London Believes - a fanfic
Initially posted on the SherlockBBCKinkMeme for the following prompt: Raz and the Homeless Network still believe ...
-
LONDON BELIEVES
London calls for its hero. London is calling for justice. London is calling for believers.
It starts with a simple tag. Black spray paint on the side of St Bart’s. Its rather large, attracts attention naturally but still impossibly simple: ‘I Believe In Sherlock Holmes RIP’. That is all. Nothing else. People stare at it and then the cleaners come and it is cleaned off. The same routine happens again for an entire week, the news stations catching on, everyone wondering whom it is.
They set up a guard, intending to catch the tagger.
The next day in the early morning light it comes to a shock to see Whitehall and New Scotland Yard covered with ‘I Believe’ and ‘Moriarty is Real’ and ‘Richard Brook = Fraud’. This keeps going on and on and on. London is making itself heard against the Media. Against the Man. Pictures are taken, the televisions going ripe, the internet viral. Everyone has their own opinion, their own theory.
There are murals. Great sweeping images of Sherlock’s likeness usually accompanied with large wings - not white, but grey, beautiful and many different shades but grey - as the great man was himself. He may have had a dark side, an unsavoury side but all the lives he saved.
And then there are the people themselves. All the little people, the ordinary people who knew Sherlock before he became famous and those who knew him after. Henry Knight from Dartmoor, two little girls, a small boy who was almost blown up, an Italian man. They speak up and poke holes at the Official Truth.
How could he possibly create all those crimes? How do you account for the variables? How do you account for the fact he hadn’t even been alive when the murder happened? How do you take the word of one man over the words of all those who he helped?
The reporter’s house is tagged all the time.
John Watson watches on in, holed up in 221B as the message spreads. He gets endless emails and messages, asking for his opinion. Asking for his story. He posts a one sentence on the blog and doesn’t write again. He can’t its too raw except with every camera flash, every question and every look he turns back to his blog, the words flying out, golden and pure.
It’s like Gospel. It’s a Religion. The ones he helped, the ones he saved increase their efforts, painting the Old City. Spreading it.
I Believe.
Moriarty is Real.
Hero.
London howls, demanding for its Hero to be acknowledged.
-
Also the amazing teabeforewar did this piece of artwork to go with it which is here - thank you so much again! You are amazing! No, but seriously go check out her tumblr and praise her.