Unspoken words. (SH-221B x John Watson)

The Personal Blog of John Watson

9 March 2013

As life goes on...
Hello to whoever is still reading this nonsense.

There's not much new under the sun. Or rather under the rainy clouds of London. Things don't improve, but they're not becoming worse either. It's always the same. The same emptiness, the same darkness, the goddamn same endless road. Sometimes I make believe there's a bit of light at the end of this all. But I always laugh at myself for being such a wishful thinker.

Sometimes I still see you standing at the window. I still hear those beautiful notes coming from your violin. Or sometimes I jump up when my phone goes off, hoping it would be you inviting me to a crime scene once again. Everything's so boring. So silent. I believe I'm starting to understand what Sherlock meant when he said quiet and peaceful was hateful.

Sometimes, just.. Sometimes, I wonder what it is like up there. What it is like to be be dead. What happens? Will I see you again? It would be worth taking that risk, just to be with you again, Sherlock. God I want to be with you again...

Beside all of this I sometimes meet up with friends. They're trying and I still appreciate it. They put up with old grumpy me. Kudos to all of them.

John.

Personal Blog of John Watson

9 March 2013

As life goes on...


4 Comments

John, don't let your friends down, they care about you, you are a brave man, so be brave. Will you do this for me, please? I'll come and visit you before the week is out, so you had better be there, there is a good reason I'm saying this and you'll see I'm right.
In Orbit 9 March 2013 10:10am

You aren't grumpy, at all. Big hug from me.
Molly Hoope 9 March 2013 12:42pm

Let's have dinner at my house this week.
Mike Stamford 9 March 2013 3:11 pm

Still here, yeah. Billy says thank you for the birthday present again, he thinks it's great.
Angelo 9 March 2013 8:47pm

John, don't let your friends down, they care about you, you are a brave man, so be brave. Will you do this for me, please? I'll come and visit you before the week is out, so you had better be there, there is a good reason I'm saying this and you'll see I'm right.
In Orbit 9 March 2013 10:10am

└ You are coming to visit me? Excuse me but, do we actually know each other? I don't mean to be rude, your comments have been encouraging but I rather don't have unknown visitors around.

Let's have dinner at my house this week.
Mike Stamford 9 March 2013 3:11 pm

└ Great. Text me.

John, don't let your friends down, they care about you, you are a brave man, so be brave. Will you do this for me, please? I'll come and visit you before the week is out, so you had better be there, there is a good reason I'm saying this and you'll see I'm right.
In Orbit 9 March 2013 10:10am

└ You are coming to visit me? Excuse me but, do we actually know each other? I don't mean to be rude, your comments have been encouraging but I rather don't have unknown visitors around.
└
└ I'm sure you'll recognise me as soon as you see me.

Let's have dinner at my house this week.
Mike Stamford 9 March 2013 3:11 pm

└ Great. Text me. [/quote]

└ You are coming to visit me? Excuse me but, do we actually know each other? I don't mean to be rude, your comments have been encouraging but I rather don't have unknown visitors around.
└
└ I'm sure you'll recognise me as soon as you see me.

└ Perhaps we should meet at a pub or something if you insist. I rather don't have strangers in the flat.. It's.. You know.. A bit too personal.

└ You are coming to visit me? Excuse me but, do we actually know each other? I don't mean to be rude, your comments have been encouraging but I rather don't have unknown visitors around.
└
└ I'm sure you'll recognise me as soon as you see me.

└ Perhaps we should meet at a pub or something if you insist. I rather don't have strangers in the flat.. It's.. You know.. A bit too personal. [/quote]
└
└ I understand. I look forward to seeing you again.

└ Perhaps we should meet at a pub or something if you insist. I rather don't have strangers in the flat.. It's.. You know.. A bit too personal.

└
└ I understand. I look forward to seeing you again. [/quote]
└ I wish I could say the same, though the thought of you knowing me without me having a clue scares me a little. You could be some of Sherlock's old enemies for all I know.

└ Perhaps we should meet at a pub or something if you insist. I rather don't have strangers in the flat.. It's.. You know.. A bit too personal.

└
└ I understand. I look forward to seeing you again.
└ I wish I could say the same, though the thought of you knowing me without me having a clue scares me a little. You could be some of Sherlock's old enemies for all I know. [/quote]
└ John, think. One of Sherlock's old enemies would already know where to find you.

└
└ I understand. I look forward to seeing you again.
└ I wish I could say the same, though the thought of you knowing me without me having a clue scares me a little. You could be some of Sherlock's old enemies for all I know.

└ John, think. One of Sherlock's old enemies would already know where to find you.
[/quote]
└ Seriously, who are you?

└
└ I understand. I look forward to seeing you again.
└ I wish I could say the same, though the thought of you knowing me without me having a clue scares me a little. You could be some of Sherlock's old enemies for all I know.
└ John, think. One of Sherlock's old enemies would already know where to find you.
└ Seriously, who are you?

└ Seriously, we met a long time ago, a friend, that's all.

└
└ I understand. I look forward to seeing you again.
└ I wish I could say the same, though the thought of you knowing me without me having a clue scares me a little. You could be some of Sherlock's old enemies for all I know.
└ John, think. One of Sherlock's old enemies would already know where to find you.
└ Seriously, who are you?

└ Seriously, we met a long time ago, a friend, that's all.

└ When I asked you the first time, you said we didn't knew each other. You had just been through something similar. But okay, fine, if it means that much to you I guess we could meet up at a pub or something.

└
└ I understand. I look forward to seeing you again.
└ I wish I could say the same, though the thought of you knowing me without me having a clue scares me a little. You could be some of Sherlock's old enemies for all I know.
└ John, think. One of Sherlock's old enemies would already know where to find you.
└ Seriously, who are you?
└ Seriously, we met a long time ago, a friend, that's all.
└ When I asked you the first time, you said we didn't knew each other. You had just been through something similar. But okay, fine, if it means that much to you I guess we could meet up at a pub or something.

└ I'm not in the Uk right now so I can't arrange that with you yet but thank you.

Time passed by as slow as it had done the last past couple of months. Somehow he had managed to push the arrangement with this stranger to the back of his mind so easily. If only he could push other things there that easy as well.

That day he had just returned from a rough day at work. Unfriendly patients, his colleagues complaining about things he stopped caring about a long time ago, just the general feeling of emptiness.

John came home to a messy flat. A few empty bottles and plates littering around. Not to mention dirty clothes, old news papers, some random things he forget to care about, Sherlock's stuff. He sighed. Mrs Hudson had warned him about it but she knew touching and moving things around now wouldn't be a good thing. John cared too much about Sherlock's stuff still being there, no one else could touch them. They were his only reminder left.

With a sigh he fell down in his chair, opening a well deserved beer before turning on the telly. Nothing on there, but the static sound was better than the painful silence, so he just stared. Another lonely day.

As soon as Mycroft got the news he phoned Sherlock to tell him that a soft nosed bullet had been pulled from the skull of a murdered man. He ended the conversation with “There will be a plane, dear brother, at 4:45pm.”

Sherlock packed quickly and the private jet left the scorching hot tarmac within minutes of his boarding it. He settled back for a short journey and tried to sleep but he was tense about returning to London not knowing exactly what he would find there and spent most of the trip awake. There was a car waiting to take him to a hotel.

He sat down in the hotel room on the bed and punched in the title of John's blog on his laptop to see if had been updated then rang for room service and had a chicken salad and a pot of coffee sent up to his room.

All he had to do after eating was read the file on the murder again and read about keeping bees. He planned to visit Baker Street the next day while John was at work. Although he wanted John to be the first to know he was alive and well he decided it would be best to see Mrs Hudson first as it would then guarantee that he would have time alone with his friend.

The detective finally felt tired enough to sleep a little after two in the morning and slept until his alarm clock went off at 8am. He shaved and showered then ordered a light breakfast to be sent up.

Morning shifts. John hated morning shift. And afternoon ones. And evenings. He hated everything. With a throbbing headache he lifted himself up from the sofa. "Didn't make it to bed, than." He muttered to no one as he rubbed the sleep away from his eyes.

Breakfast was no longer a must. He had overslept and a quick shower was all he could afford at this time. At least he wouldn't stink of alcohol like his sister always would. It would cost him his job. The only thing he still had. Even when he hated it, it was something to hold on to.

"Morning. Back around 2. Will do the groceries, need anything?" He bitterly asked Mrs. Hudson who handed him a piece of toasted bread. That woman, so precious, John thought as he headed towards work. Leaving the flat as it was, dirty, smelly and a complete and utter mess.

Work crept by as usual. At least today was better than the day before. Patients seemed to be all having a good day. Must be the spring weather they had been having today. Another few hours later John found himself between the liquor bottles, randomly grabbing the cheapest one. Taste stopped mattering a long time ago. Hopping on his cane John left the store. Sherlock crossed his mind, just like that. So before heading home he decided to pay a short visit at his grave. He just went there to tell him about his day, about the things he bought and about how he knew Sherlock would disagree with his way of living. He will change it, he promised, just not now. Sooner or later, when times were better.

Sherlock really wanted to tell John he was alive and well first but according to Mycroft John was at work until 2pm. He looked up florists online and ordered a bouquet to collect at lunchtime. He then dressed in delivery-man's overalls with a padded waistcoat on top of it over his suit jacket and trousers, a baseball cap on top of a brown wig with a pony-tail.

The disguise made Sherlock look at least twelve pounds heavier and somewhat wider than normal. He reckoned that with the addition of tinted glasses his disguise was good enough to stand up to scrutiny at a distance at least.

The detective left his hotel just before noon and hailed a cab. He ordered his taxi to pull up at the end of the road behind Baker Street and began to walk the rest of the way ensuring that nobody was following him. He called in at the florists and picked up the bouquet of flowers, proceeded unhurriedly to 221B and rang the doorbell.
Mrs Hudson answered the door and looked surprised “For me? Who's sending me flowers?” she looked for a card and glanced at the delivery man.

“I am, Mrs Hudson, I think you should ask me to come in, don't you?” Sherlock replied in his unmistakable baritone taking his glasses off.

“Oh my goodness.” she gasped and moved backwards as Sherlock pressed forward into the hallway. He closed the door with his foot. They hugged and Mrs Hudson cried before ushering her 'boy' into her flat.

She explained that John had been “Terrible, just terrible. But he does my shopping for me, he's very good like that, but oh the mess, up there.” she whispered loudly and pointed a finger to upstairs. And so Mrs Hudson went on for nearly an hour.

Sherlock explained what had happened before Barts and after without mentioning every dangerous bit and gory detail. He realised that time was getting on and giving Mrs Hudson another hug excused himself to go upstairs.

Despite being warned the detective was surprised at the state the flat was in. John hadn't been all 'How Clean Is Your House' but he had certainly never been so untidy. He picked his way through to his bedroom and dumped his disguise on the end of the bed then went to find his violin.

Sherlock sat in his favourite chair, applied rosin to the bow, and tuned his violin. Satisfied he went to the far window, tucked the instrument under his chin and began playing while waiting for John to come home.

As John made his way home, he thought about a million things. Most of them involved Sherlock somehow. John thought about dinner, about how he wasn't in the mood to make some so he'd probably skip it once more. It showed, his eating habits. He had dropped a good amount of weight but it didn't alarmed him. As if losing weight was as bad as losing the love of your life.

John arrived at his familiar flat and opened up the door. "Mrs. Hudson! Got your groceries." He yelled, but then his body froze. John wasn't sure whether he was completely going insane now, whether his mind was playing some evil trick on him or... Was that really the violin he could hear?

Not realizing how long he had stood there, John shook his head. He was hearing something, those beautiful sounds. A chill ran down his spine and Sherlock's name fell from his lips as a whisper. Still using the crane, he started to make his way up as fast as he could, pausing in front of the door that led him into his house.

It's a trick, a mind trick, there's nothing there. No one is playing the violin, John. This is all imagines.

Slowly he pushed open the door, eyes immediately finding the taller shape by the window. "Oh God." John gulped, turning pale instantly. His groceries dropped to the floor, making the bottle break with a hell of a noise. But John didn't heard any of it, a haze fell over him, static sounds, as if he was in chock. "This.. You.. Sherlock." He muttered, nearly audible, tears filling up his eyes.

Sherlock turned around and placed his instrument on his old chair. He stood, allowing John to get his head round the situation. "Yes, it is me. Come, sit down, you don't look too good”

The taller man wasn't prepared for John looking so thin and tired. He looked a mess, Mrs Hudson hadn't been exaggerating Sherlock thought.

The detective went over to his friend and guided him to his chair and looked at him closely. He could see his friend was nearly in tears “I'm sorry to give you such a shock, how are you?” he asked with his face filled with concern.

Shaking on his feet John let himself be led towards his chair. For a long while he wasn't able to say anything. He just shook his head in disbelieve.

"You are dead." He whispered eventually. "I saw you.. You made me watch.. Sherlock." John's voice changed, darker and louder even anger filled it up. "You disappeared on me and now you're just standing here, asking me how I am?" For a moment he rubbed his forehead, a sarcastic smile stretched over his dry lips.

"Why don't you look around the place, Sherlock, take a good look at me and deduce how the hell I am!" He spat out, a few tears rolling down his pale cheeks. He couldn't believe Sherlock had just asked him that question. What had he expected? John would just smile at him? How could this be true. It had to be a nightmare. John wanted to get out of it.

Sherlock waited to see how John reacted. He was taking it badly and he didn't know how to make it any easier for him.

“Moriarty was on the roof. He had snipers aiming at you, at all my friends. What I did saved your life and Mrs Hudson's and Lestrade's. I 'disappeared' as you put it by appearing to die to make sure that all my friends lived.” Sherlock was trying to remain calm. John was in shock and despite the tension he was feeling he knew he had to remain calm.

“I didn't have a choice about you being there because the John Watson I knew would have been straight into Barts and got himself killed for being in Moriarty's way and you would have got me killed as well. And Mrs Hudson and Lestrade” The detective was desperately trying to keep his voice down so that Mrs Hudson didn't hear.

“Moriarty blew his brains out up there, that's why there was only that one way down.” There was a second reason as well but Sherlock omitted it for now because he was becoming annoyed. He was not annoyed with John but because he had been forced to do the last thing he had wanted to do.

“Do you think I wanted it that way?” Sherlock snapped and spun away this head hurting feeling overwhelmed.

John silently listened to Sherlock's explanation. In his mind he replayed everything that happened that day. It all seemed to make since, somehow. Occasionally his lips parted, as if he wanted to say something, but words always lacked. Sometimes a "oh my God" id slipped pass, very silently.

Unaware John had started shaking. He felt overwhelmed by his feelings. The first moment he felt anger, than sadness, happiness mixed up with disappointment and the feeling of a weight lifting off his chest.

"I'd rather die, Sherlock." John whispered. "I'd have rather died than to live my life without you." He broke down completely, sobbing into his own hands. He didn't want to look like this, he wanted to be happy, to wrap his arms around Sherlock and never let him go. But his depression was settled in deep and seemed to be taking control. John was happy to see Sherlock, God, this was all he'd wished for.

"I was so.. lonely. I thought about you every day. Every hour." He whimpered, too ashamed of himself to look up. "Of course I know you didn't want this. But you could have left a note. Send me a letter, anything!" He now did look up, wiping away some of his tears. "You knew Moriarty was dead. You could have said anything!"

This wreck before him was not the John Watson that Sherlock knew. His John had gone and it was an obviously depressed man who didn't care about himself sitting in his place. His John was clean and tidy, and as tough as steel. It was all too horrible. For Sherlock it was like looking at a stranger.

Sherlock stuck to facts. “It was impossible to let you know I was alive, you are too honest, too transparent, you wouldn't have been able to pretend for a second that I was dead.”

“John, it didn't make any difference that Moriarty was dead.” warmth crept into the detectives voice. “Moriarty had a second in command, an ex army marksman, Sebastian Moran. If Moran knew I was alive he would have shot you.” Sherlock looked to see if John was taking this in.

The detective pressed on trying to get John to understand, “I came here in a disguise John, Moran doesn't know I'm alive yet but he will soon. I'm going after him, when I get him then you and my other friends will be safe. I need you to help me get him. Does that make sense to you?

“Do you want to help me?” he did need John's help and he knew John also needed to do something to get out of the black hole he was in.

There was a certain coldness in Sherlock's voice that John found hard to wrap his head around. Even if he made an effort to put a bit of empathy into his voice. How could he be like this? So detached from everything when he was going through all of this?

"Sebastian Moran..." John repeated the name, it vaguely rang a bell. He was sure he'd heard the name back when he was in service. "Yes, yes it makes sense to me I guess." John blurred out. His anger settled a bit, making space for the next wave of emotions to roll in.

His water filled eyes looked up to the detective. Okay so this wasn't a nightmare, impossible. This was real. A slight smile managed to find its way to John's face when he was asked for help. How could he even say no to this. "Of course, of course I want to help you... But.. Look at me, Sherlock. I'm a wreck. I can barely walk without my cane, wouldn't I be.. in your way?"

Sherlock looked down on the waterfilled eyes that were diluted to a clouded to a grey. There was a light on in John's brain now and the beginnings of a smile. “You will soon be back to your old self. You didn't need a cane before, it was psychosomatic, you remember?” Sherlock smiled properly now, as he always did at John, feeling more relaxed.

“Moran was probably one of the snipers in The Pool too. Think, see if you can remember anything about him. That's helping and you don't need a cane for that either.” the detective grinned and strode into the kitchen, picking his way around the rubbish on the floor, and filled the kettle with cold water.

"Of course. I'll try." He sighed, nodding. He wanted to help, he wanted to find what was left of Moriarty's network and destroy it, destroy it just as much as Jim destroyed him.

John tried to remember anything, though at the moment his brain was completely filled with Sherlock. Still so many questions swarmed around, so many things he wished to say. Sherlock on his side seemed to be his normal self, occupied with a case and not really bothering about how this would made anyone feel.

As he noticed the detective picking up his garbage, John felt ashamed. He had let go of himself, he had failed at being strong. "I'll.." He cleared his throat for a moment. "I'll clean out the flat.. later on.. I promise. I just.." He didn't really knew what to say at the moment. "I'm sorry." He whispered eventually.

"I can't remember anything right now, but I can give you my old colonel's number. He might know more about this Moran guy."