Right, so little before-hand notice;
This whole thing came to mind listening to Meet You There (Busted, whoop!!) on repeat XD
I tried to find a story that'd relate to each verse/chrous and I think I did :3 Multi-fandom too - We got RPF Baybond, ScotCan, USUK but not really, and Johnlock but not really - they're not really romantically written, but if you squint and turn your head 43 degrees, maybe :3
ALSO KIND OF SPOILERS FOR SERIES 2, EPISODE 3 OF SHERLOCK SO IF YOU WANNA AVOID IT AVOID IT :3 ALSO CONTAINS HETALIA REVOLUTIONARY-NESS, I MEAN WHEN DO I NOT WRITE IT?
Please forgive me, I've never written Sherlock before so it might be crappy :3
Itlaics are the lyrics! :3
------------------------------------------------------------------------
for the perfect time to call you back.
'Cause I remember saying;
Don't wanna know the truth,
Mat stared at the phone in his hand, running a finger over the battered keypad. It lit up, illuminating the name he’d been hovering over for hours now. He toyed with the little green button while his mind begins running through the past 24 hours again. A small cry escapes his lips as he remembers loosing everything.
He remembers how he come home perfectly happy only to find Ben already home. But it couldn;t have been his Ben, his kind, caring, loving Ben. No this was someone else.A Ben who twiddled his thumbs, looked up at him shakily. A Ben who couldn’t look him in the eye.
A Ben who explained slowly that things ‘this isn’t working out. I’m leaving.’
Now it’s 10 PM and he pokes again at the screen of the little device in his hand; and there he is again. The adorable picture he’d got of a snoozing Ben after a late night shoot that had been his background for a year now, the one that makes his heart ache to look at now. With a sigh he drops the phone over the edge of the seat, watching it clatter to the floor. It was no use. Ben hadn’t spoken to him in hours, had avoided him all day at work.
What made matters worse though, was that he was still part of the flat they had shared. Mat still has a few of his films, there’s a bottle of his aftershave in the bathroom and the bedroom is haunted with memories of him. He can’t escape Ben, no matter what he does.
It's written all over your face,
Such a painful thing to waste.
Now the future’s not so clear,
I can't believe we've ended here.
Where's the world that doesn't care?
Maybe I could meet you there.
“Something’s up with Arthur,” Lachlann had said, folding the paper in his hands as his husband slid breakfast down onto the table. Matthew had frowned but shook it off. ‘He’ll be fine Lachlann,’ he had said, and that had been the end of it for that day.
“He’s getting antsy again, mi gaol,” Lachlann had said one night as they lay in the dark together, and Matthew ran his hand soothingly through his lovers hair. ‘You’ll sort things out soon my dear,‘ he had said and they soon fell into peaceful slumbers.
Matthew never thought much of the small comments the Scot made about his brother because Arthur wasn’t a wild person. He wasn’t one to make extreme decisions on a whim at all. Then one night, it happened.
“He’s... he’s taken... Edinburgh....” Emerald eyes shone with tears as he stood in the doorway, hand grasping the doorframe for support. Matthew fell to his knees by the Scot, arms pulling him into a hug that wouldn’t end for hours. He didn’t want to let him go.
“What are we going to do now?”
“How long have you got left?”
“W-We’ll meet again, I promise.”
“I’m sorry... we didn’t have longer.”
They spent their last night together, in front of the fire. Always touching, be it hands, feet, lips or legs. They curled into one another, not wanting to waste a second they had. Sleep danced around them, but they resisted, enjoying what they had before the smoky tendrils pulled them under.
Matthew woke alone the next morning.
But when I heard the stories,
I said things I didn't mean,
Alfred turned on his heels an slowly walked away from his mentor. His men moved in unison ahead of him, filing into tents as they arrived back at camp. They were happy he could see; they were free. No longer under England’s rule, America was free. So why didn’t he feel overjoyed? There was no rush of happiness as he declared himself free. Yes, his liberty was amazing and he was proud to stand on his own two feet now. But something wasn’t right. There was still one man on the battlefield.
Arthur’s coat was ruined. ‘Not that it matters now...’ The red is stained a murky brown, a mix of blood, dirt and rain. He can’t remember how long he’s been out here now; was it two hours or more? His men know to leave him alone, but any minute now and they’ll begin searching for him. He heaves out a weary sigh and sticks a pale hand out to find his gun. Numb fingers wrap themselves around it as he pulls himself to his feet. He begins the slow walk back to the English base....
What has he done? All of this... was his fault. He’s lost his brother, his little America. Not just as a colony either. Today he lost a friend.
Alfred won’t speak to him now, in fact he’ll rarely see his former brother for a long time. Alfred will be mad for a while, that Arthur wasn’t more cooperative, that they parted on such bitter terms. He’ll hate Arthur for a while, for breaking his heart like this.
The fourth of July becomes a sour day for the British nation.
It's written all over your face,
Such a painful thing to waste.
Now the future’s not so clear,
I can't believe we've ended here.
Where's the world that doesn't care?
Sherlock watches John. He knows this is the last he’ll see of him for a while, and it irks him. He doesn’t want to remember him so sad. He disregards that thought instantly - of course he has memories of John much happier, why should this be of any more importance?
Instead, he notices the way John walks with a bit of a limp again, how his shoulders hang lower. He notes that his trousers are freshly ironed - Mrs. Hudson must be doing his laundry. He catalogues ever movement John makes, every frown and hand gesture. Sherlock frowns.... he wants to tell John it’ll be oka- but he disregards that too, because John is a clever man, really. He’ll understand why he can’t say anything, right?
Instead he notices... nothing. There is nothing else to notice. John has left. He isn’t sure why, but his heart jumps. He’s gone. Now he has to slip back into the trees and flee. He has to run now, from everything he’s grown accustomed to. Moriarty pushed him, and now he’s running for his life. He’s running for John.
He can go back. One day, Sherlock says, he’ll come back home.
Maybe I could meet you there
Mat, I’m sorry, can we talk? I’ll be at our bench x
Maybe I could meet you there
“And in other news, Scotland has won back it’s capital....”
Maybe I could meet you there
I know we haven’t spoken for a long time... but I’d love to talk. Write back?
Maybe I could meet you there
John, I’ve missed you. Please let me explain - SH
Maybe I should meet you there
And the ScotCan - that story isn't brilliantly explained; basically Iggy invades Scotland but yes
