he's my friend

John Watson. ɪ ᴡᴀs sᴏ ᴀʟᴏɴᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ɪ ᴏᴡᴇ ʏᴏᴜ sᴏ ᴍᴜᴄʜ

[mrjwatson]

Graphic Requests: zherlock asked for some Mary Morstan

[cxptainwatson]

[text]: S O S

[ text ] Where are you? What's wrong?

[cxptainwatson]

[text]: Does that mean you aren’t coming back?

[ text ] I just can't, Sherlock. 

[ text] I thought I could, I thought I could move on. But I just can't. 

[cxptainwatson]

BEAUTIFUL PERSON AWARD! Once you are given this award, you are supposed to paste it in the ask of 8 people who deserve it. If you break the chain, nothing will happen, but it’s sweet to know someone thinks you’re beautiful inside and out. ♥

I LOVE YOU THANK YOU!

[cxptainwatson]

✆

Name; Sherlock. 

Ringtone; Flash theme tune. 

Picture; 

[cxptainwatson]

         "Good morning, Mrs Watson." 

[cxptainwatson]

"Sherlock----...this is really great but                                                  you didn't need to go to so much trouble." 

[cxptainwatson]

"Miss Lovegood. Can I help you?" 

[cxptainwatson]

      "Hi. Can I get you a cup of tea?         You must be the client Sherlock was telling me about." 

[cxptainwatson]

         "I'll show you mine if you show me yours." 

[cxptainwatson]

        “—Ah, yes! Yes, it is. I apologize.                 I quite spaced off in my thoughts.

"Anything I can help with?" 

[cxptainwatson]

      “Probably.        I mean I lose my little brothers all the time        but they turn up.        … Usually.”

[ she stopped at that     wondering why on earth she had started talking about her brothers   but she smiled once more at his introduction ]

        "Alex."

"Yeah, that's what Sherlock's like.   Goes away but somehow  always manages to come back." 

      [ Swiftly, John stopped speaking to, old memories he'd rather wipe away dredging up to the surface once more. ] 

 "Pleased to meet you, Alex." 

[cxptainwatson]

         “‘Course, John. It’s always nice to see you when we’re not huddled round a body. A corpse always kind of puts a damper on things, don’t it?”

       "Yeah, too right. I'll get this round --- what do you want?" 

[cxptainwatson]

             The Detective almost found the situation amusing ——- five years ago, Sherlock had absolutely no friends to speak of; no real friends, at least. He had people who admired him for the work he had done, for the crimes and mysteries he’d solved ——- but that’s all those people were; admirers. Back then, Sherlock hadn’t wanted friends. Friends meant growing attachments with another person —— and Mycroft’s advice had always stuck within the younger brother’s head. Attachments would only lead to disappointment ——- but even he couldn’t deny that it was far too late for that now. John was already his friend —— his best friend —— so the attachment had already been sown between them both. Leaving John to think he was dead had been one of the hardest things Sherlock had ever had to do, and it wasn’t something he wanted to bare witness to again anytime soon.

             Sherlock had been able to f e e l John’s heartbreak.

             His bedroom door being pushed open caused the Detective’s thought process to cease and crash around him ——- just how long had he been standing in the middle of his bedroom? An hour or two, perhaps; he swore he’d only come in here to change out of yesterday’s clothing. Blinking rapidly, Sherlock swiftly turned to face the smaller man, dark brows rising in surprise as he took in John’s look of concern. Ever since Sherlock had returned from the crack house — or so it had been dubbed — he’d been seeing that look more and more often as of late. However ——-

             ——- there was only one thing that John could have been referring to.

             ❝Honestly, John; do you really think I managed to stay out of trouble whilst I was in Serbia? Don’t look so worried — I’m perfectly fine. Obviously. Now ——- make yourself useful. I need a shirt ironing immediately.❞

      In all honesty, John had tried to forget about it. He had tried to cast aside the thought of Sherlock being hurt whilst he wasn't there to help him. Perhaps at first, it was because he wanted to hate him. He wanted to picture him off on some Caribbean cruise, living the high life whilst John was there grieving and mourning his loss. Because then he could see him as the heartless bastard that his initial anger had painted him to be ---- someone who had grown bored of them and wanted to do the ultimate act of showing off and fake his death. 

But the thought that he was somewhere being beaten and brutalised ---- and he was alone in that---...it made John's heart quiver beneath his chest. He didn't deserve that; even after all he had done, even after how much hurt he had caused, he didn't deserve that. And it took every part of John to not demand who it was so that he could tear them apart limb from limb. For that was all he truly wanted to do; make them pay for touching Sherlock and for maiming him in such a way. Not that he would knowingly tell the man before him that. He wasn't very good with the whole emotional (or at least talking about them) thing ---- which he had mentioned to Sherlock on more than one occasion. It was why they worked but it was also why they argued. Because however much the other may deny it; their emotions fuelled each and every one of their actions. 

"No----...wait, Sherlock. The shirt can wait. What---...aren't you going to tell me what happened?" 

[seeninacrown-deactivated2014062]

             “I bet you had thought you had finally gotten rid of me…

                             Sorry to be such a disappointment, Doctor Watson.”

[cxptainwatson]

          "No. No. You're----...You're dead." 

[cxptainwatson]

      Sweat beaded atop of his forehead as John laid in bed, fingers curling into the sheets as he pressed his head back into the pillow.

Blood. Dust. Bodies. 

           They were all that littered his mind and it seemed it wasn't enough that they haunted his every waking thought ---- they had to trouble him in the nighttime as well. And that was when it was worse. During the day, he had cases, during the day he had Sherlock to keep the dark thoughts at bay. But now, all he had was the darkness surrounding him and seemingly endless rolls of gunfire as if it was a mockery of thunder. 

        Yet once where his brothers in arms stood, getting shot down one by one like wounded horses ----- now only Sherlock, Mrs Hudson and Molly remained. With Moriarty wielding the gun. 

                "Sherlock!" the scream was thrown from his lips as he sat up, lungs gasping for some much needed air as he tried to maintain composure. 

[cxptainwatson]

            With John abruptly flying toward him with a look of rage on his features, Sherlock stumbled backwards a few steps, large hands curling within the Doctor’s jacket.

            "—————- John! Contain yourself!"

     Yet still he did not stop, fingers grappling for the Detective's throat. So  perhaps he still hadn't quite forgiven him for convincing him he was dead. But that was a human reaction, wasn't it? Something he wasn't certain that Sherlock Holmes understood at times. 

              "Why? Why shouldn't I bloody throttle you?"