You need to tell him, Sherlock. -MH
5 posters
Back from the Dead (Sherlock)
Mycroft Holmes- Posts : 244
Join date : 2012-03-25
Age : 58
Job : A minor position in the British Govenrment
Hobbies : keeping track of my rogue brother, keeping the government intact, dating personal assistants, and baking.
Sherlock Holmes- Admin
- Posts : 4523
Join date : 2012-03-22
Age : 48
Location : 221B Baker Street, London
Job : Consulting Detective
Hobbies : Solving crimes, performing experiments, playing violin
Why? What's happened? -SH
Mycroft Holmes- Posts : 244
Join date : 2012-03-25
Age : 58
Job : A minor position in the British Govenrment
Hobbies : keeping track of my rogue brother, keeping the government intact, dating personal assistants, and baking.
Nothing - yet. But you owe him that much. You are back now. You need your better half. -MH
Sherlock Holmes- Admin
- Posts : 4523
Join date : 2012-03-22
Age : 48
Location : 221B Baker Street, London
Job : Consulting Detective
Hobbies : Solving crimes, performing experiments, playing violin
Have you seen him recently? I thought I told you to look after him. -SH
Mycroft Holmes- Posts : 244
Join date : 2012-03-25
Age : 58
Job : A minor position in the British Govenrment
Hobbies : keeping track of my rogue brother, keeping the government intact, dating personal assistants, and baking.
I have been - watching. He is not doing well, Sherlock. -MH
Sherlock Holmes- Admin
- Posts : 4523
Join date : 2012-03-22
Age : 48
Location : 221B Baker Street, London
Job : Consulting Detective
Hobbies : Solving crimes, performing experiments, playing violin
Is it safe for me to go back to Baker Street? -SH
Mycroft Holmes- Posts : 244
Join date : 2012-03-25
Age : 58
Job : A minor position in the British Govenrment
Hobbies : keeping track of my rogue brother, keeping the government intact, dating personal assistants, and baking.
It isimperative that you go back to Baker Street. He needs you. -MH
Sherlock Holmes- Admin
- Posts : 4523
Join date : 2012-03-22
Age : 48
Location : 221B Baker Street, London
Job : Consulting Detective
Hobbies : Solving crimes, performing experiments, playing violin
I need him too Mycroft. I actually miss him. It's a strange feeling. -SH
Mycroft Holmes- Posts : 244
Join date : 2012-03-25
Age : 58
Job : A minor position in the British Govenrment
Hobbies : keeping track of my rogue brother, keeping the government intact, dating personal assistants, and baking.
Don'T tell me you have a heart now. My, my, brother. Didn't know you were capable. -MH
Sherlock Holmes- Admin
- Posts : 4523
Join date : 2012-03-22
Age : 48
Location : 221B Baker Street, London
Job : Consulting Detective
Hobbies : Solving crimes, performing experiments, playing violin
Hmm. I didn't think it were possible either. I'm still not convinced of it. Did you get the locks changed like I asked you? If so I'll need a new key. -SH
Mycroft Holmes- Posts : 244
Join date : 2012-03-25
Age : 58
Job : A minor position in the British Govenrment
Hobbies : keeping track of my rogue brother, keeping the government intact, dating personal assistants, and baking.
Yes. Of course. I didn't see the point, but yes. If you wouldlike, Anthea can pick you up in fifteen minutes. -MH
Sherlock Holmes- Admin
- Posts : 4523
Join date : 2012-03-22
Age : 48
Location : 221B Baker Street, London
Job : Consulting Detective
Hobbies : Solving crimes, performing experiments, playing violin
Is John there now? I can't go back if he's there. I need time to think. Make him go out. -SH
Mycroft Holmes- Posts : 244
Join date : 2012-03-25
Age : 58
Job : A minor position in the British Govenrment
Hobbies : keeping track of my rogue brother, keeping the government intact, dating personal assistants, and baking.
Dr. Watson is at the surgery.Will be forthe next two hours. -MH
Sherlock Holmes- Admin
- Posts : 4523
Join date : 2012-03-22
Age : 48
Location : 221B Baker Street, London
Job : Consulting Detective
Hobbies : Solving crimes, performing experiments, playing violin
Good. I need time. I've thought about this moment for the last 3 years. Still can't think of anything to say to him. -SH
Mycroft Holmes- Posts : 244
Join date : 2012-03-25
Age : 58
Job : A minor position in the British Govenrment
Hobbies : keeping track of my rogue brother, keeping the government intact, dating personal assistants, and baking.
You will be fine. He has missed you terribly, brother. -MH
Sherlock Holmes- Admin
- Posts : 4523
Join date : 2012-03-22
Age : 48
Location : 221B Baker Street, London
Job : Consulting Detective
Hobbies : Solving crimes, performing experiments, playing violin
OK. I'll go. Send a car round to collect me. -SH
Mycroft Holmes- Posts : 244
Join date : 2012-03-25
Age : 58
Job : A minor position in the British Govenrment
Hobbies : keeping track of my rogue brother, keeping the government intact, dating personal assistants, and baking.
Done. Brother, do let meknow how it all turns out. I am curious. -MH
Sherlock Holmes- Admin
- Posts : 4523
Join date : 2012-03-22
Age : 48
Location : 221B Baker Street, London
Job : Consulting Detective
Hobbies : Solving crimes, performing experiments, playing violin
Sherlock Holmes sat in the back of the government car supplied by his brother Mycroft and snuck another furtive glance over his shoulder. It was still there. A dark blue Mercedes with blacked out windows had been following them all the way from the airport hotel where Sherlock had been staying since he arrived back in London. He'd asked his driver to make several unusual turns in an attempt to lose it, but it seems his pursuer knew the backstreets and one way systems of London just as well as Sherlock did, and despite the traffic still managed to keep hot on their heels. Sherlock turned back in his seat and stared out of the window. They had just turned onto Baker Street and as they pulled up outside 221B his heart involuntarily skipped a beat. He thanked the driver and got out then stood for a moment and watched the government car drive off down the street and turn the corner, followed by the car that had been trailing them. As the Mercedes passed him, Sherlock squinted in a final attempt to see through the blackened windows. He could just about make out the shape of a man in the back seat and felt eyes boring into his...but nothing more. He felt a shiver down the back of his neck, then it was gone and so was the car.
Sherlock turned his attention back to his old front door and allowed his fingers to gently carress the letters and door knocker. In his left hand he grasped the shiny new key provided by Mycroft. He'd asked him to change the locks as an extra security measure for John. He wanted to be sure of John's safety whilst he was away. Now he took that key and turned it in the lock, and the door of his home swung open noiselessly. He stepped inside and closed it quietly behind him. He was immediately struck by the not unpleasant scent of Mrs Hudson's perfume hitting his nostrils mixed with the smell of cottage pie. He pricked up his ears and listened a while...she was in the kitchen, singing to herself whilst cooking. He smiled as he approached the stairs. He had to resist the urge to run straight to Mrs Hudson and let her know he was alive...but he knew he had to stick to his original plan. He had to tell John first.
He took the stairs slowly, careful to miss out the creaky 4th step and go straight to the 5th. In a matter of seconds he was standing back inside the flat...the place he'd been away from for 3 years. The first thing he did was go to the windows and close over the curtains. Then he allowed himself a couple of minutes to walk around slowly, inspecting everything, taking it all in. He instantly noticed that the place seemed a lot tidier...certainly the kitchen was the tidiest it had been in years. He opened the fridge and glanced inside. Sparkling clean...not an experiment in sight. He grinned. He'd soon change that. He also noticed that many of his possessions appeared to be missing. No sign of his chemistry equipment - his test tubes, bunsen burner etc; no sign of the skull, or his treasured violin. Frowning slightly, Sherlock headed towards his bedroom, quite eager to see whether it was still the same as he'd left it. Upon turning the handle he found that it was locked from the outside. A lock had been put on the door. How strange, he thought to himself. Not that a lock would ever put him off. He removed a thin piece of wire from the inside of his coat pocket and it took him less than a minute to pick the lock.
He opened the door to his bedroom and walked inside. So that was where all his stuff had gone - the chemical equipment was stacked in the corner; his violin was inside its case on his bed, and on top of the violin case was the skull. Sherlock approached the bed, picked up the skull and looked at it fondly, then placed it back down and began to fumble with the locks on his violin case. He'd bought another one whilst he'd been away but it wasn't the same as his old favourite. He took it out the case and was just tightening up the bow to play a tune when he noticed a sheet of paper resting inside the soft velvet lining of the violin case. Intrigued, he placed the instrument back down on the bed and picked up the piece of paper. It was a folded, white sheet. He opened it up. Inside was a scribbled note which read:
"Sherlock. I miss you more than you will ever know. You will always be my one best friend. I wish I could join you. John."
As he read Sherlock could feel his chest tighten and to his surprise his vision became blurred with tears. He angrily wiped them away, then hurriedly folded back the note, put the violin back in the case, closed it up and put it away. Then he half sat half fell back onto the bed and ran his hands through his hair. John's words had affected him more than he would care to admit. He knew that John had been affected by his "death" and that he'd even considered suicide...Mycroft had told him that much...which was why Sherlock had asked his brother to confiscate John's revolver...and after that day he'd made a point to not answer any of Mycroft's calls or texts. He didn't want to know how John was. He needed /not/ to know, because it would make staying away so much harder...and he knew staying away was what he had to do, until the time was right for his return. That time was now, and it was only the rumoured sighting of one of Moriarty's snipers in London that had brought him back to the capitol. But reading John's words had brought it all back to him...and suddenly he realised this was going to be a lot harder than he thought. Suddenly his plan of just lying on the sofa and "surprising" John seemed utterly stupid, childish and, although empathy wasn't exactly Sherlock's strongpoint, even he could tell that it might be considered a little heartless.
Sherlock sat up and perched on the end of the bed, looked at his watch. Only another 15 minutes and John would be home from work. His heart did a somersault in his chest. What was he going to do? He had to think of something better...more appropriate. He cursed himself inwardly. Come on damn you. Think. THINK.
Sherlock turned his attention back to his old front door and allowed his fingers to gently carress the letters and door knocker. In his left hand he grasped the shiny new key provided by Mycroft. He'd asked him to change the locks as an extra security measure for John. He wanted to be sure of John's safety whilst he was away. Now he took that key and turned it in the lock, and the door of his home swung open noiselessly. He stepped inside and closed it quietly behind him. He was immediately struck by the not unpleasant scent of Mrs Hudson's perfume hitting his nostrils mixed with the smell of cottage pie. He pricked up his ears and listened a while...she was in the kitchen, singing to herself whilst cooking. He smiled as he approached the stairs. He had to resist the urge to run straight to Mrs Hudson and let her know he was alive...but he knew he had to stick to his original plan. He had to tell John first.
He took the stairs slowly, careful to miss out the creaky 4th step and go straight to the 5th. In a matter of seconds he was standing back inside the flat...the place he'd been away from for 3 years. The first thing he did was go to the windows and close over the curtains. Then he allowed himself a couple of minutes to walk around slowly, inspecting everything, taking it all in. He instantly noticed that the place seemed a lot tidier...certainly the kitchen was the tidiest it had been in years. He opened the fridge and glanced inside. Sparkling clean...not an experiment in sight. He grinned. He'd soon change that. He also noticed that many of his possessions appeared to be missing. No sign of his chemistry equipment - his test tubes, bunsen burner etc; no sign of the skull, or his treasured violin. Frowning slightly, Sherlock headed towards his bedroom, quite eager to see whether it was still the same as he'd left it. Upon turning the handle he found that it was locked from the outside. A lock had been put on the door. How strange, he thought to himself. Not that a lock would ever put him off. He removed a thin piece of wire from the inside of his coat pocket and it took him less than a minute to pick the lock.
He opened the door to his bedroom and walked inside. So that was where all his stuff had gone - the chemical equipment was stacked in the corner; his violin was inside its case on his bed, and on top of the violin case was the skull. Sherlock approached the bed, picked up the skull and looked at it fondly, then placed it back down and began to fumble with the locks on his violin case. He'd bought another one whilst he'd been away but it wasn't the same as his old favourite. He took it out the case and was just tightening up the bow to play a tune when he noticed a sheet of paper resting inside the soft velvet lining of the violin case. Intrigued, he placed the instrument back down on the bed and picked up the piece of paper. It was a folded, white sheet. He opened it up. Inside was a scribbled note which read:
"Sherlock. I miss you more than you will ever know. You will always be my one best friend. I wish I could join you. John."
As he read Sherlock could feel his chest tighten and to his surprise his vision became blurred with tears. He angrily wiped them away, then hurriedly folded back the note, put the violin back in the case, closed it up and put it away. Then he half sat half fell back onto the bed and ran his hands through his hair. John's words had affected him more than he would care to admit. He knew that John had been affected by his "death" and that he'd even considered suicide...Mycroft had told him that much...which was why Sherlock had asked his brother to confiscate John's revolver...and after that day he'd made a point to not answer any of Mycroft's calls or texts. He didn't want to know how John was. He needed /not/ to know, because it would make staying away so much harder...and he knew staying away was what he had to do, until the time was right for his return. That time was now, and it was only the rumoured sighting of one of Moriarty's snipers in London that had brought him back to the capitol. But reading John's words had brought it all back to him...and suddenly he realised this was going to be a lot harder than he thought. Suddenly his plan of just lying on the sofa and "surprising" John seemed utterly stupid, childish and, although empathy wasn't exactly Sherlock's strongpoint, even he could tell that it might be considered a little heartless.
Sherlock sat up and perched on the end of the bed, looked at his watch. Only another 15 minutes and John would be home from work. His heart did a somersault in his chest. What was he going to do? He had to think of something better...more appropriate. He cursed himself inwardly. Come on damn you. Think. THINK.
John Watson MD- Posts : 2199
Join date : 2012-03-25
Sometimes he wondered why he hadn't moved houses.
Every bloody day he would go down Baker street towards his apartment and his heart would clench in a fit of nostalgia.
After three years it was still the same, just seeing the front door of his apartment would trigger thoughts, memories, words not spoken.
Maybe he was just an addict, still clinging to that life, to the feelings that Sherlock Holmes made him feel.
It was good for him though, it was his only pleasure.
Three years had passed, three years and he would say he was substantially better.
A lie, of course.
No one could forget Sherlock Holmes, or at least no one who knew him like John did, no one who had needed him like John did.
You always hear people talking about loss, about people who had been so bloody amazing, no faults in their time, Sherlock had not been that.
John remembered each quirk, and every single thing that used to drive him up the walls.
And he missed every single thing as if it was air.
He tried not to think about it, he knew it was doing him no good to be so attached to the past, but he still couldn't leave the apartment, he couldn't throw away Sherlock's things, he could not forget.
He had tried to build himself a new life, to go out with a few girls, for a while he had thought he could marry and be a father.
At the end he couldn't do it.
He was bored, he was limping again, he didn't think he had anything to give. Sherlock Holmes had taken John's need for survival away with him.
He had been alone before Sherlock Holmes and he was alone after him.
One day leading to the next, he was just getting closer to his death.
He was free after all, he was free to waste away.
"Aren't you a joy, John Watson," he mumbled to himself as he turned the key in the door, he liked to talk to himself, he liked to say his thoughts out loud when no one would hear, it was a way to stop regrets from flooding his mind.
His senses spiked softly when he noticed a black car not too far from his door.
He shook his head though, because he knew that it didn't matter.
His cane was heavy on the steps as he walked up the stairs, slowly, he really wasn't in a hurry to pass his evening in complete and utter boredom.
((God, I am so dramatic >> Sorry!! But I reckoned you wanted a depressed John considering you mentioned he wanted to kill himself and all? I hope it's okay! I usually have a more lively John >> but I hope it works out this way! The italics is because I was paraphrasing a piece of lyrics of Bright Eyes's song Waste of Paint, it just fit in so well~))
Every bloody day he would go down Baker street towards his apartment and his heart would clench in a fit of nostalgia.
After three years it was still the same, just seeing the front door of his apartment would trigger thoughts, memories, words not spoken.
Maybe he was just an addict, still clinging to that life, to the feelings that Sherlock Holmes made him feel.
It was good for him though, it was his only pleasure.
Three years had passed, three years and he would say he was substantially better.
A lie, of course.
No one could forget Sherlock Holmes, or at least no one who knew him like John did, no one who had needed him like John did.
You always hear people talking about loss, about people who had been so bloody amazing, no faults in their time, Sherlock had not been that.
John remembered each quirk, and every single thing that used to drive him up the walls.
And he missed every single thing as if it was air.
He tried not to think about it, he knew it was doing him no good to be so attached to the past, but he still couldn't leave the apartment, he couldn't throw away Sherlock's things, he could not forget.
He had tried to build himself a new life, to go out with a few girls, for a while he had thought he could marry and be a father.
At the end he couldn't do it.
He was bored, he was limping again, he didn't think he had anything to give. Sherlock Holmes had taken John's need for survival away with him.
He had been alone before Sherlock Holmes and he was alone after him.
One day leading to the next, he was just getting closer to his death.
He was free after all, he was free to waste away.
"Aren't you a joy, John Watson," he mumbled to himself as he turned the key in the door, he liked to talk to himself, he liked to say his thoughts out loud when no one would hear, it was a way to stop regrets from flooding his mind.
His senses spiked softly when he noticed a black car not too far from his door.
He shook his head though, because he knew that it didn't matter.
His cane was heavy on the steps as he walked up the stairs, slowly, he really wasn't in a hurry to pass his evening in complete and utter boredom.
((God, I am so dramatic >> Sorry!! But I reckoned you wanted a depressed John considering you mentioned he wanted to kill himself and all? I hope it's okay! I usually have a more lively John >> but I hope it works out this way! The italics is because I was paraphrasing a piece of lyrics of Bright Eyes's song Waste of Paint, it just fit in so well~))
Sherlock Holmes- Admin
- Posts : 4523
Join date : 2012-03-22
Age : 48
Location : 221B Baker Street, London
Job : Consulting Detective
Hobbies : Solving crimes, performing experiments, playing violin
((No that's amazing thanks...depressed is good. It'll be cheerier later I promise!))
Sherlock Holmes had watched from the window as his old friend John Watson had emerged from the cab and searched in his pockets to pay the driver. He noticed with dismay that his psychosomatic limp had returned, that he'd taken to using a stick again, and even from this distance he could spot the dark bags under the Doctor's eyes that told him he hadn't had a good night's sleep for days, months even. He'd lost around a stone and a half in weight so it was probable he wasn't eating properly either. Sherlock's heart sank in his chest when he saw what his absense had done to his best friend, his only friend.
And now he heard the key turning in the door and realised that any minute now they'd be face to face again...an exciting prospect, a pleasing prospect...but also one that filled him with dread and guilt. He had no idea he would feel this way, and he didn't know how to handle it. Sherlock began pacing the flat frantically, his mind searching for a solution that normally came so easily to him. Finally he raced into his bedroom, slammed the door behind him and leaned his back against it, breathing hard, his heart racing.
Sherlock Holmes had watched from the window as his old friend John Watson had emerged from the cab and searched in his pockets to pay the driver. He noticed with dismay that his psychosomatic limp had returned, that he'd taken to using a stick again, and even from this distance he could spot the dark bags under the Doctor's eyes that told him he hadn't had a good night's sleep for days, months even. He'd lost around a stone and a half in weight so it was probable he wasn't eating properly either. Sherlock's heart sank in his chest when he saw what his absense had done to his best friend, his only friend.
And now he heard the key turning in the door and realised that any minute now they'd be face to face again...an exciting prospect, a pleasing prospect...but also one that filled him with dread and guilt. He had no idea he would feel this way, and he didn't know how to handle it. Sherlock began pacing the flat frantically, his mind searching for a solution that normally came so easily to him. Finally he raced into his bedroom, slammed the door behind him and leaned his back against it, breathing hard, his heart racing.
John Watson MD- Posts : 2199
Join date : 2012-03-25
((I don't mind drama, it's understandable they aren't particularly happy at the moment XD))
John lazily pushed himself inside the apartment, throwing his bag against the wall and rubbing his eyes with his free hand.
"I'm home," he said to no one.
Not that Sherlock would have ever replied to that anyway, three years ago, he would have probably just raised an eyebrow in acknowledgement.
Unless he was taken by something else, in that case he would have not noticed him at all.
John didn't remember being of much importance to Sherlock.
But he remembered Sherlock cared. Respected him.
He thought he heard a sound, he turned towards it.
It came from Sherlock's room.
Yes, it was still Sherlock's room, no one else's.
A door slamming?
Could it be from the next apartment?
He looked at the hallway for a moment, waiting for something, anything.
Had he imagined it?
John lazily pushed himself inside the apartment, throwing his bag against the wall and rubbing his eyes with his free hand.
"I'm home," he said to no one.
Not that Sherlock would have ever replied to that anyway, three years ago, he would have probably just raised an eyebrow in acknowledgement.
Unless he was taken by something else, in that case he would have not noticed him at all.
John didn't remember being of much importance to Sherlock.
But he remembered Sherlock cared. Respected him.
He thought he heard a sound, he turned towards it.
It came from Sherlock's room.
Yes, it was still Sherlock's room, no one else's.
A door slamming?
Could it be from the next apartment?
He looked at the hallway for a moment, waiting for something, anything.
Had he imagined it?
Sherlock Holmes- Admin
- Posts : 4523
Join date : 2012-03-22
Age : 48
Location : 221B Baker Street, London
Job : Consulting Detective
Hobbies : Solving crimes, performing experiments, playing violin
Sherlock heard the sound of John's voice. He hadn't realised quite how much he'd missed it. But who was he talking to? Nobody else was in the flat but him. Did John know he was there? Surely he wasn't just talking to himself...that would be...illogical. Then he remembered he'd closed the door...YOU IDIOT!...he cursed himself inwardly. Even if John /was/ talking to himself he must have heard the door slamming. He could almost feel John's eyes staring at his bedroom door. It was too late now anyway. The moment was here. He couldn't just hide in his bedroom forever and hope it would all go away. He had to do this.
With a shaking hand he gripped the handle and turned it, slowly opening the door a couple of inches before hesitating, now aware of John's presence in the corridor, he caught a glimpse of his shoulder, the side of his head, then he quickly turned his head away back into his bedroom. Sherlock opened his mouth to speak. At first no words came out...then...
"I'm home too John." he managed to croak.
With a shaking hand he gripped the handle and turned it, slowly opening the door a couple of inches before hesitating, now aware of John's presence in the corridor, he caught a glimpse of his shoulder, the side of his head, then he quickly turned his head away back into his bedroom. Sherlock opened his mouth to speak. At first no words came out...then...
"I'm home too John." he managed to croak.
John Watson MD- Posts : 2199
Join date : 2012-03-25
John's heart started beating faster when he realized there was someone in the apartment, in Sherlock's room.
Why? Why would someone break into Sherlock's room?
He swallowed hard, his hand instinctively looking for his gun, he didn't have it any more though, he was utterly defenseless.
He glared at the slit of light as it appeared, he swore he was going to kill Mycroft with his bare hands if it was him.
The voice made him start though.
He stepped back, scared.
His cane falling to the floor with a loud bang.
What the hell?
"Sherlock?" he exclaimed, his whole body trembling, his voice broken, his heart going crazy.
Why? Why would someone break into Sherlock's room?
He swallowed hard, his hand instinctively looking for his gun, he didn't have it any more though, he was utterly defenseless.
He glared at the slit of light as it appeared, he swore he was going to kill Mycroft with his bare hands if it was him.
The voice made him start though.
He stepped back, scared.
His cane falling to the floor with a loud bang.
What the hell?
"Sherlock?" he exclaimed, his whole body trembling, his voice broken, his heart going crazy.
Sherlock Holmes- Admin
- Posts : 4523
Join date : 2012-03-22
Age : 48
Location : 221B Baker Street, London
Job : Consulting Detective
Hobbies : Solving crimes, performing experiments, playing violin
It was too late now...he'd have to go through with it. Sherlock wanted to run and hide, to climb inside his bed and make it all go away but he couldn't. It was far too late for that. He opened the door fully and sheepishly looked up at John, who was standing flabbergasted in the corridor.
"Yes. It's...me." He shrugged, aware of how utterly pathetic his words sounded. He could feel his cheeks flushing red again and he looked down at his feet, feeling like a naughty child. His mind flashed back to when he was caught stealing Mycroft's chemistry set from his room when they were kids, then in a split second he was back again and glanced up nervously at John, waiting for him to say something. Why did he feel so embarrassed, so ashamed...he'd done it all for John...it was all for John...he leaned his shoulder against the doorway, feeling a little shakey.
"Yes. It's...me." He shrugged, aware of how utterly pathetic his words sounded. He could feel his cheeks flushing red again and he looked down at his feet, feeling like a naughty child. His mind flashed back to when he was caught stealing Mycroft's chemistry set from his room when they were kids, then in a split second he was back again and glanced up nervously at John, waiting for him to say something. Why did he feel so embarrassed, so ashamed...he'd done it all for John...it was all for John...he leaned his shoulder against the doorway, feeling a little shakey.
John Watson MD- Posts : 2199
Join date : 2012-03-25
John's eyes widened increasingly as Sherlock stepped into the room.
The words.
Hearing his voice again after three years, he felt his soul stutter, his whole body shake.
It couldn't be true.
He stepped back again, terrified, until the back of his legs bumped against the table, making a few magazines slid to the floor noisily.
"I am going mad," he whimpered, miserable, he knew it was going to happen eventually, but he hadn't thought it'd happen like this.
He felt his eyes well up, he knew he was not supposed to cry, he didn't want to, but a tear slid down his cheek and he could do nothing about it.
It hurt.
It hurt to see him again.
The words.
Hearing his voice again after three years, he felt his soul stutter, his whole body shake.
It couldn't be true.
He stepped back again, terrified, until the back of his legs bumped against the table, making a few magazines slid to the floor noisily.
"I am going mad," he whimpered, miserable, he knew it was going to happen eventually, but he hadn't thought it'd happen like this.
He felt his eyes well up, he knew he was not supposed to cry, he didn't want to, but a tear slid down his cheek and he could do nothing about it.
It hurt.
It hurt to see him again.
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