sherlockbbc_fic | Prompting Part XXXV

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Prompting Part XXXV

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Hours later, Robbie sits on his bed with his laptop and types in the URL for John Watson’s blog. When It loads, he gets to a page containing only a password box with the hint: “Gave my life meaning.”. Robbie stares at the notecard in bewilderment for few moments before typing 29012010 into the box and clicks enter.

The last entry on the blog, and the one is titled simple “John” and when Robbie clicks on it, it takes him to a short entry that reads “John if you see this, please contact me. I need to know you’re alright.” there’s a phone number beneath. Robbie wonders if the number is still relevant. Given the hosting, the format, and how long it took the blog to configure, no one’s touched this place for a long time. Robbie makes his ways through the posts one by one reading everything including the (sometimes quite long) stretches of comments. Robbie enjoys reading about wild adventures these two men went on and on occasion finds himself laughing aloud. He hasn’t felt glee like this since he was a child reading adventure stories.

Robbie actually gasps allows when he encounters a post titled “Sherlock” and reads Watson’s loving proposal finishing with the self-deprecating “If you’re not interested please delete this post, and we will never talk about it.”. He scroll’s down to see Sherlock’s “Yes!” as the first comment, followed by John posting “You’ve already told me that you ridiculous man, but I suppose it’s nice to have in writing” and then a flood of congratulatory comments from friends, family, and fans alike. Robbie chuckles when he reads John’s comment complaining that he had made the post private but Sherlock had posted it to the public, and then’s Sherlock’s response that they were going to tell everyone anyway, and wasn’t this more expedient? Besides, shouldn’t he be able to brag a little? Things got pretty mushy from there.

Robbie is up until the early hours of the morning, but he finishes reading everything and goes to sleep wondering what tomorrow will bring.

This is so, SO, sad and beautiful! D': I could vividly imagine myself reading that blog with Robbie.

oh god please more, I'm so addicted to this

Please update soon! ;_________;

Absolutely loving this, brilliant writing!

“Mr. Holmes?” Robbie calls gently as he walks into the room: finished with his shift and ready to listen.
“Ah, Robbie” Mr. Holmes replies “You may as well call me Sherlock.”
Robbie nods in conformation.
“So,” Robbie prompts after a weighty pause “John Watson”
Mr. Holmes, no, Sherlock, takes a deep inward breath
“John,” He begins “Was a friend of mine”
Robbie raises his eyebrows at that and Sherlock catches it.
“Yes, yes, I know you read the blog. John was many things to me: my beloved, my affianced, my partner, my conductor of light, but fundamentally he was always my friend. I thought for a long time about how much I wanted to tell you and what, and I believe I will begin a few years after the dissolution of John’s marriage.”
“About that,” Robbie interrupts, earning him a stern look from Sherlock “What happened to Mary and the baby?”
“Confidential.” Sherlock says “Mycroft’s been dead a great many years, but I think it’s best if I take that with me to the grave. But I digress. I think I’ll begin with when John and I finally got on the same page”

Sherlock genuinely hadn’t meant to book a room with only one bed on for the one night of their brief trip to Lancaster; he just hadn’t been paying attention when booking the room. The case had been solved in a disappointingly brief five hours which meant he would actually be going to bed that night. He had been surprised when John hadn’t protested the sleeping arrangements.
They washed up and settled down for the night. They were both tired because they had to take an early train, and John quickly dropped off to sleep. Despite his fatigue, Sherlock was determined to stay up so he could memorize every detail of John sleeping beside him. He wanted to encode it so thoroughly in his mind so that on the loneliest of nights he could pretend that John was right there beside him. (Later, one of his biggest regrets would be that he’d never finished what he started). Having not intended to sleep, Sherlock was surprised to wake up many hours later. He was even more surprised to find himself completely wrapped around John with his nose buried in John’s hair and John’s arms loosely around his waist. He was stuck, unsure of what to do. He certainly didn’t want to move, but if John woke and found them like this, would that not be a violation of his friend’s trust? Wouldn’t things be awkward the next morning? After all, this wasn’t the kind of thing that flatmates did, it just wasn’t on. Sherlock was pulled out of his thoughts by John’s arms tightening around him and John’s low grumble of “Stop thinking, Sherlock, and go back to sleep.”
And to Sherlock’s continuing surprise, he did.

Sherlock awoke alone to the sound of the shower. He rolled over to the warmth that John had left lingering in the sheets and pulled John’s pillow to his chest. It was with a pang of nervousness that he remembered the last night had not, in fact, been a particularly lovely fantasy he had concocted to help himself sleep, but rather, had actually happened. He couldn’t help but squeeze the pillow tighter to his chest wondering what this would mean in terms of his relationship with John. John had, after all, clearly been at least somewhat aware of the fact that the person he was cuddling was Sherlock, and he had shuffled closer instead of pushing the way which surely must be a good sign. Sherlock needn’t have worried. The didn’t talk about it, nor had Sherlock expected them to, but their relationship did change (albeit not as quickly as Sherlock would have liked). They touched more often, and the touches were casual, no longer fraught with the tension of a thousand things unsaid. It was simple things: a brush of fingers, a hand on the shoulder. Sometime after a long case when they were tired, they’d lean on each other heads and shoulders pressed together. While it was the happiest Sherlock had been in a long time, he couldn’t help but want more. They were almost there, so close to where Sherlock wanted them to be, but he just couldn’t bring himself to make a move. Rejection no longer even felt like a possibility and he chastised himself for being a coward, but he just couldn’t bring himself to put everything on the line like that.

When it does finally happen, it’s an unfittingly small moment. As ridiculous as sentimental as it was, somewhere in the back of his mind, Sherlock always felt that his and John’s first kiss would be some big epic moment in which the entire universe will align. And it is, but it’s a universe contained in a joke told over breakfast. It’s another one of Sherlock’s regrets that he doesn’t remember what he said to make John laugh like that, but John’s entire face lights up and he looks so happy and beautiful in the morning sunlight and Sherlock could no longer bear it, so he leaned forward and kissed John. John was momentarily startled, but an instant later with a sigh of “Finally” he curled his fingers in Sherlock’s hair

Perfect <3

The last sentence is supposed to read:

John was momentarily startled, but an instant later with a sigh of “Finally” he curled his fingers in Sherlock’s hair and kissed him back.

Sorry all! Thank you again for all your nice comments.

Things were good after that, really good. Sherlock couldn’t imagine being happier. He had everything he’d wanted and so much he’d never thought he’d need. He loved the casual intimacy of it all. Loved running his hand through John’s hair as he passed him in the kitchen. Loved the way he could creep up behind John and press open mouthed kisses to John’s neck that would make him moan. Loved dancing with John. Sometimes late at night, he would pull John to his chest and they would just sway and Sherlock’s heart would feel fit to burst and the joy he felt would be consuming and overwhelming, and nothing could touch their bubble of happiness as they danced together in the quiet of the night.

It happened one evening when after they had returned from Sherlock’s parents’ house where they had been making wedding plans. John had gone out to get takeout and didn’t return.
“Lestrade, John’s missing.”
“Have you tried calling him?”
“Have I tried–? Of course I have! He went out to get takeout at the Indian restaurant down the road four hours ago. He took his phone, it was on and charged. Now get your fucking people on it or whatever department handles this kind of thing!”
“On it now. I’ll meet you at the restaurant and we’ll try to find out where he was taken from”

There was woefully little evidence: a dropped bag of takeaway was all they could find. That didn’t stop Sherlock from working day in and day out to find John. He scoured the city, called in every favor, put out offers of massive rewards to his homeless network or anyone who could offer any information about the disappearance of John Watson. Scotland Yard put their best team onto the case, even Mycroft offered some of his people and access to any CCTV recording. Sherlock barely slept, barely ate, and looked gaunt and ill all of the time. When a month had passed and there were no leads, the support steadily trickled off until Sherlock was the only one still looking.

“You really need to eat something, dear.”
“No time, I have too keep looking.”
“It’s been three months Sherlock, and nothing’s turned up, don’t you think you should take a break.”
“I have to keep looking. I can’t stop. I can’t— I can’t—“
“Oh, Sherlock. Come here, I’m sure you’ll come up with something.”
“But what if I don’t Mrs. Hudson? What if I can’t find him?”
“There, there, everything will be alright. Just rest, have something to eat, it’ll all be there in the morning. I’m sure John can wait one more day.”

So sad! ;_____________; Poor John and Sherlock. They were so happy.

please more!

He never really gave up looking for John, not really anyway. Eventually, when there hadn’t been any new information for months, he started focusing on other cases. There were days when it was more than he could bear, when he’d lie on the floor wondering if he curled in on himself tightly enough he’d vanish completely.
He was never really the same which wasn’t a surprise, how could he be expected to get over John? He took cases for many years before he retired, and still dabbled after for as long as his old bones would let him. But the joy had been sucked out of it and there were so many days it felt like he was just working to pass the time. Sometimes, rarely but it did happen, he would get caught up in a particularly good puzzle and right at the hight of his brilliance he would turn to tell John and-
No one was there. And the air would rush out of him as if he’d been punched in the stomach. He often didn’t finish those cases. He’d turn over what evidence he’d found to the yard and go home and sit in John’s chair and mourn the life that had been torn away from him.
Sherlock remembered quite clearly sitting in Bart’s dissecting a tongue and overhearing Molly speaking to her eight-year-old daughter.
“Mummy,” the girl (Lucy or something like that) had said “Why does Mr. Holmes always look so sad?”
And Molly had replied “Because he’s lost someone he loves very much”
“Is his friend dead like Mummy’s corpses?” the girl asked.
“Yes.” Molly said quietly.
Sherlock stood abruptly, knocking the chair over. “Don’t say that!” he shouted at them. “We never found any evidence for that! He might not be–– He could be–– John might still be alive!”
And the little girl had started sobbing and Molly looked like she might soon as well. So Sherlock fled.

“I know he’s dead.” Sherlock says, coming to the end of his story “By this point anyway he has to be. But I can’t help but expect him to walk through that door. I’ve never entirely managed to shake the feeling that it could be any minute now that I’ll see him again. And when you came into my room on the first day with your hair and your posture, just for a moment I thought… but no, he’s dead. I know that.”

Sorry if this comes across a bit abrupt. I've been pretty busy this week, but I wanted to update. I'll try to draw it out a little more if I end up editing it and posting it to AO3

i'm so happy you updated! more please!

Hnnnnnghhh! So painful... T.T

THIS IS ABSOLUTELY BRILLIANT! Please update ASAP. =)

Things continue steadily after that. Robbie goes about his day to day, bringing food to the patients, and, on occasion, chatting with Sherlock. It’s clear that Sherlock’s already fragile health is inexorably declining, but neither of them mentions it.
A couple of months pass and one day Robbie is bringing lunch to Sherlock who today does not acknowledge him. Robbie doesn’t think much of it, it’s happens from time to time and he doesn’t take it personally, but as he is leaving, Sherlock quietly calls his name. Robbie turns and stands by Sherlock’s bedside.
“Robbie,” Sherlock whispers “May I ask a significant favor of you?”
“Of course” Robbie says “anything you want.”
“I am an old man, and my health has been bad for some time, but I don’t believe that I’m going to make it through the night. I understand that it is a lot to ask, but I don’t want to die alone. Will you sit and wait with me tonight?”
Robbie is taken aback and at a loss for words, but he nods dumbly and Sherlock looks grateful and relived. In his time at the home, Robbie has discovered that when a resident says it is their time, they are usually right, and so he goes about his tasks with a heavy heart.
That evening when his shift has ended, he returns to Sherlock’s room to find him sitting. as always, in his bed staring out the window.
“Thank you” Sherlock says quietly. “I was wondering if you’d be willing to read to me from his blog? Some of the earlier entries I should think, so that I may remember a happier time”
And so Robbie does. He reads to Sherlock well into the night, but finally pauses to take a sip of his coffee and sees that Sherlock has drifted off to sleep. Robbie promised that he would stay, so after a quick trip to the toilet, he settles back in the chair and continues silently reading through the blog entries one by one. Eventually, Robbie dozes off. He is awoken sometime later by a hoarse, panicked whisper.
“John? Is that you John?” Robbie opens his eyes to see Sherlock watching him with half-focused eyes. After a moment of indecision, Robbie answers “Yes, Sherlock.” and impulsively reaches up to take his hand. Sherlock stares at their John hands for a long moment before looking back at Robbie.
“John – I “ and for a moment, Robbie is worried that Sherlock is going to start raving again, but he just sighs and says “I missed you terribly. It’s been so hard here without you. I can’t stand it.” and he continues on like that for awhile; rambling at length about the tragedy of his life after John’s disappearance, but every once in awhile touching on some fond memory of their too brief time together. Throughout his ramblings, Sherlock dips in an out of coherency, but it’s clear that he’s always talking to John. After an indeterminable amount of time, Sherlock swerves into permanent incoherency mumbling his slurred thoughts and scattered memories. He drifts off again from there, and Robbie is soon to follow.
When Robbie wakes in the morning, the hand in his is cold and lax, and he takes a deep breath and wills himself not to cry.

Sherlock had no living family or friends, so the nursing home arranges a small memorial service. It’s sparsely attended and Robbie wonders if he’s the only one here who’d ever even spoken to Sherlock. Robbie has a moment of rage over the paltry event: Sherlock had deserved so much more than this.
With the exception of one woman a few years older than him, Robbie recognizes everyone there as either a patient or staff from the home. She’s staring silently at the photographs that the staff had arranged for the event. Most of the pictures depict Sherlock weathered and unsmiling, but there’s one photograph of Sherlock standing next to a short blond man who Robbie realizes must be John because they both look so blindingly happy that it brings tears to Robbie’s eyes. This is the photograph the woman is staring at. He takes a deep breath an approaches the her.
“Did you know him?” he says.
The woman looks briefly startled, but then composes herself and replies “Not really. He used to steal body parts and conduct experiments in the morgue where my mother worked. I wasn’t there often, a morgue really isn’t the kind of place for a kid so I only met him a couple of times.”
“Was John ever with him?” Robbie asks
“Once.” She says slowly “The first time. I remember Sherlock being happy and a little odd but friendly. He showed me the experiment he was working on and explained it to me, and John said something, I don’t remember what, but I remember Sherlock laughing and just looking at John like he was his whole world. Sometime after that, John disappeared and it was like Sherlock was a whole different person. He was cold and closed off and I remember being quite afraid of him.”
“But they’re together now, at least.” Robbie says
The woman looks uncomfortable for a moment “Oh, well, I don’t believe in-“
“They have to be!” Robbie interrupts, suddenly quite convinced of this “That can’t just be the end. It can’t just be the unanswered question where they never see each other again. They have to be together now. And before he died– They just– There’s no other way it makes sense.”
The woman stares at him for a long moment, and then as if humoring a child replies “I suppose you’re right.”

My thoughts exactly.

;________________;... My heart is broken now.
I really hoped they would possibly learn what happened to John back then. So saaaaad! :'(

An yet, the most important case in Sherlock's life remains unsolved. =(

Was John in a bad place for years or died shortly/immediately after his disappearance? Who's responsible for it? It feels awful not to know. I'd be so grateful for some sort of an epilogue.

I really enjoyed reading this tragic story! Thank you so much for sharing. I'd love to know if you're going to post it on AO3.

Re: Part 10/10 End!

kingtyrell.livejournal.com - 2014-08-08 15:23 (UTC) - Expand

Re: Part 10/10 End!

(Anonymous) - 2014-08-08 18:24 (UTC) - Expand

Re: Part 10/10 End!

(Anonymous) - 2014-08-08 18:26 (UTC) - Expand

oops, meant to write "joined hands" not John hands this needs some major editing. My bad.

Me too, Robbie

Love!

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