dani_meows (dani_meows) wrote in bipolardanicats, @ 2013-02-27 19:23:00 |
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Current mood: | creative |
Fanfiction: Don't Be Dead (Sherlock BBC)
Title: Don't Be Dead
Author: dani_meows
Fandom: Sherlock BBC
Pairing: John/Sherlock pre-slash
Rating: PG
Challenge: Written for 10prompts's prompt table: prompt: dying
Word Count: 900ish
Note: Sequel to: Caring Is Not An Advantage
Warning: Severe angst! See prompt for clues. Unbetaed.
John Watson knew he was dying. He could hear Sherlock's screams. They made him want to open his eyes but he was so cold and so very tired.
He knew he'd been found but he also knew that the kidnappers had left him to die and that they'd succeeded. His last thoughts as he lay dying were centered on Sherlock. He wanted to Sherlock's smile one last time. Images of Sherlock's smile and laughter followed him as he went under.
Mycroft Holmes had never hated his deductions more than he did right now. He knew just like his brother they kept having to put under sedation that John was more than likely dead. Why do you think Sherlock kept screaming? His deductions told him that John was dead, and there was no proof that he was wrong. The doctor came in and Mycroft took comfort that the surgeon would be the one to dash the hopes of the ones gathered around waiting for a news Mycroft had already known.
John Watson, his brother in law in all but Sherlock actually saying the words and processing legal papers, was dead. No more of that fond scolding (it had actually hurt when John had yelled at him during the Moriarty incident), no more of John's laughter and exasperated sighs when Mycroft kidnapped him to yet another warehouse. No more John Watson. No more watching security feeds to keep an eye on his brothers and seeing Sherlock laugh or smile because the source of that smile was gone. No more hiding a smile himself when visiting the pair of them and listening to John scolding them both with an affectionate smile and a perfectly done cup of tea.
Mycroft didn't realize that he was crying until the warm tears had run all the way down his cheeks.
“Someone has to tell Sherlock,” he heard and Mycroft knew that when they said someone what they really meant was Mycroft had to tell his brother. Mummy couldn't do it because she was sobbing. Mrs. Hudson was breaking apart in Lestrade's arms and everyone else gathered here wasn't connected enough to Sherlock to break the news.
“It's true, little brother,” Mycroft told the blinking man on the bed. Sherlock's screams started up once more and Mycroft didn't let them sedate him just yet.
Let Sherlock scream for his lost John Hamish Watson, maybe then it'll turn out to be a nightmare they will all wake up from.
Mycroft locked himself away for a few minutes and pulled out a cherished picture from the year before, it showed himself, Sherlock, and John grinning in front of a camera, it had been about a month after Sherlock's return and they were all so happy.
It had been a week since John had died and Sherlock didn't know how to cope. He was no longer screaming, mostly because he was no longer making any vocalizations. Everyone said this was normal but how could this gaping empty feeling possibly be normal. What did anything matter? John was dead.
He'd never actually worked up the courage to move their friendship into a romance not even after his return from the “dead,” when John had punched him in the face, kissed him, and then screamed at him for a solid ten minutes.
He regretted it now. When he'd faked his death he'd had his memory palace and the knowledge that once he'd unraveled Moriarty's web he'd be back home for new memories with the only one he'd ever loved. Now all he had was his memory palace...
“How do you feel about the violin?” he whispered to a cold granite stone... he kept going until he was out of memories and then he repeated John's wish from so long ago: “Please, there's just one more thing. One more thing. One more miracle, for me. Don't be... dead. Would you do that, just for me? Just stop it, stop this -”