sherlockbbc_fic | Prompting Part XXXV

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Prompting Part XXXV

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MEME LINKS
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Links to previous prompting parts

OTHER LINKS AND AFFILIATES

sherlock_rant: A place to rant about or discuss anything with few to no restrictions.

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sherlockbbc: A community dedicated to the BBC adaptation of Sherlock Holmes.
Useful resources for Sherlock and LiveJournal.
Sherlock screencaps.

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"It won't be a betrayal. You are the most faithful man I know. You're bi. She understood our relationship, and she would feel nothing but happiness to know that-"

John threw the mug "what, that we slept together? That I miss it. That I miss her so much I can feel it? I won't do that to you. Or to her."

Sherlock turned his head "I want it though." He stepped forward and brushed his fingers through John's hair. "You won't be betraying her. You know that."

John lowered his head. At first it was just small tears. They turned into choking sobs.

Sherlock knelt down and held John. Half an hour later, John leaned back, pulled a tissue from his trouser pocket and wiped his face and nose clean. "Not very romantic."

Sherlock grinned "have I ever seemed one to want romance?"

John shook his head, let Sherlock pull him from the floor and followed Sherlock into his room.

The sex was fantastic.

Sherlock had been wanting John since nearly the moment he saw him. He knew John would be perfect. He was right.

John was pleased. Sherlock knew some advanced tecniques that he'd never been privy too. During the height of sensation, John screamed out Mary's name.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

The third time, Sherlock became limp. John looked down "what?"

"I had concluded you only wanted me." Sherlock frowned

John couldn't hold back a giggle. "After all of that? After everything you said about Mary? Christ, Sherlock, you called out other names too!"

"Did not" Sherlock crossed his arms

"Jesus, if you'll do this every time. You can call out Greg's name, and...two? Yeah, two others. But ai can't call out my wife's?"

"She's dead."

John couldn't help it. His anger was seethed in every inch of his body. He punched Sherlock. "Don't give be that bloody bullshit. Fuck! Fuck! First you tell me it's okay and now this?" What the hell are you...." John rolled out of the bed and hasitily put his clothing on.

Sherlock sat up "I've never had sex before!"

"Liar. I know when you're lying." John looked up "was everything else a lie? Now I'm ome of your conquered?"

Sherlock crawled toward's John "I've read, I've watched, I've studied...."

John snorted "your arse speaks otherwise."

Sherlock rolled his eyes "there are ways of...opening."

John knelt down "so you lied."

"I omitted the fact."

John stared at Sherlock "never contact me. Actually, if you do I'll ignore it. If you try and break in to my home, or corner me, or see me at all I'll ring the police. Police that you don't know."

John nearly fled from the room

"John! No...please." Sherlock stared at the wall, his hands were restless. He cried, and didn't try to stop.

Wow

so much angst please fix

Two days later, Sherlock received a call from Mycroft.

"I'm not taking on whatever-"

"John tried to kill himself. He was very nearly successful."

Sherlock did not move or speak.

"You can thank Greg. He made an unplanned visit to John's home. Said John is always in certain evenings and thought it odd the 'telly was on but John didn't answer.' Greg broke a window and found John in his bedroom."

"Wha-"

"An extremely potent combination of pills. Greg called 999 and then myself. I was able to expidite an ambulance. John is in critical condition. His heart stopped three times-got you beat there-he's in coma and it is unknown if he will survive."

"When!"

"Several hours ago, you loathe waiting rooms and I was not about to let you rush in. You may see him. However you will abide by all hospital rules or I will ensure you cannot visit."

Sherlock finally moved, he stood and screamed into the phone "how dare you?"

"I dare because while it was ultimately his act, we both know who drew him to it." Mycroft ended the call.

Sherlock stood, unmoving, for fifteen minutes. When he finally moved, he left the flat, slowly decended the stairs and did not utter a single complaint when he entered one of Mycroft's cars that was waiting.

Shit! I hope it's not the end, yet...

Sherlock stood in what had once been John's room.

Was John's room?

After marrying Mary, John had used the room a total of twelve times. Times when the case he had helped Sherlock with was so exhausting that he couldn't make it home. It was odd though, John hadn't wanted to sleep in his old room. He always wanted to take the extra time to go home. He had perfectly valid reasons for not sleeping in the room. But Mary...Mary had insisted, especially before she became ill. But only twelve times. And each of those twelve times had been because John was either drunk(celebration with Greg's team, Sherlock would sit and listen to the army stories that were dragged out of John) or "slightly injured." From gun grazes to twisted ankles to stitches. Those times John had called Mary, informed her of what had happened and frowned when she told him to stay with Sherlock until daylight.

John never liked using his room. Yet he did, for Mary.

Sherlock would always sit at John's door, listening to him sleep. Sherlock would close his eyes and imagine 'before' he'd imagine John never having met Mary.

He'd imagine himself asking John to marry him. John accepting and a life forever with the man he loved.

Now, the man he loved was dying. John's body a pale and sweat soaked imitation; relying on endless machines in return for endless noise all because...Sherlock pressed his head against Johns old door and screamed.

He didn't even hear the heavy footsteps.

Suddenly, a large, strong hand was against his throat. Sherlock struggled but his movements were stopped.

"What the bloody fuck were you thinking? Do you know what he went through? Do you know how he helped me? Do you? Me. I still had my wife, she's still walking about, doing the shopping. And he came to me. Brought food, brought beer, movies, laughter. Most important he listened. And then, then he had to watch her die. And the baby, are you even-" a choked back sob "-aware what it is like? To hold the most important being, and watch as the life slowly leeches away? And it's nothing to you. Mary is nothing, the death of his child. All you've ever wanted was John. And you don't even have the decency to...be decent."

The pressure was released from his neck and body. Sherlock slowly turned "I kn-"

"Don't you give me that damned pout and your fakery. You wanted him. And I believe he loves you, beyond friendship...but to use him like that."

Greg stepped back. "No more cases. Nothing. Not anymore. Hire your own goddamn clients."

Sherlock reached out "wait."

Greg turned.

"What do I....what?" Sherlock lowered his head.

"This was beside him. Read it" Greg handed over a rumpled sheet of paper.

"A note?" Sherlock whispered. "He left a note?"

"Fuckin' more than you deserve." Greg walked out.

Sherlock held onto the paper with both hands, his eyes blurred.

:[

Three hours had passed.

Three hours in which Sherlock's mind was completely silent, three hours in which he may as well have lost his sight, for he only looked at the paper in his hands. The words did not come together to form sentences.

He just. Stood.

At one point he heard Mrs. Hudson leave. She hadn't returned yet. Sherlock knew she must be at Hospital. He was glad of it. A warm hand holding John's

I should be beside his bed

Talking nonsense.

I should explain, apologize, explain, tell him, do I tell him that I respected Mary. I did. I did. I never truly liked her, but she made him so happy...and she was clever. She saw how much I loved him....

Sherlock lifted the paper.

Love him. I love him. He's still here. I love him.

Sherlock raised the paper higher, stared at the letters. It took a full two minutes for the letters to finally form into words, sentences.

A suicide note.

Sherlock,

Do not blame yourself. Do not. Don't let that "machine" of your mind run until the gears become too hot, smoke, and burst into flame. I was so vulnerable.

I should have said no. After...well, after I stood up I should have told you I didn't want to. Not then. Not at that moment. Not at that moment at all. Because I didn't.

I just wanted someone to hold onto, to stop being brave. To stop being "John, so stoic." I wanted to forget.

I also wanted Mary. I still do. I know what she's done, but fuck Sherlock! I killed a man to protect you the first day we met, you killed to protect me-and Mary, though I know it was really me. And she is no different.

When I met you, you pushed me down a path, that gave me what I needed then. Kept me laughing, a friend. A real friend.

Mary gave me warmth, and love, and light. So much.

I should have said no. I was screaming it in my head. I should have waited. Waited until the pain of her death didn't overshadow everything. Though I still don't know if that will ever happen.

I loved mary. So much.

I love you, and I knew I wanted to live with you again, to have our relationship grow.

You used me. But I should have said no. I should have said no. For all of us.

I've become useless. That night was wrong. I confused you. And I hurt Mary. She may be gone but I hurt her. The world will happily go on without me. You can stop using people in that way-you'd become a good man, that man Greg hoped for. But I didn't say no, I didn't do what I am supposed to to: Keep you from doing stupid things.

So, do what you want with my belongings. Everything has been left to you. You will move on, you have your cases, your mind, your bloody experiments. Your parents and your life.

You once said England would fall if Mrs. Hudson left. But for all your faults and flaws...it would fall without you.

Lestrade stood "get the hell ou-"

Sherlock held his hand up. Greg was struck silent, Sherlock was not in his traditional "I pretend not to care about such ordinary things as clothing, whilst wearing £500 shoes" Sherlock was wearing a t-shirt, jeans and barely worn trainers. No Belstaff coat, no scarf. Sherlock fixed his eyes onto Lestrade's. Sherlock carefully placed John's note atop Lestrade's desk "I raped him. Charge me."

Lestrade did not move, he finally reached for the letter "I'm not charging you."

"You read it! You read the damn thing. Did you know I placed valium in his tea? That I...." Sherlock turned "...I acted like a petulant child when John said her name? After I screamed out names. That I faked everything? That I've never had sex? I researched and prepared. I prepared Lestrade, like it was a case, or a criminal I needed to "befriend", a club I needed to gain access to. I knew what state he was in. I knew. And the single person, the one individual that is not related to me, understands who I am, what I need. Has saved my life. The man that had made me. "A good man"? I treated him as-as." Sherlock walked to the nearest chair and slumped into it.

"Arrest me. Arrest me. Please."

"Get out." Lestrade carefully placed the letter on Sherlock's lap.

"What you did" Lestrade sighed "I'm not arresting you. You'll never do this again, but it's what you want. I'm not about to charge you with rape because you want it. You'd get so much attention, you could sulk and you would love it."

Sherlock raised his head "I raped him."

"You used him. In the worst way. You used him for your own selfish wants. You did a disgusting, and to me an unforgivable thing. It sickens me after all he's done. After all you both went through. But you did not rape him. I'm not about to give you what you want. That satisfaction to sit and sulk and whatever it is you do. Get out."

He knew where he was.

He'd failed. A former doctor, a former soldier, and he'd failed. He had all the right drugs, taken an anti-emetic. And now? Well, he was obviously waking from a coma of sorts. Perhaps he was brain damaged. It was a horrific hope, an unkind one to those who truly suffered from brain injuries.

But perhaps he could be sent to a "home" of sorts. Allowed to be wheeled, or sit, at a window. Looking at nothing.

Remembering Mary, every extraordinary thing she had been. Their child.

Sherlock, before he had jumped. Sherlock before he had killed. For John. Not for Mary. Sherlock didn't like Mary. He'd likely rather spend time with...

"John?"

That was Greg.

"Dear God, you're actually awake this time. Truly-"

John listened as Greg moved and yelled for help.

John wanted to say "there's a call button" he wanted to say "don't call for doctors and nurses. Help me. Hold a pillow against my face." But he'd never allow Greg to be charged for murder.

Watched as doctors finally rushed in, the noise was too much, the movement. John faded sllwly away.

His last thoughts were "Mary" and "did he read it? Understand it?"

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