Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Two years. It had already been two years. Standing here today, John felt as in no time had passed since that cold morning when he had stood in that very place, bursting with raw pain, pleading with his lost friend. At the time he had hoped that if he only tried strongly enough, he could will Sherlock back to life.

Loss had not been something new or unfamiliar to Captain John Watson, former officer of field medicine in Her Majesty's Army. In fact, death was far from foreign to him. The soldiers who returned from the field bleeding and clinging to life would often die in his arms, pleading for their loved ones. It had been John’s duty to stay strong in the face of death, and to disassociate himself from all others, to be the one everyone in his troops could rely on with their lives and well being. He had made it a rule he lived by, not to form any strong emotional bonds with those he served with. As an infantry soldier, emotions and attachments just could not be risked or afforded.

The injury which sent him home had not come soon enough, but he was not meant to live a quiet life on his own, after the daily chaos and unpredictability of his former life. Perhaps this is why he had so quickly formed a bond with the strange spontaneous immature man that was Sherlock Holmes. For the first time in many years, he drew close to another soul, and it had felt like he had regained his youth.

Sherlock Holmes. John could never, for the life of him, find the perfect words to describe him. Perhaps it was because Sherlock was like an embodiment of energy, constantly shaping, moving, unable to be contained. Sherlock was every changing and spontaneous, as uncontrollable as fire.

Sherlock was completely different from John, in every possible way. Everything that John was not, Sherlock was, and vice versa. Yes, they had connected instantly, a bond forged in fire, never to be broken. And, despite all of the childish outbursts and immature ways of Sherlock, all of the arguments over pointless things, Sherlock’s constant drive to find new ways to drive John insane, as chaotic as life had been, John Watson had never been happier in his life. And despite the eccentricity of Sherlock Holmes which John could never completely understand, Watson had never trusted anyone as he had trusted his friend Sherlock. He was willing to trade his own life for Sherlock’s in a heartbeat, and ready to jump up and be on his way, if Holmes would only say the word. It was after meeting Sherlock Holmes that John Watson had come to know the exact meaning of Unconditional Love.

John would have given up his life to save Sherlock in a heartbeat. Yet, when the crucial time came, he had been able to do nothing. He had done absolutely nothing. His closest friend, the person he loved more than thought possible, had jumped to his death in front of John’s eyes. And now, two years later, standing by the grave of his dear friend, the pain was still just as unbearable. Those last words which they had exchanged were just as clear and haunting in his mind. The raging questions of what he should have done, what he should have said, to change Sherlock’s mind, were still racing through his mind, every waking moment.

Two years. Yet it was time to move on, regardless of what his heart, his mind, his soul, and most painfully, his guilt, told him.

“I wanted you to be the first to know, before I tell Mrs. Hudson. I wanted you to tell me what you think. I wanted you to say something…anything,” John’s words faded into silence. In his mind he could see Sherlock’s sarcastic face, rolling his eyes, saying something terrible under his breath, then pretending he had not said anything at all. A painful smile broke on John’s face. Even the irritating sarcasm, oh how he missed it!

“I’m asking her to marry me, Sherlock. I’m moving on,” Watson breathed out, and waited, as if his dead friend would argue the fact. But the world continued to go on, without any regard for Watson. With that, John turned, and walked away slowly but surely, distancing himself physically and emotionally from Sherlock Holmes.

Chapter Text

People had often wondered how it was that Sherlock and John were able to not only to get along, but were the best of friends, and had the strongest of bonds. They were completely different. And that was it. Where one had shortcomings, the other had the qualities to make up for it. They were two parts of a whole, and completed each other in a way not imaginable to most people.

Sherlock Holmes did not have friends. He couldn’t have cared less. He didn’t need friends. His work was his life, and no one came close to being nearly as interesting as the cases and puzzles he faced daily.

But then John Watson, by chance, had walked into his life. Well, he had limped into Sherlock’s life, broken, and alone. Sherlock had been drawn to Watson immediately. He was a simple man, there were no mysteries surrounding him. Sherlock did not need to waste time trying to figure John out, and could even think more clearly with him at his side.

It had begun with John Watson lending his phone to Sherlock, since Sherlock needed to send a text. From there everything fell into place. They had moved into 221B Baker Street together. And before even having a chance to settle for the day, they were already out working and solving cases together.

Two lonely men, in denial they needed someone else in their life, had met, and realized exactly how much they needed each other.

John was always there. Whenever Sherlock was frustrated, John was there to listen to his shouting and raging. When Sherlock was far away in his thoughts, unaware of his surroundings for hours, John was always there, sitting across from him, as if watching over him. But the wonderful thing about John Watson was that he was not at all a mild or sensitive man. He was the opposite, in fact. He was strong, incredibly brave, and able to adapt quickly to any change, all of the best characteristics of a weathered soldier. And though he was extremely tolerant, he did not just sit and take any of the eccentric outbursts Sherlock threw at him. John Watson admired Sherlock Holmes, but saw him as nothing more than a brilliant human being. This was exactly what Sherlock needed in a companion, someone who admired him, yet had no trouble putting him in his place, and drawing a line for him to cross.

John Watson. People assumed Sherlock was the mastermind behind his own survival through all of the dangerous adventures they had. But, it was John who was the survivor, the one with sense enough to keep them both alive.

All of the memories of John were flowing through Sherlock’s mind, as his captor struck him with heavy blows, yelling at him, demanding information. Even through the insane physical pain of the beatings, and the ache of his arms, stretched and chained to the cold walls, thinking of John eased his mind. Sadly, thinking of Watson would not bring him to the rescue. Sherlock had made sure of this. For all John knew, Sherlock was dead.

Sherlock's muscles ached, and his bare body was covered in cold sweat. The beatings were now merely numb and dull on his shivering naked back. Sweat drenched his long unruly hair, and stung his eyes. His voice crackled to life, as he whispered in a hoarse voice, to his capture, a ruse to outsmart the cruel man into leaving to check on his unfaithful wife. As the man ran off yelling in rage, Sherlock smiled coldly, silently congratulating himself. But ever since he had separated himself from John, no one could make him feel satisfied by his own cleverness.

As his mind wavered in and out of consciousness, a familiar voice broke into his thoughts, calling his name. First, for one beautiful moment, Sherlock heard John’s concerned steady voice, leading him back to reality. But then he realized the voice was Mycroft Holmes. It was a cold shock, and Sherlock shook with anger. Even in the worst scenarios, he hated it when his older brother decided to grace him with a ridiculous rescue.

But, something positive was coming out of Mycroft’s rescue. Sherlock was finally going home. Back to London, back to John Watson. And he grinned to himself, as Mycroft unbound his arms, thinking to himself how thrilled John would be, finding out that he had faked his own death. He would finally be reunited with his dear Doctor Watson.