Prompt: Tears
Though, it's a happy ending. I might rewrite this because that's hOW I LIVE or NOT... because that's what people DO.
Okay. Yeah. Thank you for coming to my TedTalk.
Look between the lines or rather, at the lines
[「-」]
Tears, something Sherlock never welcomed in his days of the living, tears were just a substance, a liquid, running down an individual's face due to the rise of intense emotions. He had never wanted to feel them because if he stood in front of someone with tears flowing down their face, it was probably because of him and he never truly liked it.
But he had tears in his eyes when he looked at John from the ledge of the hospital, where he dropped the phone on the ground after typing 'Lazarus' with one hand and the other hand shoved in his pocket, his jacket's pocket.
Goodbye, something that Sherlock said, the seven letters he ran over with his mind and mouth, how two words were decided to be shoved into one with another meaning yet still derived from two others. Just like their friendship, how two people rammed together, one flat, became one thing. They were 'Sherlock and John', not 'Sherlock' and 'John', even though they were two people with two personalities, interests, looks, tastes.
He had said goodbye to John when he slotted his hands with Mary's, a woman who then brought their child into the world, 'The Women,' perhaps, because John was jealous of Irene the same way Sherlock was jealous of Mary. Jealous. It killed him.
Jealous, he didn't do jealous, hell, he was one of the smartest people in the world and the envy he spat at John was really just an insult he could muster up in the brain of his. He loved being that person where people swooned over like a character from a show or movie.
The center of attention, yet some days he wished the press didn't put the adjective, that title in front of John's name and wouldn't be so defensive about such things. 'Bachelor John Watson?' He had coughed out with his eyes widened. Oh, how he wished those simple things.
Bachelor, the term both men had in front of their names, in front of Sherlock Holmes and John Watson. Doctor John Watson. His Doctor John Watson. That was about to be called a 'married man' to the people he knew.
Lestrade patted him on the back with a smile, Mycroft gave polite congratulations, Mrs. Hudson clapped in joy, Harriet gave him a 'sisterly lecture' and Sherlock? He felt his world come to a close because being in hell with John would be better than here.
Selfish, that's what they called him, a man with no heart, no soul, no love. He was the virgin with a, now, broken heart.
Heart, he didn't have one. He'd be happier here without one.
Happier. You look happier, you do.
Such a mundane word yet Sherlock could only imagine what it felt like. Was he really this low?
Such a mundane feeling yet Sherlock could only dream what it felt like, not that he wanted to.
Were they lies?
A world without John Watson.
The word between lines.
My friends told me one day I'd feel it too.
Words between lines.
I could try to smile to hide the truth.
Between lines.
I know I was happier with you.
Lines.
Look at the lines and their meanings abo-
"Sherlock!" His name. His... name?
He opened his eyes, which landed on a figure that was about 5'7" and before his eyes could focus on the said figure and get rid of the blurriness from vision, his mind said, 'John' in bold, scribbled out red-inked letters.
"Oh, ah, John..." Sherlock smiled, rewriting the expression on his face, no... the expression on his face being rewritten as he realized how he probably looked.
"Sherlock, are you alright?" His doctor asked, which Sherlock looked down.
"The sole fact I was sleeping on my own bed possibly puts you off, but n-yes." Sherlock coughed. John sat down on his bed and Sherlock heard the sound of keys clinking off each other and Sherlock jolted to the left a bit, realizing why his dear doctor was here. "Oh." He murmured.
"Sherlock?" John, being the ever so observant man, opened his mouth to ask about the flinching.
"No-no, no. I know why you're here. Congratulations." Sherlock nodded as he blinked rapidly in a span of a few seconds that felt like nothing to him. He felt bitter again, a churning machine that couldn't churn because of how much he did it, he was worn and broken.
"What happened?" John asked, "What happened that night?" His eyes narrowing, instead of suspicion or whatever he should've felt, it was replaced with an almost patronizing, pitying look, but it really was just John's new soft look.
He hated it.
"Nothing."
"You left early." John pushed.
"You never needed me there in the first place-" Sherlock retorted.
"You were the best man!" John cut him off.
"Your best man! At my heart's own funeral." Sherlock threw his hands up.
"Yet someone told me I was their conductor of light," John looked down at his hands, "Angels are too, and I'm here to... erm... resurrect you?" John laughed nervously.
"Why come down to hell when you can go back-" Sherlock gestured to the sky that they both shared but was also shared with the married women in John's life that was married to John and was now his life, "-there?" He spat.
"Because... honestly-"
"Honestly, what?" Sherlock nearly hissed, his eyes bolted on John's shorter figure.
"Honestly, being here with you is the true-" John gestured to the sky, "-'there'."
"Oh, stop your bullsh-"
"Sherlock!" John huffed. Sherlock held his hand out.
"I know, you want me to feel better and knowing you're happier is what makes me happier. Hand it over." Sherlock's soft whispers hardened into stone as he said the last three words. John stepped back two steps.
"Sherl-" John started.
"Leave." Sherlock pointed at the door and so John did that.
John closed the door, leaving a hand on it, so his fingers brushed against the door. He took out his phone. This was it, if Sherlock didn't answer the call, he would leave, to his wishes.
Calling: Sherlock Holmes
'Walking down 29th and Park...' John's head snapped up. He vaguely remembered the lyrics as he heard it from the pub he headed down to, Ed Sheeran blasting from the other side of the room. Happier, wasn't it? The song that John waved off as so-called 'bull' suddenly grasped his attention. It wasn't Holmesian-no, not even Sherlockian for such 'sentimental' things to be done.
"Ain't nobody hurt you like I hurt you." He heard Sherlock's quiet voice from his door.
"But ain't nobody love you like I do." John whispered. The next line came and he couldn't hear Sherlock's voice even if he pressed his ear to the door. The line said, 'Promise that I will not take it personal, baby.'
All he could hear from Sherlock was the words 'happier' being murmured but before the music stopped, after the seconds that ticked by. John breathed in, "I was happier with you." John sang before he told the phone to end the call, but not before he heard Sherlock's voice from the device.
"And I will be happier with you." He heard.