Oh. I am so sorry. I didn’t see this here, and I think it’s been here quite a while. I am so very terribly sorry, (If you’re even still here).
But thank you lovely anon. You are an amazing person, and I’m so sorry it took me this long to realize this was still here. I thought I’d answered it.
THIS IS WHY I LOVE AUSTRALIA AHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH
THAT WAS MY FAVOURITE DAY EVER!?
So I’m writing this (mattex) fic. It’s, so far, a really good fic. (I think). And so since I think it’s got potential, I kind of think I want a Beta for this one. So could someone please, please please message me if you can beta it? Pretty please? I will love you forever!
Title: Welcome back
Notes: This is from a prompt, so the final paragraph is not mine. Everything else however, is.
This is sort of twisted…but I have worse planned. And that scares me.
No matter how hard he had tried, or how long he had thought about this, how many nights spent sleepless in a tangle of bed sheets and confusion…nothing could prepare him for the sight of Sherlock Holmes standing before him once more. For a long while he did nothing, he just stared, barely blinking in case the man vanished, in case this dream shattered and plunged him back into the nightmares.
And oh, the nightmares never ended. ‘Goodbye, John’. Sherlock’s lifeless body lay upon the cold concrete, the blood pooling around his head, drenching his dark curls. The blood was everywhere, smudged across the kitchen tiles, coating his old seat, pelting on the windows, raining down from the showerhead. It came to a point where he could no longer tell his nightmares from his waking hours. He didn’t try to any more because some days…some days he would find his dreams to be a release, the dreams slightly less unbearable than the world he faced without the brilliant detective.
For years he had thought of this moment, to have this man within his reach again, thought of all the things he would say. But the words would not leave his lips, his chest heaved, his body felt heavy. Sherlock looked the same, but different. The same piercing blue eyes and pale complexion, the same long thin fingers and tall lean frame. But his black locks were cut short and dyed blonde, his blood no longer staining the curls and plastering them this face with a vivid red smudge. The sight was a shock to him, he wasn’t sure what he was expecting after all of these years
He longed to hear that voice again, the voice that rang through the phone and told him goodbye, the one that whispers to him as he sleeps, a distorted replica of what it had once been. Three years was a long time, more than enough to lose the sound no matter how desperately he tried to hold on to it. Sherlock showed no signs of moving, of speaking. He waited for the blood to start pouring, for the affirmation that Sherlock was not really here, that he was dreaming again. It didn’t come. Nothing did. No words, no blood. Nothing.
“I couldn’t bear the idea of you being dead. For three years I thought every day would be my last. So many times I stared at my gun, the knife, the rope, the roof. But then I realised how stupid it would be for me to take my own life. So stupid because I knew you were alive. Out there. Somewhere. But you still never came. So I decided to look for a way to lure you back here. What better way than this?” John Watson smirked, knife in hand, a pile of dead bodies at his feet.
“Welcome back, Sherlock”
That was cruel. Well played.
I think I reblogged this twice
I really need a life
Title: Where We Started, Is Where We Will End
Edit: Realized I forgot to put this under a Read More. Sorry for the moment of Dash hogging everyone.
I didn’t choose the fandom life,
the fandom life grabbed and chloroformed me on the way from school and dragged my unconscious body to it’s basement.
what’s the film industry gonna do when they run out of books to make movies out of?
It’ll mostly be porn then… but good.