So this is set about two years later, if you're wondering what happened inbetween, not much.
Cases, getting over Greg, working hard at Uni.
this is where the drama begins
Enjoy and Review! :)
Oh and for those who decide to take it upon themselves, to not review and comment in a way which would help, but just state things which are an attempt to hurt feelings...stop. I don't want nor need that on this story. If you have criticism which will help me build this, I'm all for it, if not, go away. I'm not asking you to read it.
2 years later.
Sherlock had been gaining public attention due to the large cases he had been taking in between Uni lectures, and he was now being noticed on the street; sometimes even being asked for autographs and pictures.
As he said, however 'the last thing a consulting detective needs is a public image'.
He'd upgraded his mind castle to a mind palace; much more information space, there.
He had a room all for John, his memories, his childhood. Everything.
The newspapers and magazines seemed to love him, his infrequent visits to places where the paparazzi were allowed made him worth more than his weight in gold.
Although John and Sherlock had done nothing in particular to hide it, it seemed the papers were still oblivious to their relationship status, continuing with titles of 'asexual Sherlock' and 'young bachelor Watson'.
'John, Moriarty's back' Sherlock whispered, quickly pulling on some clothes, and switching the bedside lamp on.
John swivelled on his bed, his previously closed eyes now wide with worry. 'What?' he said, shaking his head, praying this was just a bad dream. 'Why now? It's been over 2 years for chrissake' he added, not wanting to believe that after two years of near bliss at university, now would be the time that everything changed.
John pushed the duvet away and stood up. He didn't need to change because he had fallen asleep in his clothes hours earlier, and so he set to work packing a suitcase for them both.
Sherlock noticed this, and stopped in his tracks. 'No' he said, his voice deeper and less clear than usual.
John turned, and looked into his lover's eyes. 'No, what?'
'You can't come with me' Sherlock sighed in response, wringing his hands. 'I won't put you in danger, not for this, not for anything.' He sat on the edge of the bed, head in his hands.
John closed the distance between them in a couple of steps and grabbed Sherlock's head with both hands, pulling him forward so they would make eye contact. 'I'm coming. Wherever you go, I go, okay? I won't leave now. Not ever. If you leave without me, I'll only follow.'
Sherlock finally looked up, then away, forcing John away as he added more items into the half packed case. 'Fine' Sherlock said. 'Text Mycroft'
Fifteen minutes later, they were travelling in the back of a black car, a text 'I'm not a taxi service' suggesting Mycroft was actually sleeping for once when they contacted him.
They arrived at Holmes Manor relatively quickly, and Sherlock didn't wait for John, instead running inside, and grabbing Mycroft by the sleeve, shutting the door behind them once they had entered the study. John didn't attempt to listen or join the apparent conversation, instead flaking out on the sofa in one of the living rooms, just waiting. They seemed to be in discussion for hours, and when they finally finished, only Myc appeared in the wide doorway.
'Let's eat, John' he smiled, leading him into the smallest dining room. A new maid, still yawning and rubbing her eyes bought in the food, and was told to go back to bed soon after.
As they picked at the food on their plates, John remembered 'where's Sherlock?' he asked, panic already starting to build inside him.
'Nothing to worry about, John. He's gone to sort something out, he'll be back in a few hours.'
John blinked, pushing his chair away from the table. 'You let him go… on his own?' he shouted, thinking of how he could try and find Sherlock, before it was too late.
Mycroft grimaced, also standing. 'He asked me for a favour. I believe I have kept to it, and it is now time to allow you to leave. I believe he went to St. Bartholomew's hospital. There is a car waiting outside for you' he reached to shake John's hand but seemingly thought better of it, slowly lowering his hand and walking out of the room.
John rushed out of the front door and into the awaiting car, which didn't wait for instructions; apparently Mycroft really did have this planned, then.
He found himself being driven through the quickest route towards St Bartholomew's hospital. He only really knew this because he'd been offering help there for experience; all work was good at this stage.
When it pulled up to the hospital, he jumped out of the car and raced towards the entrance.
Climbing the stairs, he headed towards Molly Hooper's usual room; she'd graduated one year earlier than both John and Sherlock and was now trying to build up experience.
As he climbed the last set of steps he ran into the room; a surprised look set on Molly's face. After a quick glance around, and no explanation he ran back to the stairwell and up onto the roof.
Sherlock was standing, looking down to the pavement. He was holding his phone to his ear, clearly talking to someone. John didn't announce himself, quietly stepping forward, holding his breath.
No, I don't need to speak to you face to face.
Absolutely not. Stay right where you are, Jim.
John's eyes widened at the name. He noticed Sherlock was carrying a newspaper, and he leant forward and pulled it out of his hand, at the same time announcing his presence.
On the cover, there was a shocking image of Sherlock and John embracing, the main heading Johnlock, hidden liars.
The description of what was inside the paper, however, was more surprising
Sherlock Holmes and John Watson have been in a homosexual relationship for almost 3 years. Mr. Holmes has recently been uncovered – the cases and stories all lies, to impress his partner, and to hide the truth? The mysterious death of DI Greg Lestrade. Continue reading pg 9.
John couldn't stop the gasp as he finished reading. They were blaming Sherlock for Greg's death? How had Mycroft allowed this to be published?!
Sherlock was still on the phone, almost finished apparently as he added 'fine, as long as everyone stays safe, goodbye'
There was a tear running down Sherlock's face and John stepped forward to brush it away, however he stopped when Sherlock raised his hand, and whispered 'don't come any closer'.
He threw his phone from the building and John frowned. What was the point of doing that?
'Sherlock…' he started, but was again hushed, Sherlock slowly turned on the ledge and faced down, towards the cars and people scurrying by below them.
'I was going to leave a note but I assumed you would follow' he said, his head turned away from John's
'Why would you leave a note, you're not going anywhere are you?' John's voice was raised, the only way to stop it from cracking, for his worries to take him over.
Sherlock chuckled at this and shook his head 'not quite in the way you imagine, I'm sure. Let me speak now, I need to do this' John gulped and nodded, not knowing what to expect.
'Jim Moriarty? He was never real. I made him up, just like the newspapers say, along with all the other cases, to impress you. I needed to do that because I needed to be sure you'd never leave me. I couldn't be on my own again. Never. And Greg? He found out.
It sounds far too convenient does it not? I hired Jim, he wasn't anyone special, but he was up for getting rid of anything that got in his way, and Lestrade came into that category. Obviously Mycroft couldn't know, I'd never get any cases if he did'
Another glimmering tear slid down Sherlock's face, and he gulped, willing himself to continue before John had the chance to speak.
'I'm a fraud. I'm no more consulting detective than anyone else.' John stopped him there, not understanding, not believing.
'No' he said, his voice loud enough for him to sound surer than he was 'no. you know things about people you have never met before. Things no one but you could know. That isn't a lie. That's just you'.
Sherlock turned and frowned at this 'it's a magic trick, John. It's just a magic trick.
I needed someone in my life, and you happened to be that person. It could have been anyone.'
John still didn't believe this, but was pissed off because Sherlock had even mentioned that.
'Oh so all the times I committed myself to you, gave myself to you, they were a lie? Just convenient because I was there? Give it a rest, Sherlock'
'I'm so sorry, John' he whispered, and he gave one last longing look, before turning to face the ledge again.
'What, no?!' john said, running towards where Sherlock was standing.
Sherlock took a deep breath, and fell forward, falling down the many stories of St Bartholomew's hospital.
John reached the ledge where Sherlock had been standing seconds earlier, and looked over.
A crumpled mess lay before him, feet below him, on the pavement. Blood was clearly seeping from various areas of the body.
John screamed, he couldn't bare to believe that the centre of his life was gone. Wiped out.
He ran down the stairs, as quickly as he could, tripping up more than twice as he went.
He ran through the already open doors, and out into the street. Pushing past the crowds, he saw what he had expected not to. Sherlock Holmes, the one man he loved, splayed across the surface, being slowly lifted onto a stretcher. No need to take a pulse, his head had clearly cracked, both legs shattered and by the looks of it, spine, broken.
John fell to the floor, his legs no longer able to support his torso.
'God, no'.