down right pissed and emphasized his rage by slamming the door, startling the small staff and two other patients.
Sarah quickly dismissed the young man, set up a cup of tea and entered the furious doctor's office. She found him doing push ups, counting each one of them under his breath, going up to 82 and getting up to sit back in his chair.
"I made you tea."
"Thank you." He took a drink while she sat down in the opposite chair.
"John, what's wrong? That's the third patient you've snapped at this month."
"That conceited twat insulted my bo-friend, best friend, calling him a fraud. He wasn't, isn't a fraud."
"Is that all? Is that what's really bothering you?"
"For the moment, it is."
"No, something's been building up, I can feel it, even your patients can feel it."
John gives her a look.
"Well, some of them. What's wrong, you can tell me."
He looked at her, seeing her genuine concern on her face and released a sigh.
"I can't stand this normalcy. The stasis of everyday ignorance, knowing that there are people who mock him and take him and his work for granted and people who…"
"John, I know you miss him, and that he was an incredible person but you can't let the frustration of losing him get to you while you're with a patient, its been seven months." She brought her arms on top of the desk to lean on them.
"Still feels like yesterday." He gazed into his tea sadly, studying the amber liquid.
"Have you tried to date anyone recently?"
John looked at Sarah.
"I can't, no one else appeals to me."
"Have you… got off with anyone?"
"No, it wouldn't be right."
"John, I'm your friend and as a caring friend, I feel that I have to get it into that stubborn head of yours that he's dead, Sherlock Holmes is dead."
John turned his head away, trying to hold back tears, blinking them away.
"Look, maybe you should go out and not so much date but with some friends. I'm actually going out tonight with some of my friends, you're welcome to join us. You might meet someone to befriend or bed tonight, either way it'll help you come to terms with Sherlock's death so you can move on."
John peered back at Sarah with a scandalized expression, wanting snap at her too, but he realized that she was only trying to help. He still felt offended, taking a deep breath in through his nose and releasing it out mouth, giving her a determined gaze.
"I know what you're saying and while that is true, a part of me still refuses to believe that Sherlock Holmes is dead, and I'm hanging on to that part."
John left the clinic, done with his shift and in cross mood, rounding the corner of the block only to see a severe car accident taking up the entire street. The police redirecting traffic and pedestrians, telling him to take the tube to get home. He was not in the mood to be compressed with other people in an underground metal can, but trying to hail a cab at the moment wasn't going to work, so he turned back. As he was walking, John noticed a male presence following him as he climbed down the stairs to the underground. The dirty blond took a small peek behind him, just incase he needed to keep an eye on this guy. The male wore a green jacket over a navy blue hooded jumper and jean trousers but he couldn't see his face with the hood obscuring it, the man was tall and John didn't want to be too obvious.
The doctor was waiting on the platform and subtly observed his surroundings and caught sight of a tall man with the green jacket, hunched over as he leaned against the wall, his hood still covering his face, waiting as well, as he was on his phone, texting or something. The man had a presence but it was muted to everyone except John, he hinted familiarity, but the doctor wasn't in the mood to guess, he just wanted to get home, not wanting to punch anyone but would if this tall-gangly punk of a bloke decided to mug him.
The first signs of the train came as a gush of wind followed by metal screeching and finally seeing the descending speed of the cars as they slowed and stopped. The car he would have to get on was nearly full and he dreaded the feeling of complete strangers, pushing and shoving to get on and off, today was not his day. The doors opened, letting people out and in, as John got on, maneuvered his way to another side of the car and stood by the doors there. The train started to move when he felt a person behind him, far to close for comfort and willed all of his patience to not tell them to piss off. The train jerked some on its path, making the person behind John, bump into him and he caught a glimpse of a green jacket, it was the same bloke that he felt follow him, in his personal space. The dirty blond swallowed some of his irritation and evened out his voice, controlling his temper.
"Sir, I realize that this is a crowded area but if you don't mind backing off!" The words were spoken loud enough to be heard by both John and the officially dubbed 'stalker', but not loud enough to draw attention.
"John." That voice, that smooth baritone voice that he never thought he would hear again, calling his name, stunned him. John's eyes were wide with shock and recognition but it was impossible.
"No…" he breathed out
"Yes, I'm alive John." remarked the person behind him with the far too familiar voice.
"I don't believe it." A very small part of him didn't, but his eyes began to water again as his ears knew to truth.
John then felt arms wrap around him, cream-colored hands and long elegant fingers interlocking to hold him against the body behind him. The dirty blond leaned against the male body; eyes closed as a stray tear escaped his left eye and opened his eyes again with a new light in them. The warmth, the smell, the embrace that he missed so much, he wanted sob in stupid happy relief but he could only grip at the hands that held him because his mind was fighting with his heart, whether or not to believe that this moment was actually happening. The hold was so familiar, he relished this moment and he wanted to see if it was really him, but as he started to turn, the embrace held the doctor in place.
"Don't turn around, I'm risking a lot as it is but I had to see you. John I have to be quick but first, I'm sorry for not letting you know sooner about my survival, second, I miss you and third I need your help."
Sherlock nuzzled the top of John's head affectionately and spoke directly into the dirty blonds left ear, making him shiver. The detective ached for this feeling of holding his doctor, so small and compact, he too, cherished this closeness.
"How?" John shuddered out
As much as Sherlock wanted to just stay with John, his stop was coming up as the train slowed down, making the tall brunette grit his teeth in bitterness.
"No time to explain, I'll contact you." He spoke quietly
"Sher…" John murmured
"It's good to see you, John." He whispered and placed a soft kiss behind the doctor's ear. John soon felt no presence behind him. He looked around the crowd and only spotted a blue hood over the head of people, exiting the train on the other side.
John was in a daze when he got out from the underground and stared walking the rest of the way home. The entire event of the temporary reunion was repeating over and over in his mind when one thing stood out. When Sherlock was speaking so closely in his ear, both the proximity and the voice made him shiver but he also felt the tickle sensation of hair. Sherlock must have some facial hair or some type beard although it wasn't that long, John thought.
Of course as John began to think about it, it's been seven months since the fall, seven months since he actually saw Sherlock fall to his death. Seven long months of trying and failing to come to terms with his death. Seven months of misery, grief, regret, and all together memories of being with Sherlock from friendship to their blossoming relationship and finally remembering the events that lead up to his death. When in the whole seven-month time span, Sherlock was alive. Sherlock is alive and didn't bother to tell him sooner. John went through hell and back for over half a year, thinking Sherlock was dead when in cold hard reality, Sherlock has been alive. These thoughts soon became a growing mass of irritation, with nearly visible puffs of smoke rising from him as his sour mood came back with a vengeance. The fact that Sherlock has been alive while John was grieving set him on fire with seething rage, so much so he almost kicked some rubbish bins when he caught him self mid kicking motion, stopped, took a deep breath and kept on walking home.
John was practically stomping home, just another block or two until he hit Bakerstreet when he noticed out of the corner of his eye a black car was following him slowly, he knew exactly who it was and ignored the car. The back seat window went down, revealing Anthea who was observing the dirty blond. John was just about to pass an alleyway when the annoyance of the following car set him off.
"What do you want?!"
"Get in."
"What? With you? No."
"C'mon, get in."
"I refuse." He tried to continue walking but saw that Anthea get out of the car, pointing a gun at him.
"Get in the car."
John wanted to protest but got in the vehicle with his arms raised in surrender, which added more fuel to his already fire of fury.
"Can I see your phone?" she asked when he was inside. With some mumbled swears he got out his phone and warily gave it to her.
It was quick, how Anthea grabbed the phone, threw it up in the air and shot it three times before she swiftly got in the car, as it began to drive off. John was at a loss of what to think, the fact that Anthea, always texting on the phone Anthea knows how to use a gun.
"Here, a new phone, which is an exact replica of your old one, right down to the engraving and scratch marks, however, this one is far more enhanced and secure."
He held the phone, amazed at the level of detail that went into making look exactly like his old one. John had a hunch of who held responsibility for his current abduction but he wanted confirmation.
"Was there a reason to destroy my old phone?"
"That one's been compromised and tomorrow, you're getting a new Internet service provider, that's been compromised too."
"Under whose orders?"
She smirks and starts to text on her phone.
"Isn't obvious?"
"Yeah, unfortunately it is." He tensed out, his foul mood coming back far more stronger then earlier.
It was night when he arrived; John stomped into the study after getting frustrated, lost, which resulted in further frustration in the mansion, where he found Mycroft seated behind a large mahogany desk. The desk held very basic essential, a lamp, some blank paper, a folded laptop and neatly placed pens but John placed him self on the other side of the desk aggressively, putting both hands on the desk as he tried to hover over Mycroft.
"Did you, did you know about this?!"
"About what, John?" Mycroft sat back, physically relaxed but his eyes were focused on the man before him, calculating.
"That-that he's alive?!"
"Yes, I knew." The elder Holmes admitted nonchalantly.
"And did it ever occur to you to tell me?!"
"No."
The doctors face was nearly red with fury, making a wringing of the neck motioned towards Mycroft before he dropped that for a pointing gesture.
"You! You!"
"Save it John, have a seat. We need to discuss some things." Mycroft turned a bit in his chair, still relaxed.
"Do we?!"
"Sit down."
John took a seat, but his body language was ready for action, to fight something or some one, from the way his right leg was moving quickly and how he sat forward in his chair. The dirty blond's body language resembled a cheetah ready to pounce on his prey, although Mycroft certainly felt like no ones prey.
"So, he finally made contact."
"If you want to call stalking me on the tube contact, then yes he did."
"I told him not to, however, since when does Sherlock Holmes ever listen to me."
"Never."
Mycroft glared at John, who glared right back.
"Did he tell you anything?" The dark ginger smiled
"Yeah, he did." John was curt.
"Well, what did he tell you?"
"He said he needs my help."
Mycroft sighed, fixing himself, placing both hands, fingers linked together on the desk, giving his full attention to John.
"It's true, we do need your help."
"We? I've agreed to help him, not you. I refuse to help you because you knew he was alive for the past seven months and didn't tell me, which happens to be a dick move and, oh!" John was gesticulating in subdued anger when a thought suddenly hit him, Mycroft quirked a brow.
"There's the family resemblance." He mumbled to him self.
The elder Holmes rolled his eyes and sighed.
"John."
"By the way, just out of curiosity, who else knows that he's alive? Hm?" Jonh mocked.
"John, calm down."
The landmine within John exploded, pumping him full of adrenaline. John was fast, surprising Mycroft when he was grabbed by the front of his suit and violently thrown on his desk, all items falling off of it, including the lamp. John's face was pure seething fury, the burning in his eyes glaring more than just daggers but a couple of bullets and a flamethrower at the dark ginger man.
"Don't tell me what to do! You know absolute shit about what I've been through! I've been a wreck since I saw him jump and saw his bleeding head on the pavement! Then! Oh and then! Months later, I find out that he's alive and no matter how happy and relieved I am, I'm also pissed at not only him but at you too! Keeping the fact that he lives, that he survived that fall, a secret from me! Tell me was it fun?! Giggling at my misery behind these walls?!" Spittle came out of John's mouth, some of it landing on Mycroft's face since they were nearly face-to-face; Mycroft cringing at the spittle.
"John!" the dark ginger shouted, catching his attention.
"If you're quite finished." Mycroft raised a brow, piercing his lips on a scowl.
"Yeah, I'm finished."
John let go of the man and sat back down, silently pleased to rough up the stuck up git and also surprised at how much adrenaline he used to lift the man onto the desk, he felt kind of tired and leaned back. The elder Holmes righted himself off the desk, picked of the lamp, placed it back on the desk and took his seat; leaning back some.
"Right, moving on. We need your help since there's so much we can do without risking what we've done so far."
"And what have you done so far?" John sneered.
"There were three assassins, hired and ready to kill you, DI Lestrade and dear Mrs. Hudson the day he jumped. We've tracked and captured two of them, one is still on the loose but we know of his whereabouts, so he shouldn't be a problem."
The learning of this information unsettled John as he thought about it, eyes down, mind absorbing the news with some flash backs to that day. It was a good small while before he spoke again, looking Mycroft in the eyes with calm vexed resign.
"So… how exactly do you need my help?"
Mycroft smirked, making John turn his head and scowl.
"We need you to start blogging again."
John turned back to stare at the man with clearly confused eyes.
"What?"
Author's Note: I bet you want to know just where am I going with this and to be honest I'm not entirely sure. I have some ideas but I'm not too confident about them, just know that I do want to continue with this fic, it's a challenge. Review if you want.