HFTS: So, with my WACE exams staring me down I thought I'd bring you the epilogue. And the first chapter for the sequel will be up after this one. The sequel will be called In the Back of My Mind and the Core of My Heart. I know some of you have been waiting for it, but I don't want you to be disappointed, so don't get your hopes up. It's still a work in progress and I'm not entirely sure where I'm going to go with it or how long it's going to be, but I want to give you all a sense of closure. I'm very grateful for everyone who read and reviewed this story, and I'm happy you enjoyed it. If I'm honest I never expected anyone to read it, and frankly I don't like it. Maybe in a few weeks or years I might come back and edit it, but for now this will be the absolute last chapter of You Fascinate Me. I know it's short, but I didn't want to babble. It's been a struggle, but here we are. Once again, thank you all for reading.
Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock.
Epilogue: The Tin Soldier
The gun nestled in his drawer was becoming more and more tempting as the days dragged on. His phone stayed silent apart from the odd text from Harry. He ignored those. There was only one person he wanted to hear from, and they couldn't remember him. Most days he woke up screaming, gunfire following him into consciousness. Other days he didn't sleep at all. He couldn't eat either. Nothing tasted right and his stomach seemed unable to muster up any sign of hunger. It was as if he was dead, but his mind had yet to notice. Perhaps he was, and everything that had happened since that last moment in Afghanistan had been nothing but some dying hallucination. Maybe he was in hell and this was the first part of his torture. Or he could be in a coma, and this was all a horrible nightmare. Sherlock might be sitting next to him, holding his hand and annoying the nurses whenever they come too near. Crying when no one could see him. If only John could get to him, fall out of this nightmare and into his arms.
He shook his head, getting to his feet and heading for his chest of drawers. He needed to get dressed and continue looking for a flat. Or, even worse, a flatmate. This had been his ritual for the past few weeks while he had waited for Sherlock to call him, but his heart wasn't in it. He couldn't afford the rents in London, not without tapping into his inheritance. But he didn't feel he deserved that money anymore. He felt as though the John from before had died in the desert, and the John standing in this cramped room was a fraud, a fake that had peeled off the real John's skin and worn it like a suit. The only option left was to find a flatmate to split the rent. He couldn't help but think, in his darkest moments, that no one would want to live with a broken shell of a human being. Not unless they were one themselves. Sighing, he pulled on his clothes and tucked his phone into his pocket. He knew today would be like the others. After all, since he had lost Sherlock, nothing exciting happened to him.
His phone buzzed again, and, finally, he picked it up. "Ah, Dr Watson," a clipped, polished voice said, "I heard from a reliable source that you're looking for a flatmate. I think I might have the perfect candidate."
John grimaced. Harry must been blabbing to one of her co-workers. "Look, I don't-"
"I've arranged a meeting for you at twelve, The Gilded Swan. Don't be late."
John rolled his eyes, hanging up. Great. Once again, someone is waltzing into his life and trying to take over. But he wasn't going to go. He was going to ignore the man. He would show him that he wasn't going to be ordered around. He was going to be- No. He'd been looking for a flat for weeks without success. He had acknowledged that he couldn't afford it without a flatmate, and now one was being offered up on a silver platter and he was being stubborn just because the caller had been a little rude. He shook himself, glancing at the clock. He couldn't be petulant this time. It was time to move on.
HFTS: I'd like to remind you all to check out the sequel and tell me what you think. Ciao.