Sherlock Fic: Category Two, Chapter Ten
One week later John is sure about the dreams not returning. No Category Two for the last six nights, no delusion, no hallucination. John sorts the notebooks into the black box and shuts the lid carefully.
The cab is driving through a jammed city centre. John likes the view of the crowd. London, a vivid, colourful city. So many people, everyone with their own history, past, wishes and dreams. They’re all individuals and complete strangers. Sherlock would give all of them a personality, could tell their sleeping habits by the way they’re walking and the last meal based on the colour of their shirts. For Sherlocks head such a crowd must be pure horror. Or paradise.
John looks out the window, people cluster, bags in their hands and mobiles right at their ears. In a crowd like that he saw Sherlock again after almost three years. By the meantime he knows that it was only his imagination. But he still wonders. This one hallucination fits none of the two dreams, won’t match. He shakes his head.
221 Baker Street looks peaceful. John watches out for cameras, he can’t help himself waving in all directions, a Hello to Mycroft. This time he doesn’t hesitate opening the door, doesn’t avoid the noisy steps. He thinks about visiting Mrs Hudson on his way back.
He opens the living room door, warmth greets him, it smells sweet of biscuits and boiling water. When looking up his heart stops. Sitting on the windowsill there is Sherlock, watching London’s streets. John drops the black box, the cover opens, notebooks scatter across the floor. His eyes widen, his pulse races, he feels the beating in his throat and at his wrists. Oh God no, is all he can think.
Sherlock turns around, sees John standing in the door frame, takes a quick look at the scattered notebooks, recognises the words marked in green, the names, more precisely that one name. Combines. Deduces. Smiles. Then looks up again.
Behind him John can see streaks and dust on the window glass. Everything is different.
“This particular Saturday, in the city. It was really you.” It’s no question; it’s a statement which took all his strength he could find in his body. Sherlock hesitates, and then nods.
“Give me time and I explain everything to you” he begs, but John just lifts his hand, cuts him short. There’s a slight tremor in his fingers. The pulse is still heavy in his limbs. It feels like being alive. Sherlock. John. A smile.
“You have all the time in the world, Sherlock. But at first I really like to have my bloody tea."
This is it. The end.
I hope you enjoyed it, especially the ending (no punches for Sherlock, this time ;)
Please leave a comment, tell me all about your thoughts, be critical or flattering or analyse ALL the things ;)
Thanks to all my readers, reviewers and all the people who actually had me on Story Alert.
Maybe I will return with another story, there are some ideas already, dark, scary ones, but we know, we need that, we know, it will be a long long year. Keep it up, Sherlockians.
Greetings,
catroofdance