HERE IT IS!!! ☎️ Story III will be in three parts ... Let's try this again. 'All of my change I spent on you ...' 💋.
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Sherlock had a few coins in his pocket. He halted, passing a payphone … could he?
Who would know?
Mycroft?
… he looked around. Again, feeling the weight in the palm of his hand. Feeling the weight in his heart …
.
John.
.
If he could just hear his voice, once?
Sherlock went for it, slipping into the phone booth and calling before he could talk himself out of it …
One …
Two rings …
Three and … !!
.
"Hello?" John answered.
.
Sherlock held his breath. Listening. Just listening to him speak.
"Hello? Anyone there?"
.
Then exhaled, a small burst - half laugh, half tears - at the beauty of John's voice touching his too long, lonely ears. Joy spilling from his eyes in the form of Saline and H2O.
John hung up a second later and Sherlock was left standing there … holding the silent device. A clink reminded him of his refunded change and he pocketed it …
Desperately hoping he could use it again, soon ...
.
>>><<<
.
"Hello, John Watson speaking?"
.
The phone had rung at John's desk. A private line inside the medical offices. One only a few people knew.
There was silence on the other end, again.
"Hello?" John went to hang up - but realized there was a small sound … ?
Like …
Someone … crying?
.
Reaching with desire to hear, he strained to make out the sounds.
"Are you … okay?” He asked, after a moment, “Is … someone there?"
The intake of a breath and shudder of someone fighting to hold back tears, was unmistakable this time. The sound of pain …
"Please? Where are you? Can I help?"
The phone clicked.
Silence.
.
John was shaken.
He jumped up, calling for Sarah and the new nurse, Mary to help him check around the office? To make sure someone wasn't in one of the other rooms? Hurt? Had they left a patient unattended??!
John couldn’t shake the feeling all day.
Even when no one was found.
Even when no one could have been the caller …
He picked up the phone several times that afternoon pressing redial, with no response …
.
>>><<<
.
Sherlock regretted hanging up again.
The fifth time he had gotten away with it …
But … he knew that if he hadn't … he would have said something he shouldn't have …
.
Today had been hard.
The hardest day of his life, he felt - up until the moment he heard John's voice through the receiver.
The care and gentleness audible … across the thousands of miles between them … like no time at all had passed, and …
It had almost been harder after hanging up.
He did cry. He couldn't stop it once it started.
.
He
Just
Wanted
To
Go
Home.
.
But the days were getting shorter.
The nights were getting longer.
And Moriarty’s net,
Was still closing in …
.
He had to survive this week.
Had to track down this thread …
And the whole web could at last begin to unravel!
.
He looked at the change left in his hand. And tucked it away in his innermost pocket for safekeeping.
IN CASE YOU MISSED PART 1 of 3 - READ IT HERE! This is a continuation of the previous post. (You'll forgive me by the third!)
>>>☎️<<<
John answered the phone.
. Sooner.
And sooner.
Each time anonymous called …
And called …
. And called …
Even picking it up mid-ring sometimes.
.
Sometimes the caller stayed on for several minutes … Making a light tapping sound or just generally making sure John knew they were there, but couldn't speak.
Nothing ominous. No heavy breathing. Besides the times he could tell they were trying to reign in the tears …
John found himself staying on the line … as long as he could keep the line open …
He began by talking. Joking.
Chatting as if with a friend,
About his day. The tube ride. Dogs and people … all interesting. Facts he noticed about them …
Hoping it was making his silent friend feel better? After all … they kept calling? Some days he’d just vent a bit without naming names. But at least it kept the caller on the line? Kept them … maybe … alive?
.
So he kept talking. Always the one talking.
One sided …
.
He’d laugh about Mrs. Hudson. And London news. Coffee and tea. And warm fires. And lonely nights. He’d ask if the person calling was okay? And if they ever felt brave enough … to maybe say ‘hi’ next time?
He’d hold onto the phone for another few minutes, each time after he’d ask. Just in case. Waiting until after he heard the click.
After the line went dead.
Each time.
.
Just to see …
If they would ring again … ?
.
They never did.
But he waited. Every time.
Just the same.
.
Weeks could fly by in between.
The longest was a month between calls.
John worried.
. He lost sleep at nights. Staring at the ceiling.
Wondering who it was.
. And why they would choose to call him … ?
.
>>>☎️<<<
.
"Hell-” John’s voice began, but caught.
Somehow the silence this time, conveyed more than the words Sherlock was trying to keep in … and John didn't even get the whole word out. His breathing becoming rapid and rushed! As if a lightbulb had come on, finally! Midway through his usual greeting.
.
Sherlock held his breath. Waiting for it. Lips curling into the beginnings of a smile.
.
. "Sherlock?”
.
(part 2 continued beneath cut ✂️)
.
John always had been bright.
Luminescent.
Little did he know how much Sherlock needed him on this moonless night …
. "Thank you," he spoke softly. Thanking John for this. A touch of home. A glimpse at his life, while away …
He was cradling the phone in his hands as he hid. Tucked himself in a corner of the old abandoned building,
“Thank you for every word you gave me.”
.
"My god," John breathed. Also pressing the phone to his ear …
.
"Not quite," Sherlock teased.
That got a laugh from John, and made Sherlock smile …
.
"I knew you were there,” John rushed to get out, “It's been you, hasn’t it?-the whole time?"
.
Sherlock nodded into the darkness. Knowing John couldn't see him but unable to speak at the moment for feelings overgrown and unborn yet …
. “Sherlock?”
"I only have a few minutes," Sherlock said in a rush, when he at last gained control of his emotions and his vocal chords! "So I need to say a few things now … Things I always meant to say … but somehow … never did … ?”
His body wracked unexpectedly with coughs, and he covered the phone, turning back to it in another minute, “in case … I don't -"
"Don't!!! Don't do that! You will make it home! You have to!" John demanded, “you can’t leave me another note!”
Sherlock sputtered a laugh, half-crying as it came out. His eyes welling up of their own accord … "John, I-"
"You are … amazing … and brilliant and fantastic! And capable of performing bloody miracles - so when I tell you to come home to me! You. Will. Come. Home!"
Sherlock nodded again, humming in agreement this time.
"Or I will have to crawl through that phone, and bring you home." John finished, voice breaking.
.
Sherlock wanted to crawl through the phone and bring John along with him now! Here! Home.
.
"I miss you, John."
.
He managed after a few moments of shaking silence.
"I miss you too, Sherlock, I -" John hesitated ...
.
"Say it, please?" Sherlock begged.
.
Sherlock never begged.
But he needed to hear this.
If this was the last thing he ever heard.
The last sound on his dying day …
Let it be this.
. “Or let me say it?” Sherlock asked.
"I love you." John spilled the words out. Ink staining his heart and his mind. Every digit of his fingers and hands as he tried to clean up the mess, clean up his life, wipe away the traces and tracks of it and everywhere … everywhere leaving more marks … more stains that would remain permanently tattooing Sherlock’s name for all to see … visible in the right light …
“I’ve loved you since I first met you, and I want to say it to you face-to-face next time … Tell me … the next note I get will be from Mycroft, on where and when to come and get you?”
“John, I -”
. “Tell me!”
“John.” Sherlock took a deep breath, unable to promise what he could not be sure he could keep. But this he could keep. This promise he must keep, must say …
“John?”
. “Yes, Sherlock?”
“I love you.”
.
He heard John swallow. Heard the intake of air and hush of tears as he was turning away from the phone. Sherlock rushed to get the rest of the words out. He had only moments left, before he had to meet his contact and toss this phone in the river … spent …
“I will love you until the day I die, John Hamish Watson! And if there is ANYTHING that I can do to come home to you safely, I promise you - I WILL do it. But … if the choice comes between my safety - or - yours?? … I WILL choose … you.”
“Promise me you’ll live.” John was frantically asking, “Promise?!!”
“I love you, John.”
“Promise!”
“Always,
. I really have to go, John.”
"WAIT!"
The phone clicked.
.
John sat staring at it.
Waiting.
.
Willing it to ring again. Wanting to throw it.
.
Wanting to scream at it. To yell himself hoarse if he had to!
.
Please call again?
. Please?
. Please.
.
.
Then.
Shoulders shaking.
He kicked the office chair in front of him with a strangled cry.
(to be continued ☎️ ... FINAL POST WILL BE PART 3)
