AN: So I haven't even seen "the Fall" yet and my angst muse has already jumped on the bandwagon. I can't even imagine what it will be like when I actually see it. My angst muse is going to have a ball – and I will be bawling. Okay – bad joke. Sorry.
Anyway this is inspired by Elton John's Please. It just seemed to fit them so well.
Also – I should be updating The Detective and His Blogger tomorrow.
Disclaimer: I'm praying to Santa to bring me the rights to Sherlock. Until he does so I own nothing.
John is there again; at the cemetery. He spends a good deal of time there.
An "unhealthy amount" according to his therapist. But he doesn't really care what she thinks. He's really only going to a therapist so that his friends; mainly Lestrade and Ms. Hudson, don't worry about him to much. It's better to let them think he's recovering. They don't need to be fretting over him when they're battling their own grief.
He goes at least four times a week; and talks to Sherlock. There are so many things he never got the chance to say to Sherlock; so now he tells his tombstone. The cold marble just sits there silently; mocking him. Reminding him that no matter how much he talks; there will be no reply. But it doesn't stop him. He's not really religious; but he still likes to think that wherever Sherlock is; he can hear him.
"You know what I wanted most Sherlock? It's going to sound absolutely ridiculous.
It still seems a bit weird to me and it's something I've wanted since we survived the pool.
I wanted to grow old with you. When I looked ahead in my life all I saw was you. I never wanted it to end. I never wanted us to end. And there was an "us" in some strange sense of the word.
When I was in Afghanistan and I thought about my future I imagined a nice wife, maybe a kid or two. Cozy little house. Simple job at a clinic or something. Nights at the pub with friends. Normal quiet life.
Then you came along and it all changed. After I met you all I saw in my future were case and chases. Criminals and experiments. Our life together was so maddening; dodging body parts while brewing tea. So brilliant; solving crimes with you; tearing around London in the dark. Maddening and brilliant; just like you. So ridiculous; but I loved every minute of it. I loved you.
Course you already figured that out haven't you. You don't tell and flatmate or friend that you want to grow old with them. We were more than friends Sherlock. But I don't know exactly what we were. I can't really define it.
What I do know is that when I looked ahead I had this vision of us together. We're in our sixties I guess. You're hair is pure silver; it gorgeous. Other than that you don't look a day over forty; to brilliant to age I guess. I look a bit like my grandfather, with some gray hair and wrinkles. I'm sure you're responsible for both. I'm making tea; like always. You're writing a book; like a proper textbook, on the Science of Deduction. And we're laughing as we reminisce over old cases you're including in the book. You're including our first meeting and everything you knew about me; with just a glance. And I'm teasing you about your "brother" mistake.
It's so wonderful. It was wonderful, until you jumped. Why did you have to jump?
Now I've lost that chance. There are a lot of chances I've missed Sherlock. Most of them have been my fault; I was too scared to take proper action. There are so many things I wanted to say to you and I never got the chance...
When I said that we were more than friends but that I wasn't sure what we were; that's not exactly right. Looking back I know what we where. We were hanging in a bizarre void between friendship and romance. Too close to be friends. I killed for you; I would have died for you. "Friend" is far too pedestrian; to loosely applied to fit us. Everyone else saw that there was something more between us. Everyone but us. We hid our feelings so well Sherlock. A little too well. Looking back now I can see times where you let something slip; just a bit and I saw a glimpse of something on your side. I can remember times when my defenses almost slipped and I know you glimpsed something from my end too. But neither of us where willing to take the first step.
I wonder why? I know I had my reasons, my excuses. I can't remember any of them now though. They all seem so stupid. We went through so much together. What was left for us to prove to each other?
I realize now that we where practically a couple anyway; so wrapped up in each other and our life together. It could've been more though. Why did we let that chance slip through our fingers? We were so stupid Sherlock. Such idiots.
The thing is though; I still want to grow old with you. I don't really think it's possible; but I still find myself hoping. It's the only thing I can do. I remember you once told me that whenever all possible explanations have been dismissed; the impossible, no matter how improbable, must in fact be possible. Sounds to me like you were saying "Nothing is impossible". At least not for you.
So I'm asking you Sherlock - no I'm begging you; do the impossible for me. Come back. Please let me grow old with you."
When he was finished John turned and limped slowly away. A figure stood in the shadow of the trees; watching, listening. He closed his eyes and relished the vision John had described for a moment; allowing a single tear to slip down his cheek. Then Sherlock turned and walked away as well; determined that when all of this was over he would grant John's wish. Because it was his as well.
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