For the next week, John and Sherlock said nothing to each other. John stayed at home, never daring to utter a word to Sherlock in case he collapsed into tears, and Sherlock continued his work, visibly unaffected by the absence of his friend's presence. John debated moving out, but quickly shrugged off his doubts as he realised even being in a different room from Sherlock made him anxious and uncomfortable. His hands began to shake once more, and he tried to convince himself that the return of his limp was due to the lack of movement he had been doing recently, although he knew that wasn't true in the slightest. His life had ground to a halt- nothing happened, he never left the house and he was beginning to recede into an unsociable shell of which he never wanted to return. As for Sherlock- he seemed to getting along quite comfortably, which made John's situation all the more torturous.
'Has there really not been a single case this week? It's already Friday and I've heard nothing.' John was grateful for Lestrade's company, it was the first time he'd spoken to another person in days.
'John, there's been three cases this week. I thought you helped solve them?'
John gulped and sighed, instantly recognizing what had happened. 'Sherlock didn't tell me. I suppose they're finished now?'
'Yeah, Sherlock closed the last case this morning. Are you two alright? Haven't seen much of you recently.'
The door flew open and Sherlock strutted inside, blatantly disregarding John and nodding in Lestrade's general direction.
'Good afternoon Lestrade, any reason you're here?'
'Nice to see you too Sherlock, and yes- as a matter of fact I'm just having a cup of coffee.'
'Oh, brilliant, you can get me one.' He sat at his desk and began typing, pausing only to glance at Lestrade when he didn't respond.
'This is your apartment! I'm not going to get you a cup of coffee- I'm the guest here!'
'And were you invited?''
'Yes, actually. John invited me.'
Sherlock faced his desk once more. 'Not too milky please, one sugar.'
'Of for god sake, I'll get your damn coffee. I know how you like it anyway.' John stood with difficulty, holding himself up on the side of his arm chair.
'Actually Lestrade, never mind. I don't really want a coffee anymore.' He didn't raise his head from the keyboard.
'You're acting like a child, this is pathetic. I'm getting your damn cup of coffee whether you want it or not- which you do. So if you still want to ignore me, then-FUCK' John's leg gave out beneath him and he fell to his knees, smacking his head on the table. The room began to spin and he was hit by a wave of nausea as he tried to stand up- only to collapse once more. Lestrade was on his feet in concern, reaching a hand out to help John up, and Sherlock had not moved from his seat. John felt helpless, lost, angry and betrayed, and for a split second - just the smallest of seconds – he began to wonder why he was continuing to persevere through an unhappy existence.
He realised then that it was all for Sherlock. Even if they would never again speak or acknowledge each other, he couldn't even begin to fathom the idea of leaving him. He would take 100 years of torture and silence just to be in the same room as the beautifully cold man, because he was the man he loved. It was due to this realisation that John wrapped his hands around his knees, and began to sob. Slow gentle sobs that were almost undetectable, but echoed around John's skull with the painful memories of the earlier time they had spent together. He sobbed because he realised that he would be stuck living this heart-tearing agony for as long as he loved Sherlock- which he was certain would be an eternity.
Sherlock rose to his feet silently, and stared vacantly towards the door.
'If you'll excuse me Lestrade, I need to visit the evidence locker. I won't be gone for long.'
He left silently, taking nothing. His coat and scarf remained on the hooks by the door; his phone was still on his desk and he had left his computer browser open.
'John, if you want me to help in any way-'
'I really appreciate your time Lestrade, but right now I just need to be alone- if that's alright with you?'
'Yeah that's no problem. I'll drop you a text at about 7, yeah? Just to check if you're ok.' And with that, he was gone. John pulled himself to his feet using the table edge, and reached for his crutch that was resting in the corner of the room. He limped over to the computer and glanced at the webpage that was left on the screen.
How to suppress strong emotional feelings- popular hypnosis and suggestion techniques to help remove unwanted emotions.
Chapter one- Love.
John stopped reading and exhaled in relief, letting comfort wash over him like a wave. Sherlock loved him, and he knew it. He needed to find a way to convince the stubborn man that love between two men had become more acceptable, and they could just go back to normal.
Sherlock's phone buzzed. John knew he should have minded his own business, ignored the text, but he couldn't help himself as he reached across and read it.
I assume you know by now that going to the police and having me charged further will do nothing to save him. You're doing well, don't quit now- there's only a lifetime of it to endure. –JM
Saliva caught the back of John's throat and he swallowed painfully, shaking his head to try and bring his steadiness back. He decided to scroll back further.
Lisa has been a good little helper, sending these texts for me. The best part? If you tell anybody about her involvement, it'll only worsen his chances. – JM
So Lisa had been sending the texts from Moriarty? She must have been the person who deleted them also- Sherlock had left his phone in the interrogation room when he stormed out. John scrolled back one further, to the text Sherlock had received the exact night they had spent together.
Corpses are blue,
John's blood is red.
Take back your love,
Or he will be dead.
Ten minutes later, John awoke on the floor of 221B Baker Street after he had passed out in trepidation. He knew now that his life was being threatened, and there could be gunmen on him from anywhere. He would never be safe again, and Sherlock had lied to him so that he would be safe.
John had decided long ago that he wouldn't want to live in a world where he could never be happy with Sherlock. It was the only thing he wanted, and all he could dream about every day. He needed to find Sherlock and tell him; even if it meant that it would be the end of his life. He kissed Mrs Hudson on the cheek as he left, almost confident that he wouldn't be returning, and made his way to the evidence office where he found Anderson sorting through old murder weapons.
'Anderson. Have you seen Sherlock?'
'Shouldn't you be keeping track of your boyfriend? I'm a very busy man.'
'Just tell me, yes or no.'
'Lucky for you, I have seen him. He passed by here about 10 minutes ago.'
'Did he pick anything up?'
'Yes, he did. I doubt he had permission to take anything, but then again he's never been one for decency, has he?'
'Look, I might not have much time. What did he take?'
'The bag of pills, confiscated from the taxi driver's cab. From the supposed suicide case?'
'Oh god no.' John rested his hand on Anderson's shoulder to stop himself from falling over once more, and was shrugged off.
'What on earth is your problem?'
'I- I need to go, sorry-'
John ran outside and glanced around desperately, with no idea what to do. It was clear that Sherlock had the same idea he did; but that couldn't happen. If there was one thing worse than not being with Sherlock, it was Sherlock not being alive. John doubled over and panted heavily, regaining his sanity and forcing himself to think straight. Sherlock wouldn't go anywhere to take his own life; he'd make a statement. He'd use somewhere they had been before- he was a show off like that. It had to be somewhere incredibly private however; somewhere that he could hide away without being discovered for a long time.
John hailed a taxi. 'The textiles factory in Brixton please, as fast as you can.'
Sherlock's phone vibrated in his pocket.
One final warning. If you two are seen together and everything is as it used to be, you will have five minutes before they open fire. – JM
So he had five minutes. He just needed to keep Sherlock talking for five minutes, and then he could end it. The taxi skidded to a halt and he threw all of the money in his wallet through the slot in the window- he wouldn't need it anymore. Just as he had suspected, Sherlock was sat on one of the crumbled walls inside the factory, clutching the bag of pills in his shaking hand. The ceiling of the building was gone, and the walls had half collapsed- people on ground level would not be able to see a thing, however people on the high levels of the surrounding buildings would be able to see the entire thing if they were looking. Sherlock was mumbling under his breath.
'I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I love you and I'm sorry-' his hands were trembling as he reached into the plastic bag.
'Don't you dare.' John stood behind him, sliding one hand sympathetically over his shoulder. Sherlock jumped and looked around frantically, hyperventilating.
'John? Leave, now. You can't be here, it's not safe- I need you to go, please.'
'Nothing you can say will make me leave. I am entirely aware that my life is at risk, and there are probably several guns pointed at my head in this exact moment. However you should know that I would rather face the fury of every single one of those guns than spend another day without you in my life. I am not living my life pretending that I feel nothing towards you, because it would be impossible. I don't have feelings for you – my feelings ARE you. You are everything I am and more,invading every thought and dream and fantasy that I have ever experienced. To live without you would be abandoning every scrap of emotion that I have in my body, and nobody wants to live like that. So if these are my last moments, please, I would like to be granted a final wish- which is to spend them with you.'
Sherlock's eyes glistened and his cheeks were stained with pale tear lines.
'Do you understand John? Why I need to do this? You have just summarized everything I feel about you in a way I couldn't even begin to describe. You make me human, and a life without you – a cold, cruel life- would never be a life worth living. If you are killed now, and it's my fault, then I would never be able to live with the remorse, and would continue to take my own life anyway. I would much prefer to pass on knowing that you are safe and healthy.'
'I wouldn't be. I would never be safe with you gone. Or healthy. Christ Sherlock, I doubt I'd even be sane. I would lose every sense of myself that I ever was. If you go, then I go too – and you have no control over that.'
'You truly are incredible. Every single thing about you is just incandescent and perfect and radiant and brilliant and that is exactly why I refuse to carry on without you.'
'So how about we go together?'
'I can't ask such a thing of you.'
'If we go together, Moriarty loses. He has nobody left to torture or hurt. Without us, he'll be alone. He'll assume he's won but in the long run he'll have nothing left to live for. And we can be together.'
'Is that really what you would prefer?'
'Lying here with you eternally in peace over the prospect of facing every day alone and knowing that somewhere you're feeling the same? I'd take the first option any day. I'd say we have about a minute before they open fire.'
'No matter what happens, we'll both end up dead.'
'Exactly. So why not take control of that ourselves, and do it together.'
Sherlock pulled John into one final kiss; the goodbye kiss. The passion released itself along with the electricity. He urged for more and John gave it. Their lips fit around each other perfectly; hands tangling in hair and clutching desperately. Not wanting to let go, ever. Never ending compassion, long-going love. The one thing that nobody could take. John's hand fell to his side and Sherlock took it, passing over one pill.
'Are you sure?'
'I have never been more sure of anything in my life.'
Sherlock lay himself down on the floor and gently pulled John beside him, wrapping him in his arms so that their noses were lightly brushing. Their lips collided one final time, but the contact was barely there. John placed the pill in Sherlock's mouth, shivering as he knew they were past the point of return. Sherlock did the same, and they closed their eyes, lost in each other's presence. For the first time, everything was peaceful. There was no pain, no terror, no worry, no secrets. It was Sherlock and John, and John and Sherlock – and as the sun set and the darkness swept over the two entangled beings, they were together.
Forever and always.
I'd just like to thank you so much for sticking with this, and with me. My name is Hannah, I'm 16 years old, and this is my first proper fanfiction. I'd written scraps of fics in the past, but none that I'd really posted or completed. This is the first one I've been inspired to stick with until the very end. So thank you, having such an amazing response on my first has been so uplifting, and helped boost my confidence a hell of a lot. I couldn't be happier, even though the ending is so sad.
I may post more fics in the future, depending on the response that this gets!