#omegke

[omeglefan]

Have You Tried Omegle Chat Instead of Omegke? - Omegle.Fan

Discover better chat experiences! Try Omegle Chat instead of Omegke for real-time video and text conversations with strangers worldwide.

[1-800-scream]

My Life on Omegle

Stranger: you use too many big words

Stranger: thats annoying.

[angel-darkstorm-is-sher-loc-blog]

This was beautiful thank you guys

I miss you so much Sherlock, but I know I'll be with you soon - JW

Stranger 1: John?- SH

Stranger 1: Please don't do anything silly John. - SH

Stranger 2: ...........................who is this? - JW

Stranger 1: John, it's me. Sherlock. - SH

Stranger 2: ...that's really sick, you know that? - JW

Stranger 2: Whoever this is, it isn't funny. - JW

Stranger 1: John this is me! - SH

Stranger 1: It's Sherlock. - SH

Stranger 1: I promise. - SH

Stranger 2: I don't believe you. - JW

Stranger 1: Please John, don't do anything silly. I'm here. - SH

Stranger 1: I'm not dead. - SH

Stranger 2: He would have said something by now. He would have told me. - JW

Stranger 1: I couldn't. - SH

Stranger 1: For your safety. - SH

Stranger 2: I'm going to die anyway, aren't I? - JW

Stranger 1: No. - SH

Stranger 1: I had to wait until it was safe to contact you. - SH

Stranger 2: ...I saw you for a year, Sherlock. A year after you jumped. But you're dead. You weren't really there. - JW

Stranger 1: John I'm here. - SH

Stranger 1: I've been here all the time. - SH

Stranger 1: In the shadows, I watched you at my graveside, I watched you at the supermarket, on the train. - SH

Stranger 1: I saw you when you drank yourself stupid in bars and pubs. - SH

Stranger 1: Helped you get home. - SH

Stranger 2: Stop. - JW

Stranger 2: Please stop this. - JW

Stranger 1: John it's me. - SH

Stranger 2: It hurts. - JW

Stranger 2: I can't do this anymore. - JW

Stranger 1: John please. - SH

Stranger 1: It doesn't have to hurt anymore. - SH

Stranger 2: I want to see you. - JW

Stranger 2: Even if you're not real. I just want to see you again. - JW

Stranger 1: I am very much real John. - SH

Stranger 2: Please come get me. - JW

Stranger 1: Where are you? - SH

Stranger 1: John? - SH

Stranger 2: I'm here. - JW

Stranger 2: I'm... - JW

Stranger 2: I don't remember the name. - JW

Stranger 1: .... - S

Stranger 2: I'm a little drunk, Sherlock. - JW

Stranger 1: Not particularly helpful John. - SH

Stranger 2: Just a little bit. - JW

Stranger 2: I thought it might hurt less. - JW

Stranger 1: Give me half an hour. - SH

Stranger 1: To get your location. - SH

Stranger 1: John. - SH

Stranger 2: Alright. - JW

Stranger 1: I've missed you. - SH

Stranger 2: Yes. - JW

Stranger 2: I missed you. Come. - JW

Stranger 2: I'm...in that college. - JW

Stranger 2: Remember? - JW

Stranger 2: It was unlocked, and it was quiet... - JW

Stranger 1: Oh John. - SH

Stranger 2: I didn't want Mrs. Hudson to find me. - JW

Stranger 2: It hurts to see your friends go. - JW

Stranger 1: I know. - SH

Stranger 1: I wanted so badly to come out of hiding and tell you where I was but I couldn't. - SH

Stranger 1: I'm on my way. - SH

Stranger 2: I'm nicer than you are. - JW

Stranger 2: I'm waiting because you asked. - JW

Stranger 2: But you fell, Sherlock...- JW

Stranger 2: But I'm drunk. And you're dead. - JW

Stranger 1: I'm not dead. - SH

Stranger 2: You are, you fell. - JW

Stranger 1: I'm not dead John! - SH

Stranger 1: I'm here, I'm coming! I'm in a cabbie and I'm on my way to you and I am NOT dead. - SH

Stranger 1: It was a trick. - SH

Stranger 1: A ploy. - SH

Stranger 2: Everything hurts. - JW

Stranger 1: John don't hurt yourself. - SH

Stranger 1: Please. - SH

Stranger 2: I hope it is you. - JW

Stranger 1: It's me. - SH

Stranger 1: John it's me, it's Sherlock. - SH

Stranger 2: I'm waiting I promise.d - JW

Stranger 1: John. - SH

Stranger 1: I'm getting out of the taxi where are you? - SH

Stranger 2: Same as before. - JW

Stranger 2: They fixed the glass. - JW

Stranger 1: Sherlock raced up the steps of the college, it was a big place, a huge place, he remembered from before. He closed his eyes, a mental map of the building showing before him and he remembered the exact route which would take him to John the fastest, his heart pounded in his chest, so loud, so excited. Was this what it felt like to be so human? To care so much about another being? Opening the doors, the curly-haired man walked swiftly through the empty halls, listening to the sound of his footsteps echoing around him until he came to the door he knew would open to John. His hand hesitated at the handle, was this what nerves were like? He had never been nervous about anything, never. But this feeling, it was the only explainable thing. He took a deep breath, straightened his collar, why did he care about his appearance? Would John care? He hadn't changed in any way at all and Sherlock had been keeping an eye on his former partner, so he knew the state John was in too. Taking a deep breath to himself, he opened the door, his silhouette filling the light that entered the dark room.

Stranger 2: John Watson had had enough. It had been three years now. Three years of soldiering on. Of mindless routine and drinking and once - that one day he had found what was left over of Sherlock's stash, when Mrs. Hudson had called 911, and his sister had demanded he go to therapy again - when things had gotten a little out of hand. He'd thought it would have gotten better by now. But every thing reminded him of him. Reopened an old wound. And he'd had enough. He'd texted his equivalent of a suicide note. Never in his wildest dreams had he'd imagined he'd get a reply. John Watson sat against the cold linoleum beneath the window, looking up at the very solid ghost of his best friend. "...Sherlock..?" He didn't move, didn't dare to hope that much. He was drunk. He was hallucinating again. His grip tightened almost imperceptibly on the gun in his grip.

Stranger 1: "John!" Sherlock said, perhaps a little too loudly, he lunged forward, and then stopped. His eyes took in the scene before him, the empty bottle, the stench of alcohol, John was more than a little drunk. The tear stained face, the way he was sitting, slouching, defeated, he'd had enough. His phone sitting discarded on the ground likely still on their text conversation which he refused to believe was real. He was unshaven, he'd stopped taken care of himself, stopped caring, he didn't have anyone to impress anymore, or anyone he cared about enough to look good for them. The remnants of a tear on his cheek, the gun in his hand. Sherlock hadn't really believed that John would kill himself, and he didn't want to admit it but suicidal people were incredibly unpredictable, the last thing Sherlock wanted to do was have John shoot himself as he rushed over. "John please, put the gun down." He said, raising his hands and motioning them downwards. "Come on John."

Stranger 2: John's hand was shaking slightly. It couldn't be real. This couldn't be real. He shook his head. "You...you're not..." He laughed, a harsh, broken thing that could barely be called a laugh. "I've...seen you before. I have." The first few months after had been the worst. When he'd seen Sherlock everywhere. When he'd sit by his bed when he tried to sleep at night. He gave a weak smile, letting the gun lower a little, though not releasing it, indulging his latest hallucination. "I should shoot you, you know that? Or at least punch you, you'd deserve it." He was a coherent drunk, but the slight slur and falter of his words was not the repartee of a solider. It was not a sober John Watson. He rubbed his eyes with his free hand, like a small child might when tired. "...it'd go right through you, you're just...all here." He tapped his own head with his pointer finger. "...doesn't mean I don't appreciate you coming back though. It's...nice to see you one more time."

Stranger 1: "John no." Sherlock breathed, his words escaping him, his heart lunging and he allowed himself one more step forward. "John. I'm here, I'm real. Put the gun down." He said, all the tell-tale signs to Johns inebriation were there, and he was worried that John might actually pull the trigger, he did not want to go through what John had been through the last three years, no, Sherlock didn't know if he could cope. "John, come on, put the gun down." He said once more, repeating himself, swallowing, it felt like there was a huge lump in his throat, it was the first time in the consulting detectives life he could ever recall being so scared, so unsure of a situation, so out of control. "John, please. I'm real, how can I prove to you that I'm real?" He asked, because at this point Sherlock would have done anything.

Stranger 2: John closed his eyes, face screwing up as if trying to block out the sound of his voice. "I...I was fine, before this!" he said loudly, trying to drown the other out. "No history of mental illness. Not ever. I was /fine/, I was a-ok, I was..." He searched for another synonym. "I was...goddamn magnificent, Sherlock." He smiled, pleased with this phrasing. "Jesus Christ, can you imagine what it was like, Sherlock? To just stand there? S...stand there and watch...the person you love die?" He pressed his head back against the cool wall with a sigh. "Course you do, you're my head." Sherlock's last plea caught his attention. His hallucinations had never attempted proof before. He hesitated. "...I...don't know. You're the genius." He smiled wearily.

Stranger 1: Sherlock couldn't help a small smile when John said he had been magnificent, he didn't know why but it crept across his lips momentarily and as quickly, it was gone. When John said that he had watched the person he loved die, Sherlock felt his heart leap again, was he happy about that? He had always seen the signs, the quickening heart beat, the laboured breathing when they took one anothers hand, the dilated pupils. But to have it confirmed? He knew that he cared for John far more than he should a platonic friend, but still, he was so inexperienced in such an area that he had pushed any feelings and thoughts like that to the side. He took a few more steps to the doctor, now towering over the sitting man. "Touch me then." He said, Johns previous theory being that if he shot him the bullet would go right through him surely he would assume that touching him would do the same, so if the doctor touched him and realised that in fact, Sherlock was a solid human being, he might change his mind.

Stranger 2: John smiled wrly, shaking his head. "God, I waited so long to hear that...but..." The sardonic smile faded from the others face. He scooted back a bit, further away from Sherlock, against the wall. "...no," he said after a moment. "...I just...can't." He attempted a weak smile, failing miserably. "...I just...want to pretend you're real a little longer. Please."

Stranger 1: Sherlock felt as though is heart might break, was this what love felt like? He couldn't be sure, and to be quite frank he was a little scared to even admit that he might be in love with this man, even if it was just to himself. There were tears in his eyes, threatening to spill, he just wanted, no, needed John to realise that he was Sherlock, he was /alive/ and /real/. "John, please, I am real." The dark haired man held his hair out for the doctor to take, just hoping that he would, but hoping even more that his friend would put the gun down.

Stranger 2: John stared at the outstretched hand, then his eyes flicked up to the others face. He looked as though he were weighing the options, making his decision. It would be too much. To touch him, to know he was nothing more than his imagination, would be too much. But then again, that's why he was here, wasn't it? He nodded in agreement with his internal monologue, then thoughtfully moved his hand up, setting the barrel carefully against his head. "...right," he said softly. "...if...this is just me...I'll just end it. And if it's not..." But he wouldn't allow himself to think that. Not yet. Slowly, he lifted his free hand up to touch the others.

Stranger 1: Sherlock wanted to throw up with nerves, he wanted to grasp that gun and through it to the other side of the room far, far, out of reach from John. But he couldn't, because he was far too worried that he would be too slow, and John would shoot himself, and then all of this would be over. The last three years would be nothing, mean nothing. But John reached out to touch his hand, and Sherlock leaned forward, first just letting the tips of their fingers touch, it was almost like they hadn't touched at all, almost. But then he leaned forward further and took Johns hand in his, remembering for a moment, when he had been on the rooftop of St Barts hospital, and he had been reaching out to thin air merely because that act would make him closer to John for just a second. His heart beat so loudly he was sure the doctor would hear it, as he stood there, leaning down, holding his hand, his grey eyes locked on his former partners.

Stranger 1: (( ME TOO ; 3 ; ))

Stranger 1: (( I'm copy and pasting this and sending it to my friend as we go xDD She is like "WHAT IS THIS DOING TO MY HEART" ))

Stranger 2: Skin. Flesh. Bone. Muscle. John was a doctor, and if he were slightly less drunk, he could name every single bone, every muscle, every part of the human hand you could imagine, and possibly a few more. He was cold. His hands had always been cold. "...o-oh." He couldn't move. He couldn't dare to believe it. And yet the proof was there, touching his hand. The gun slipped from his fingers, clattering against the linoleum. "...S...Sherlock...you..." But words had once more failed him. Something hard had risen in his throat, and he shook his head, trying to clear it, but it just wouldn't budge.

Stranger 1: Sherlock felt his breathing had become laboured, and he was sure if he looked in a mirror his pupils would be dilated, his pulse rate quickened and he had to stop himself from falling to his knees. The consulting detective had been waiting for this moment for such a long time and now, now it was finally here. "John." He said calmly, before holding his hand tighter and slowly dropping to his knees before him. "Do you believe I'm real now?" The gun falling to the ground was more than enough to bring him some form of relief, and with his other hand Sherlock pushed it, sending it skidding across the room and far out of the doctors reach.

Stranger 2: He couldn't speak. He could barely breathe. And finally, he nodded weakly. "...Sherlock..." He reached out, hesitantly, and rested his hand gently on the others face. Real. His arm. Real. His coat. It was real, all real, not a hallucination, not the alcohol. Real. Real live Sherlock Holmes. And then John Watson began to cry. He hated himself for it, but right now...it was all he could manage. "...y...you came back..."

Stranger 1: When John started crying, Sherlock was at a loss, he was unsure what to do to be completely honest. Should he... hug him? He didn't know if he had ever hugged anyone in his life before, ever. In the last three years Molly had hugged him once, and he had completely stiffened up, how does one react to such a situation? He was perplexed. "Of course I did." He said quietly, and cleared his throat. "I couldn't be away forever now could I?"

Stranger 2: He gave a wet sound of laugh, bordering on hysterical. "C-couldn't be away forever. F...fuck, Sherlock, that...t-that's generally what people do when they've /died/." He tightened his grip on Sherlock's hand. Then he looked from his phone on the floor, to the gun Sherlock had pushed away, and back at the other man. "...I w-waited. You asked, and I did, a-and..."

Stranger 1: Sherlock nodded, wondering if he should try and get John back to 221B so he could sleep off the rest of his drunkness, to be frank there was no use in him explaining now because the doctor was drunk, and he would only have to explain again tomorrow. "We should get back to 221B, I'll explain tomorrow." He said with a small sigh, why did John have to be drunk? He was an adorable drunk all the same but--- Had Sherlock really just thought that? He looked at the man again and placed his other hand on his shoulder, squeezing it and feeling slightly awkward at the same time. "Alright?"

Stranger 2: Again, he nodded, holding tight to Sherlock's hand and using his other hand against the wall to steady himself as he forced himself upright. "...m'sorry," he mumbled. "...didn't...want you to see." What if he had done it? Gone through with it, right in front of Sherlock's eyes. He would have deserved it, surely, for putting him through the same thing. But the thought of him made his blood run cold. He felt nauseous. But he was sure the drink wasn't helping that. "...let...let's go home...please."

Stranger 1: Not fifteen minutes later they were in a taxi heading back to 221B Baker Street. John had not been the easiest to manoeuvre out of the college but he had managed it all the same, thankfully. Their taxi ride was silent, like they always had been, Sherlock wondered how Mrs Hudson would react to the news that he was alive, although he didn't need to worry about her for the time being, it was well after her bed time so she was hardly going to be up when they got in. "Come on, John." He took the doctors hand yet again, leading him into the flat. By this point he was one hundred percent sure that John was so drunk he was not going to remember this come morning.

Stranger 2: John had fallen asleep in the cab, and followed Sherlock almost automatically, as if this were a dream and he had no will of his own. The stairs were tricky, but eventually they managed. John looked towards Sherlock's room, then up at him again. "...I..." He shook his head, fighting back the lump again. "...I've been...sleeping there. Since you...left. S-sorry..."

Stranger 1: Sherlock couldn't help the small smile that crept over his face, he shrugged and then opened the door to his room so that John could go to his now usual bed, "Well then I shan't stop you sleeping here tonight." He said and helped John into bed, trying not to concentrate on the fact that he knew he could never leave the man again. "Sleep well, we'll talk in the morning." Sherlock stepped back, taking time to deduce, the room had been left the way Sherlock had left it, if he were to hazard a guess he would say John had still been keeping all his things in his room and only sleeping in here, a quick open of one of the drawers confirmed it, it still had all Sherlocks old clothes inside. Trailing a finger along the top of the dresser told him the place was hardly dusted, but it had been dusted, just not often. Sherlock left the room, left John to sleep and went to investigate the rest of the flat, but not before pouring a large glass of water and leaving it on Johns - or rather, his own - night stand.