sherlockbbc_fic | Prompting Part XXXV

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Prompting Part XXXV

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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.

Thank you! I'm not sure if I'm planning on an epilogue, but I've been toying the the idea of an alternate ending of sorts that takes place way before the main body of the story in which John comes back, but we'll see. I'll definitely post a link if it goes up on AO3.

Such a devastating ending. Poor Robbie really wants to believe, doesn't he?..

SA

I really love this brilliant, well-written story! <\3

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

Me too, Robbie

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