InsaneJournal

Tweak says, ""Follow your dreams!""

John Watson internationally smuggles tea (imhisblogger) wrote in wariscoming,
@ 2012-08-31 19:44:00

Entry tags:

john watson, rose tyler

Who:John and Rose
What:Grief.
When:Tonight
Where: The Park where Sherlock fell.
Warnings:Possible triggers, suicidal thoughts.

It should have been so easy, walking, breathing, working. It used to be easy, he remembered. Molly had stopped even trying to reach out to him, and he didn't blame her. All they had in common was a corpse. After everything that had happened, if he were in her shoes he'd have wanted to die too. Hell he did want to die a lot of times and he wasn't in her shoes. Sherlock had commented how plain she was, John never really understood why he cared or noticed until recently. It meant Sherlock had accepted Molly. Paying attention to obnoxious details was his way of caring. He'd done the same to John time and time again. Woke up, annoyed John. It had become routine, one that John missed dearly. (I don't have a heart, I have you John. As a conductor of light you're unbeatable.)

John's anger had died down, turned into something more numb. Going through the motions of life. Some days were better then others, today wasn't one of those days.

…You know he wouldn’t want you to be sad. That was what they all said. John wasn't particularly interested in what Sherlock Holmes wanted. If Sherlock wanted something from him he could have been there and asked him for it. But he wasn't. He'd drugged him and left him alone. John had begged him not to leave and well, he couldn't even do that.

He wanted to cry, he wanted to break down but John Watson didn't cry in public. He wouldn't. It was unacceptable. Even as he stood in the park where his friend took his last breath alone he refused to cry. It was ridiculous. He stood in the grass, stared into the abyss. John flexed his left hand, it had been becoming increasingly more difficult to use these days. He should have kept his routine, it was easier then this. He was no longer able to be the John Watson he once was, no longer able to smile and pretend everything was all right. His best friend was dead. Nothing was all right. Everything was quite the opposite really.

Sherlock Holmes was dead and there was no room for one last miracle this time.

Starring down at the exact place where he'd found his friend dead with Lexi tending to him, he reached for his gun. Gun in his hand, he stared coldly at the spot. Live for him. His hand shook, it never used to shake, he was a sniper for Christ sake. His finger on the trigger, he closed his eyes. You absolutely deserve to keep living. He cared more for you than anyone.

Darkness fell over the park, civilians had long since departed. John didn't move. The warm summer breeze touched his skin, but he barely even felt it.

He'd tried to visit Sherlock, but the truth was he didn't deserve to. Twice he'd lost him, twice he'd failed to protect the most dear thing to him. John felt ill. His knees buckled and he slid into the grass. Gun down in his lap and tears streaming down his face. His hand pressed to his face trying to stop tears from flowing. It wasn't fair. It wasn't fucking fair.

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plusone
2012-09-01 07:49 am UTC (link)

If Rose had known where John had ended up, she wouldn't have gone, obviously. He'd wanted to visit Sherlock, and he'd wanted to be on his own. God knew she wasn't one to invade someone else's privacy. Sometimes you really did need to be alone. Oh, she understood why her friends hovered at times. They were worried. Yes, it still hurt and yes, sometimes she needed to be around other people to drown out the ache of being left behind yet again. But there were times when she really did need to be alone. To cry, to rage against the world, or just not to let others see how weak she could be. Cara, for all of her faults, was right. She was letting herself down by falling so far not just once, but twice. There was a war to be getting on with and, as she'd told Guy, she was just plain tired of fighting it.

So when John said he needed some time to himself, she didn't argue. She took the still unnamed and unclaimed puppy to her flat and let him run around and do silly things and make her smile. If nothing, the dog was good for that. She'd actually seen John smile more since the puppy had found him than she had in a very long time. And...well, for that matter, so had she.

It was evening when she ended up taking the dog for a walk. He was still little and still learning to walk on a leash, but frankly, she enjoyed it. Just another challenge. She needed challenges then. They made her not think. Throwing herself completely into school, the youth center, and Eponine's inn gave her more than enough to think about and she didn't have to have that lingering presence in her head. It was when she took time to stop that she had problems.

Rose put the dog in its tiny harness and clipped on his leash, all of which she'd already spoiled him with. Chances were, she'd be even more heartbroken than John if they found an owner. But so far it seemed her suspicions proved true; he was simply an abandoned dog, probably from the litter of a backyard breeder, or some jerk who hadn't bothered to take care of the mum and had just left her puppies on their own.

The park wasn't far, but best of all, it was in the opposite direction of the TARDIS. Somewhere she just couldn't be yet. She'd tried. Of course, she'd had to be drunk the entire time and had held a pretty consistent buzz all through Thailand. But she'd at least made an effort. But for now she was trying that whole sober thing, especially when being responsible for someone else's living, breathing animal.

Though she had little experience raising dogs, she'd done some reading on how to train them to walk on the leash. And, at first, she was actually having fun trying to convince little Colt (as she'd taken to calling him because really, who named a dog Anderson?) not to pull or run ahead. Or to just plop down and sit. It was one or the other with him. But when he started whining, she grew worried. Until she looked up and saw why. He wanted to be with his new dad.

She considered walking away, giving him the space he needed, but when she saw the position he was in, she couldn't. Rose Tyler was nothing if not compassionate. Anyone who'd encountered her on any planet, in any time, could tell that. All she wanted was to help people. And she was his friend, if not the close sort that Sherlock had been, and she wouldn't let him suffer alone.

Scooping the puppy into her arms, she made her way quietly to his side. She didn't speak, merely dropped into the grass next to him and placed her arm tightly around him. He'd talk if and when he was ready. And she'd be there when he was.

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imhisblogger
2012-09-01 10:31 am UTC (link)

This wasn't the first time he'd cried since Sherlock left, and it wasn't going to be the last. They said it would fade, but so far it hadn't faded at all. It was still fresh to him, still hurt like a million tiny daggers jabbing into his heart all at once. After Sherlock died, it was like he'd forgotten how to smile. Then all at once he was again, and it scared him. It hit him like a sack of bricks that Sherlock wasn't going to share any of it with him ever again. Most didn't understand their friendship, or John's loyalty to the eccentric detective and John didn't expect them to. He didn't owe anyone anything. Not anymore. The world had taken all it could from John Watson. He was tired, not so much physically but emotionally.

He was done. Damn you. His eyes burned with raw emotion. His heart with guilt and loss. It was bad enough that he felt like a part of him had been torn away, but to let go so heavy and so hard in public was just disgraceful. At least there were no more civilians. Honestly it was a long time coming, John knew Sherlock was gone but there were still places he avoided. This park being one of them until this faithful night.

John was scared. Not only of living without Sherlock, but moving on. The mere thought of packing up his things caused his heart to sink into his stomach and bring about a new level of panic he hadn't yet experienced. His brows furrowed as he tried to get a hold of himself. It didn't work.

He wasn't sure it would ever work again. Honestly at this point what did it matter, all he wanted to do was disappear. Just disconnect from the world and lay in bed for the rest of his days.

And then there was Rose. She understood what it was like. He could rely on her. When she came into view he didn't hide from her, he leaned against the embrace and just sobbed. His shoulders shaking with emotion, his gun sliding away from his lap and into the grass where it lie safety off.

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plusone
2012-09-01 05:19 pm UTC (link)

The sight of the gun didn't surprise her. Not really. John wasn't transparent, but Rose did know people. Very well, actually. And she knew it was there, lingering in the back of his mind. She didn't know if he'd actually ever go through with it but it was a scary thought. So when the gun slipped off of his lap, she picked it up and moved it to the side, refusing to openly glare at it. Instead, her arm just tightened around him, and she rested her cheek against the top of the sandy blond hair.

He seemed so strong at times. So self-assured. When Pestilence had all but killed her, he'd been so incredibly confident, stepping in and helping her with the knowledge and kindness only the best sorts of doctors had. He was so laid-back and kind and good that this? Broke her heart. Because she knew and she understood. Sometimes it wasn't worth being strong anymore. Sometimes the only solution was to give in because you'd break if you held yourself up any longer.

And after all he'd been through, who had any right to judge him? People didn't think of that. Yes, he'd lost his best friend and that was horrible and sure, maybe the healing process should start. But he hadn't just lost him once, but twice. He'd shown up, giving John the hope that he could have a second chance, and then he was taken again. And not just by the Seal (which Rose could verify still hurt like hell), but in the worst, most violent way possible. Healing was hard once. It was a bitch twice.

And Rose could verify that better than most anyone in Lawrence. Three times. Three times she'd been left alone. And every single one of them hurt.

So she held him close and, when his puppy plopped down from overexcited exhaustion, she dared to release him long enough to slide both arms around her hurting friend. He needed to cry, and she'd let him. Because sometimes, the world was cruel. And really, you just needed a hug.

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imhisblogger
2012-09-01 07:39 pm UTC (link)

If Sherlock had just been taken by the seal, John probably could have dealt with it better then this. Instead he'd been shot. He'd been promised another chance for a happy ending with his best friend and it'd been ripped away from him a second time over the phone. It was bad enough to be broken up with over the phone, but to hear him get shot like that and gasp in so much pain while John could do nothing to hep was heart breaking.

He tried to be strong, tried to put on a brave face sometimes but that's all it had been. He couldn't keep up the charade anymore. He took in a shaky breath as he hid his face against her and the puppy tried to crawl into his lap. John couldn't give it the attention it needed. All it could do was curl up there and whimper softly while John suffered.

It'd given him hope seeing Sherlock again. For a while John was truly happy. Then Moriarty came back into the picture and stole it all away a second time. It was too much. When Sherlock died, the world made less sense then it had before. Turned an off color gray John just couldn't cope with. He needed something to cling to. Something to anchor his sanity, every day that passed without him John felt it slip further away.

And so for the longest time he just cred. Sherlock Holmes was dead and was never coming back no matter how hard he wished or how much he prayed. There were no more miracles he could pull, no more tricks up his sleeve. Just pure raw grief.

Two months now Sherlock had left him alone. John had taken to wearing his scarf at times, or some of his other pieces in a last attempt to be close to him. Tonight however he was just John. Unsure if it was good enough or even okay anymore. He was John Watson who had failed his friend and now had to pick up the pieces Sherlock left behind.

He tried to keep his hand over his face, but it wasn't like that hid the sadness. It overwhelmed his small body and shook his shoulders until he could cry no more. Even then he didn't trust his voice for a good long while, he just slumped against her defeated.

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plusone
2012-09-01 08:27 pm UTC (link)

She didn't force him to talk. People always said you'd feel better if you talked about it, but she wasn't sure that was true. Not always, anyway. You had to be in the mood to do so or else you risked cracking all over again. Sometimes it was good, sharing those memories. And with some people, it actually did make the hurting a little easier. But sometimes, sometimes it was just too damn hard.

She held him close, her eyes closed and her hand lightly rubbing the back of his neck, the way Jackie had always done when she was a little girl. The motion was repetitive and soothing, a way of letting someone know you were there without being overly invasive. She'd missed her mum a lot lately. When she'd found herself in the other dimension, with a father who wasn't her father and Mickey who'd grown up entirely too much for her liking, it had been her mum she'd leaned on. She didn't have friends there, like she did here. And while it helped, having people like Elena and Juliet and the others who'd supported her, it wasn't the same as having her mother.

When she finally felt his sobs abate, she reached into her pocket for the tissues she'd taken to carrying. Because he wasn't the only one who had the occasional breakdown. She gently lifted his face, dabbing at his cheeks. Apparently the little dog in his lap wanted to be involved as he attempted to lick the salt from his master's face. "Shh," Rose murmured, more to him than to the dog, but she picked the puppy up and set him beside them. "You stop that."

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imhisblogger
2012-09-01 08:46 pm UTC (link)

John hadn't wanted to cry in public, but being in that spot where Sherlock's presence still lingered was just too damn hard. He couldn't stop the tears from flowing, or his pain from rising to the surface. Sherlock knew him like nobody else did. John owed him so much. It wasn't supposed to end like it had. Moving his hand from his face, he clung to Rose like she was the very last bit of his remaining sanity. In some ways she was, just by being there. She'd prevented him from falling. She held him together so he didn't crumble.

Sandy blond brows furrowed in distress as he closed his eyes and just tried to block out the world. With Rose so close it wasn't as hard as he thought it'd be and he began to feel a little better. At least he no longer felt like taking his own life. That was certainly a step in the right direction. He didn't reach for the gun again as it was nudged aside.

"I'm sorry..God."He tried to rub at his eyes a bit in attempt to pass off the break down as something had irritated them. Then she was trying to help him wipe away the tears and he smiled a little. She brought that out in him. Since Sherlock died, he really didn't have much reason to smile until Rose came along. Even now as he'd very nearly shot himself again, he could still smile with her close by. Even through his embarrassment.

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plusone
2012-09-01 09:17 pm UTC (link)

"Don't apologize," she reassured, offering her own small smile in return. He was such a sweet man when he wasn't so miserable and angry with the world. With himself. That was the worst part. Always blaming himself, like there was anything he could've done. He didn't deserve that. "It's fine." As if all she'd walked in on was him ranting or being annoyed with people.

She finally pulled back a bit, realizing just how close she was and feeling just a bit awkward. Not overly so. Rose was always an affectionate person, hugging her friends, grabbing at them when they laughed together, and offering little sympathetic touches wherever she felt them necessary. But here in the falling darkness of the park in such a personal setting for him, it seemed a bit wrong. Like she was far overstepping her bounds by even being there, let alone by being so close.

"Glad we came along when we did. I almost went the other direction." But she couldn't have because the TARDIS was in that direction and no way in hell was she going over there. Even if she didn't go in, what if she ran into him? Yes, it was her job to help him, to get him settled. But that was so much easier said than done when every time she looked at him she saw the man she'd planned on spending the rest of her life with. Not like Peter. Peter was so different from the Doctor that she could be around him and not think too much of it. They looked the same, yes, but they carried themselves differently, wore their hair differently, and even spoke differently. Other than the occasional bit of Donna that blurted out of the new Doctor's mouth...it was nearly identical.

And sometimes? Sometimes she wondered if she could just...pretend. Pretend she didn't hear or notice those subtle differences. Pretend that when he held her close it was two heartbeats she felt, and not just one. Or that Donna's London attitude didn't come out in his tone. If she could pretend, they could fall into what they were, apparently, supposed to be. But she didn't have it in her to do that.

This wasn't about her. It was about John. In some ways, he was another challenge for her, another project to keep her mind busy and her heart full of things that weren't the Doctor. Either one. Making him smile, trying to help him heal... Those she could do. And she began by giving him a gentle nudge with her elbow. "You couldn't at least have brought a blanket and a nice basket lunch if we were going to have a picnic? You're a rubbish date."

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imhisblogger
2012-09-01 09:42 pm UTC (link)

If Sherlock hadn't drugged him he was sure things would have been different. He could have been there with him. At the very least he wouldn't have died alone. John felt awful that the only words of comfort he could offer his friend had been over the phone. Even then they weren't very comforting, he spent most of their last few moments begging him to hold on. Just wait until help arrived, but he was too late. Always too damn late to save him. John didn't want to help anyone anymore. To invest so much of himself when there was very little left to begin with. He'd gone on temporary leave of QI, though he was sure it was going to be a full fledged quitting sooner then later, he was so angry. Too angry. He could save dozens of lives but he couldn't save Sherlock's. What good did that make him?

Rubbing at his eyes in attempt to clear the tears from them, he closed them for a moment as they burned. Now wishing he would have stayed home, he would have had a sink at the least to wash his face in. "Wasn't expecting company or I'd have tried not to look like shite." He managed a feeble attempt at a joke. If he didn't laugh he was just going to end up crying again.

Looking down at the curious puppy that wandered between them both looking uncertain what to do, he gave it a lopsided smile. "It's certainly not going to win the Nobel prize for intelligence any time soon is it." John picked up the pup and toyed with his ears a little.

He gave her a sheepish look at the nudge "Worst location for a picnic ever." He reached for his gun and tucked it away again, puppy still in his lap. He hadn't been eating much since Sherlock died, mostly just stuck to tea and biscuits. He'd considered cooking Rose dinner at one point, but then had chickened out at the last minute and just ended up ordering them a pizza instead.

"You're not the first one to say that. Lets see, my last date ended in a Chinese torture kidnapping session."

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plusone
2012-09-02 12:51 am UTC (link)

"You? Please. I don't think you know how to look bad," she reassured with a little smile. Part of the charm of John Watson, really. He wasn't one of those blokes who you looked at and your breath caught. He was handsome in a more subtle way, charming with the crook of a smile or the twinkle in his eyes. A twinkle that had been missing lately more often than not.

She scratched lightly under the dog's chin and gave John a playful glare on the dog's behalf. The puppy didn't care, he was just obviously grateful for the attention when the two people he'd spent the most time with that week had apparently gone mad. "He's just a baby. Even Einstein was a baby once. He probably didn't come off all that smart either. I bet you're going to grow up into a right genius, you are," she told the dog, giving him a conspiratorial smile. "And he's a 'he', Dad, not an 'it'. Gosh, what kind of father are you?"

Grateful for the slightly lighter tone the conversation had taken, she leaned back on her hands and raised her eyebrows. "Oh, yeah? I raise your Chinese torture and see you the destruction of my planet." Her expression was smug, eyebrows lifted and mouth pursed slightly. "The Doctor apparently thought that'd be a fun first place to take me. Fortunately he had the sense to follow it up with Victorian Cardiff or I'd have just walked right on out." Would she have, though? She doubted it. Anyone who traveled with the Doctor would be forced to admit that there was nothing half as amazing. Being a part of his world, being accepted as his friend and companion. And, in their case, something more.

Pulling herself back up, she wrapped her arms around her knees and pulled them to her chest. She wasn't entirely comfortable with him having his gun back on him but what could she do? He was a grown man. It was his decision. She just had to keep being there for him and hoping that it was enough to make him not do what she was pretty sure she'd almost found him doing.

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imhisblogger
2012-09-02 08:50 am UTC (link)

John gave Rose a small almost sheepish smile as he rubbed at the back of his neck in embarrassment. "Pretty sure I look like rubbish." He said as he looked at her with a vaguely amused raised eyebrow and leaned back into the grass himself. Food didn't sound like a horrible idea if he was honest, just the location was shit. There was no way he was having a picnic where his friend had been shot.

The look in his eyes was still empty, still sad but at least he was talking again. That alone was an improvement from the silent treatment he'd dawned in the earlier hours of the day. "I'm not a father for Christ sake." John said with a slightly defeated expression and rolled his eyes. as the puppy pawed at his leg as if to reinforce Roses statement. "..Don't you give me that look. Sherlock used to give it to me twice an hour. I'm immune." Eventually John would have to name it. If it was making Sherlock faces, John wasn't going to be able to just part ways with it any time soon whether or not they found the mom and dad.

"..Tsk." He sighed and picked up the wriggling critter, watching it squirm more in his hands for a minute before drawing him in closer. "You're never going to scare anyone if you keep this up." It nuzzled John's face just at his jaw and bit at his ear in retaliation to the comment. "Ow. I stand corrected Jaws."

Raising an eyebrow at Rose and the mention of her planets destruction he smirked awkwardly. "That sounds cheery." His sense of humor was dry but his timing was typically spot on unlike one Sherlock Holmes. "Sherlock also invited himself along on my date and still thought it was a date between the three of us. Even if I'd gotten off with Sarah I'm afraid to think what Sherlock might have thought was going to happen after." He mused.

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plusone
2012-09-03 07:25 am UTC (link)

"But Daddyyyy," she told him in a mocking whine, as if speaking for the dog. "He loves yoooou!" And then the dog bit him. Which was sort of classic, actually. Not a real bite, she knew that. Puppies nipped. They'd have to get him more teething toys, apparently. ...they. Like she was a part of it. Funny how she'd just wormed her way in on their little budding family. Well... Aunt Rose had made her presence known whether either of them liked it or not. And she enjoyed having the chance to spoil him...both of them. They both deserved it. "And you are not naming that sweet baby Jaws."

She rested her head on her knees, watching him as she tilted her face in his direction. He was at least giving a hint of a smile. It was something. She felt loads better knowing that at least she'd gotten that out of him. Sometimes all it took really was a hug. If she could just be there for him, get him through, maybe in the end he'd be okay. She knew what it was like. How it felt to hurt so badly. But it really was one day at a time. Wake up, survive, and go back to bed. Repeat until the surviving part became living again. Then repeat until living became being happy. She'd done it once now. Not the first time. The first time she'd never achieved happy. But she had managed living.

"It was meant to be something spectacular. Which it was. But...kind of depressing. Standing there watching, knowing you'd been dead for billions of years." Subconsciously, she looked up into the night sky, seeking out familiar stars. She sighed, still trying to commit the ones in this dimension to memory. They were different in every one. One of the ways she'd learned to tell where she'd ended up during all of her dimension jumping. "S'all right. Met Charles Dickens after that."

It was chancy. Bringing up Sherlock always was. But she shifted her toe over to give him a little kick. "Joining you after your date, too? Sounds kinky. Wouldn't have minded seeing that." Just to see him blush. And she was so, so good at making him do just that.

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