A Final Moment
John Watson stood in front of the headstone of the late Sherlock Holmes. After talking to his therapist, he knew he needed to say this. It wasn't easy but it was something he needed to do. The words he hadn't said when he'd had the chance…
"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, the most human... human being that I've ever known, and no-one will ever convince me that you told me a lie, so there."
John stepped forward and put his hand on Sherlock's headstone "I was so alone, and I owe you so much. But, please, there's just one more thing, one more thing, one more miracle, Sherlock, for me. Don't be... dead. Would you do that just for me? Just stop it. Stop this!"
The former soldier broke down. He missed Sherlock so much! He'd spent weeks trying to figure out why, why Sherlock had jumped, why he'd said he was a fake when John knew better… It didn't make any sense. But John knew Sherlock had a reason. There was always a reason. There was a time when Sherlock had mistaken him for an equal but John could never really keep up with Sherlock's incredible mind.
After a minute, John straightened himself up and with one last look at Sherlock's headstone; he walked back to where Mrs. Hudson was waiting for him. She'd been such a comfort to John even though she too was grieving the loss of Sherlock. They walked back to the waiting cab and rode in silence back to 221B Baker Street. In truth, neither of them had thought it would end this way. John had honestly though Sherlock was too stubborn to die. But even through Sherlock's conceited God complex, John could see that he was in fact human, perhaps the most human of them all.
After Sherlock's death, John had instructed Mrs. Hudson to leave all of Sherlock's things where they were. John had moved a few of his own things down to Sherlock's room and he'd been sleeping in Sherlock's bed. He missed Sherlock's snarky comments and senseless rambling. He missed the way Sherlock refused to do anything for himself, and how despite Sherlock's brilliance, he still couldn't be trusted to go off on his own as he was very likely to get killed, as evident by the very first case they'd worked on together. John had even taken to wearing Sherlock's housecoat around the flat. It was far too long but John didn't care. It smelled like Sherlock…
As they arrived back at the flat, John and Mrs. Hudson went to their respective comfort zones and didn't say a word. Mrs. Hudson made tea and John curled up in Sherlock's favorite chair with Sherlock's housecoat. While staring at Sherlock's mess in the kitchen, John registered a paper that had fallen to the floor. He walked over to retrieve it and put it back in its place. Picking it up, he examined it and found it contained only five words: "I believe in John Watson". It took everything John had not to cry. And that wasn't enough. Tears splashed on the note as John's shaking hands set it on Sherlock's laptop. John felt like his chest had been ripped in two. He crawled into Sherlock's bed and cried himself to sleep thinking about his last conversation with Sherlock.
Sherlock stood silently in the shadows and listened as John spoke his goodbye. Sherlock wished he could walk over there and hug him, tell him that things were okay, give him the miracle he was praying for, but Sherlock knew it had to be this way. John would be okay eventually. And he'd be much better off without Sherlock always putting him in danger.
"I wish I could be your hero, John" Sherlock whispered under his breath. John wasn't the only one suffering. Sherlock couldn't stand being away from John. John was his only friend, the only person who'd put up with him, besides Mycroft, and the only person Sherlock had ever truly been close to. Despite everything, John still believed in him. Sherlock wished he had a chance to tell John the same….
As John walked away with Mrs. Hudson, Sherlock turned and walked towards the waiting car behind him. He slid in next to Molly without a word. Molly quietly handed him a manila envelope and Sherlock registered the location of his bag before completely blocking her out. As much as Molly cared about him, Sherlock wouldn't let her get attached. He shouldn't have let John get attached. People got hurt when they were around Sherlock. John had nearly been killed on more than one occasion. Sherlock hated himself for that.
When Sherlock had gone back to 221B Baker Street, the flat he shared with John and Mrs. Hudson, during his own funeral no less, he'd made sure to grab one of his old scarves. He didn't touch anything important but he did take his skull and the song he'd been composing for John. He could always get a new violin. He didn't want to disturb things. John wouldn't notice the difference but Sherlock was still cautious. John wasn't stupid. And he'd been developing his observation skills over the last year or so. However, despite the fact that he knew he shouldn't tamper, Sherlock couldn't help but write a note to John. He needed to. He grabbed a scrap of paper from his messy kitchen lab and scrawled five words across the page: I believe in John Watson. He left it in an innocuous place on the table so that it would look like part of the mess. At some point, Sherlock knew John would clean this up. John didn't like a mess.
Molly was taking Sherlock to the train station near Baker Street. It was the closest to John that Sherlock would ever be again. Sherlock opened the manila envelope and pulled out the papers within. There was a one way train ticket to Paris, a passport with the name Michel Yanni, a handful of necessary legal papers, a small fortune in French currency, and a new cell phone with a list of contacts in Paris. It was a whole new identity. Sherlock thought about the name he had chosen. Michel being French for Michael meaning "Who is like God" Yanni was Greek for John. It was the only way Sherlock could keep John at the forefront of his mind. John was Sherlock's reason for every decision leading up to this. John was his everything, and he'd changed his own name to fit that idea.
Finally, after a long, awkward, stretch of silence, Molly and Sherlock reached the train station. Molly walked with Sherlock into the station carrying the suitcase of clothes and other items she'd purchased for him. Sherlock turned around, taking the case from Molly, then setting it down and bringing her into a tight hug.
"Thank you Molly. Thank you for helping, for caring, for being human. You aren't always the brightest but your heart is in the right place. Just stay away from the sociopaths, okay?" He said with a gentle smile. Molly nodded, tears running down her face.
"Don't cry! I'm not good with crying things!" said Sherlock with obvious distress. He wasn't sure if he should hug her again or walk away or… Goodness! Why do normal people have to feel things?
Molly laughed a little and said "Goodbye, Sherlock Holmes. If you ever come back to London, you know there will be people here to take care of you."
Sherlock nodded and then, picking up his suitcase, he turned and boarded the train leaving Molly to stand and watch as it left the station, watching until it faded into the distance and then disappeared with the most brilliant man the world had ever seen.