fic for Prompt #15 of Watson woes: "The Birthday."
Title: "The Birthday."
Author: ariadnechan
Rating: PG.
Fandom: Sherlock BBC.
Characters: John Watson; Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Harriet Watson, Watson’s parents, Sherlock Holmes, Mary in passing.
Summary: "Dante had said that at 35 you were half way to the grave. Even when in his time there were a few who really live until 70. Now that John were reaching 40 he wondered if he was really there in the middle of his life."
Warnings: Some little angst, retrospective, character study.
Word Count: 730 approx.
Author's Notes: watsons_woes Prompt #15:
Almost halfway there! Miles to go before we sleep! - Use however this inspires you.
Beta: Edited: Now is betaed by my friend trista_zevkia
Dante had said that at 35, you were halfway to the grave. In Dante's time, there were a few people who really live until 70; now that John were reaching 40 he wondered if he was really in the middle of his life.
John thought that his life had a lot of twist and turns, and middles and ends to be counted only by years alone. Quantifying his time in facts and experiences, instead of number of days and years, sounded better and worse for John; His life was easily fractured in periods of experiences than in numbers.
The Naïve One and the Caretaker.
Naïve little John: Who was born, who played rugby, who thought his father's drinking would get better, and who loved his sister for was she was and not for who she decided to love. Little John who thought he could mend the world with a smile to his mother and a hug for his hung-over father, and a word of support to her sister.
Caretaker John: Who was the one who took care of his mother when the bottle won his father for good. Who saw his sister take up the bottle and go to hell, John who went to study medicine because he would fix Harry and her mother sickness. Instead caretaker John saw her mother fade away and go where he couldn’t care for her. His sister got a little better and a little better at hiding it, but she also got married, so he had no one to take care anymore.
So after finishing his accreditation as a GP John got into the second Phase of his life.
The Warrior and the Medic.
His country needed him, so he went to the Royal Academy to protect his country. Here he would would find a family of his choice more real than the one he had lost. He felt like he was making a difference and this made him more complete than ever before. War was violent and his end to the war was violent as well. After ten years, he ended up with real and psychological wounds, and was alone in London and without purpose again.
The Doctor, Vigilante and the Blogger.
After a little personal interregnum as his soul alone walked alone in the dark, he found a consultive detective and in him John found someone to take care of and a new war to share. In saving the city he could save his new friend, have the thrill of the adventures and write about them. It was genius and he loved every minute of this life; he thought he’d found a home. For all the life in it, this phase was the shortest yet.
Home couldn’t exist without the mad, wild, magnificent, and beautiful detective at his side. When he lost him, he realised that he was lost for real this time, he’d lost more than a friend. Irene was right; Sherlock was part of his soul.
The Widow, Doctor and Writer.
It was difficult to live with half a soul but he was a soldier, a survivor: he would not be found dead in an alley or numbed with alcohol and grief.
First he needed to clear the name of his friend, and that was what he did. He found evidence, facts, and witnesses of a whole life, reopening the cases and helping Lestrade. He poured his soul into a book, telling the world about Sherlock Holmes and inviting the world to see him as John had.
With the cases reopened and Sherlock proved innocent, Lestrade didn’t lose his job, Donovan was transferred far away, but promoted. John made money on the book, but continued been a doctor. Eventually, he even found a girlfriend.
Now John Watson was at his 40th birthday, thinking about the past. Wondering about the future, and if it would be good or bad. He was only in his forties; he could still marry and had a kid. Di he want to? Would this phase of his life go to hell soon?
He was not longer sure who he really was, because there was a part in his soul missing, who had died with Sherlock. No matter how hard he held Mary at night, how hard he tried to feel happy and normal, a part of him that wanted, that waited. He hoped that everything would be a 'magic trick' and Sherlock Holmes would find a way back from death. If only so John could punch him in the face and broke the nose of the bloody bastard, that he couldn’t stop to love.
Author: ariadnechan
Rating: PG.
Fandom: Sherlock BBC.
Characters: John Watson; Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Harriet Watson, Watson’s parents, Sherlock Holmes, Mary in passing.
Summary: "Dante had said that at 35 you were half way to the grave. Even when in his time there were a few who really live until 70. Now that John were reaching 40 he wondered if he was really there in the middle of his life."
Warnings: Some little angst, retrospective, character study.
Word Count: 730 approx.
Author's Notes: watsons_woes Prompt #15:
Almost halfway there! Miles to go before we sleep! - Use however this inspires you.
Beta: Edited: Now is betaed by my friend trista_zevkia
Dante had said that at 35, you were halfway to the grave. In Dante's time, there were a few people who really live until 70; now that John were reaching 40 he wondered if he was really in the middle of his life.
John thought that his life had a lot of twist and turns, and middles and ends to be counted only by years alone. Quantifying his time in facts and experiences, instead of number of days and years, sounded better and worse for John; His life was easily fractured in periods of experiences than in numbers.
The Naïve One and the Caretaker.
Naïve little John: Who was born, who played rugby, who thought his father's drinking would get better, and who loved his sister for was she was and not for who she decided to love. Little John who thought he could mend the world with a smile to his mother and a hug for his hung-over father, and a word of support to her sister.
Caretaker John: Who was the one who took care of his mother when the bottle won his father for good. Who saw his sister take up the bottle and go to hell, John who went to study medicine because he would fix Harry and her mother sickness. Instead caretaker John saw her mother fade away and go where he couldn’t care for her. His sister got a little better and a little better at hiding it, but she also got married, so he had no one to take care anymore.
So after finishing his accreditation as a GP John got into the second Phase of his life.
The Warrior and the Medic.
His country needed him, so he went to the Royal Academy to protect his country. Here he would would find a family of his choice more real than the one he had lost. He felt like he was making a difference and this made him more complete than ever before. War was violent and his end to the war was violent as well. After ten years, he ended up with real and psychological wounds, and was alone in London and without purpose again.
The Doctor, Vigilante and the Blogger.
After a little personal interregnum as his soul alone walked alone in the dark, he found a consultive detective and in him John found someone to take care of and a new war to share. In saving the city he could save his new friend, have the thrill of the adventures and write about them. It was genius and he loved every minute of this life; he thought he’d found a home. For all the life in it, this phase was the shortest yet.
Home couldn’t exist without the mad, wild, magnificent, and beautiful detective at his side. When he lost him, he realised that he was lost for real this time, he’d lost more than a friend. Irene was right; Sherlock was part of his soul.
The Widow, Doctor and Writer.
It was difficult to live with half a soul but he was a soldier, a survivor: he would not be found dead in an alley or numbed with alcohol and grief.
First he needed to clear the name of his friend, and that was what he did. He found evidence, facts, and witnesses of a whole life, reopening the cases and helping Lestrade. He poured his soul into a book, telling the world about Sherlock Holmes and inviting the world to see him as John had.
With the cases reopened and Sherlock proved innocent, Lestrade didn’t lose his job, Donovan was transferred far away, but promoted. John made money on the book, but continued been a doctor. Eventually, he even found a girlfriend.
Now John Watson was at his 40th birthday, thinking about the past. Wondering about the future, and if it would be good or bad. He was only in his forties; he could still marry and had a kid. Di he want to? Would this phase of his life go to hell soon?
He was not longer sure who he really was, because there was a part in his soul missing, who had died with Sherlock. No matter how hard he held Mary at night, how hard he tried to feel happy and normal, a part of him that wanted, that waited. He hoped that everything would be a 'magic trick' and Sherlock Holmes would find a way back from death. If only so John could punch him in the face and broke the nose of the bloody bastard, that he couldn’t stop to love.