Sherlock One Shots

The Reunion - John and Sherlock

The Reunion – John and Sherlock

“You ... you told me once that you weren’t a hero. Umm ... there were times I didn’t even think you were human, but let me tell you this: you were the best man, and the most human ... human being that I’ve ever known and no-one will ever convince me that you told me a lie, and so ... There. I was so alone, and I owe you so much.” – John Watson: The Reichenbach Fall

It has been two years. Two years since the fall. John is sat on the bench, the bench where he had a ‘catch up’ with Mike Stamford. If it wasn’t for him then John wouldn’t have met the high functioning sociopath. His face is buried in his hands as another flashback hits him. Sherlock jumps from the roof of Bart’s Hospital. John weeps into his hands, the onlookers just ignoring the sobbing man on the bench. They are used to it. He sits there regularly, away from Baker Street.

He moved out of 221b a couple of weeks after the consulting detective’s suicide but was forced to move back due to his unstable mental state. He followed his sister’s footsteps and became an alcoholic, lost his job and is now living in 221b as a charity case. John sees Sherlock’s bloodied corpse. John runs his hands through his hair and takes some deep breaths. “No, Jesus no.” He mutters, recollecting his thoughts after the jump. “God no.” A hand reaches John’s shoulders and startles the blogger. It is Sally, Sergeant Sally Donovan with Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade following. Recently it was proven that Richard Brooke was a fake and Moriarty was real. Sally felt guilty so kept a close eye on John. “John. You should get back to Baker Street.” Sally says helping John to stand.

John shakes his head, trying to balance himself. He has no colour in is cheeks and his clothes are days old. “Come on mate, Mrs Hudson is worried.” Greg tries to reassure John but John is excepting none of it.

“You!” John cries pointing at Sally, his hand shaking psychosomatically. “You convinced everyone that Sherlock was a lie. He wasn’t…he was a hero!” John gulps down a cry and restrains his tears. “He was my hero…” John trails off and he sits back on the bench. Greg tries to pull him up but fails at John shoves him away. “Haven’t you two got criminals to catch or are they so out of your league that you need a consulting detective?! Well you killed him so, just go. I will be back at Baker Street soon. I don’t need an entourage.” Greg and Sally nod and wander off.

John sways off the bench and staggers towards the graveyard. He has visited his friend’s grave every day since…you know what. Apart from the odd day he lost due to hangovers, drugs and confinement. When he reaches the black, polished headstone that in gold reads ‘Sherlock Holmes’ he drops to his knees. “Sher…” He begins but is interrupted by a sniffle. “Sherlock, they think I am crazy.” John rubs his right eye and peers at his reflection in the headstone. “Maybe they’re right.” He sighs deeply. “I have let you down Sherlock. I cannot convince myself that you told me a lie, and now that it has been proven that you weren’t a lie…there are too many questions!” John raises his voice but quickly lowers it again when he realises his surroundings. “I have too many questions that need answering but they are unanswerable.” He slurs. “Some days I think I see you but you aren’t there. The therapist didn’t help and neither did the drugs or drink to be honest…I’ve turned into my sister.”

John places his right hand into his pocket, grasping onto and strong, metal object. “I have given up Sherlock. There is nothing else to do.” John pulls the object out of his pocket revealing a gun and cocks it; he holds the gun to his temple with the nozzle pressing slightly against the skin. The metal is cold. “Sorry Sherlock.” He closes his eyes to brace himself and his finger lingers over the trigger. He takes a deep breath and steadies his finger. “John…” John’s eyes snap open and he is left looking straight at the consulting detective. He rubs his eyes with his free hand and points the gun at the lean figure wearing the long coat, collar pulled up.

“You are not real!” John screams, panicking as his breaths quicken. He tries to steady his breathing, still pointing the pistol and the man.

“No, John it is me. I am real!” Sherlock reaches his arm out trying to touch John, to try to calm down his blogger. John lowers his arm but quickly brings it up again, his breathing still uneven. “It is okay…” Sherlock trails.

“It is not okay!” Sherlock brings his arm back to his side and looks heavenwards, hoping for an answer. “You died. You jumped off a roof right in front of me and died. I had to bury you! I grieved! I came here every day!”

“No…”

“No?! What do you mean no?! How could you do that to me Sherlock, even for you this is…no you are not really real. This is another bloody hallucination.” John steadies his arm, keeping the gun pointing directly at Sherlock’s chest.

“John. I had to…jump. Moriarty’s sniper would have killed you…and Gavin and Molly.” Sherlock pants, hoping John won’t pull the trigger.

“Gavin?”

“Gavin Lestrade…” Sherlock nods.

“It’s Greg…so is it you? Sherlock. Are you my Sherlock?” John asks the figure. Sherlock nods and John drops the pistol which Sherlock swiftly receives off the floor and places it into his trench coat. John shakes his head and falls into Sherlock’s arms, sobbing heavily.

“I am so sorry John.” Sherlock reveals hugging John tightly on the grave. “What have I done to you?” Sherlock feels guilt creeping up on him like nothing he has ever felt before.