Fic - The World Forgetting, by the World Forgot (2/2) - John/Sherlock - R
Title: The World Forgetting, by the World Forgot (2/2)
Fandom: Sherlock, Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind
Characters/Pairing: John Watson, Sherlock Holmes, Jim Moriarty, Molly Hooper, Sebastian Moran. John/Sherlock, Jim/Sherlock, Molly/Sebastian.
Summary: ‘John?’ Sherlock whispers. They’re in bed together, lying under the sheets as summer sunshine pours in from outside. ‘Am I... am I a freak?’ John and Sherlock try to remember each other.
Rating: R
Contains: Dysfunctional relationships, infidelity, memory loss, emotional manipulation.
Word Count: ~10,000 (this part ~5,000)
Notes: Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind crossover/fusion/re-telling. I’ve borrowed a fair bit of dialogue from the film which is obviously not my creative property, and I’m not making any money from this. If you’re familiar with the film, John is Joel, Sherlock is Clementine, Jim is Patrick, Molly is a hybrid of Stan and Mary and Sebastian is Howard. Writing this completely swallowed the past couple of days so I really hope you enjoy it! Part one is here.
‘John?’ Sherlock whispers.
‘Mm?’
They’re in bed together, lying under the sheets as summer sunshine pours in from outside.
‘Am I... am I a freak?’
‘No,’ John breathes, brushing his thumb over Sherlock’s lower lip.
Sherlock’s brow furrows. ‘Sometimes... sometimes I think people forget how lonely it is, to be a child,’ he murmurs. He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. ‘I... was eight,’ he says. And... and I had some toys, you know, wooden dolls, soldiers, that sort of thing.’ He swallows. ‘My favourite was a wind-up monkey that banged its cymbals together, you know the sort?’
He turns to look at John, and John nods.
‘He... he had a rainbow waistcoat and a lopsided grin and a missing button eye and a wonky leg. I pretended he... he didn’t fit in with the other toys, that he wasn’t like them, kept him in a corner.’ Sherlock closes his eyes. ‘I called him Sherlock. I used to tell him: “be normal! You can’t be a freak, be normal, you have to be normal, you have to make them like you!”’ Sherlock sighs. ‘It was as though if I could make him change... then I would change too.’
Pain flashes across John’s face and he rolls on top of Sherlock, kisses him and kisses him and kisses him. ‘You’re not a freak,’ he murmurs, stroking Sherlock’s face, his throat, his chest. ‘You’re not a freak, you’re not, you’re not, you’re not...’
‘John, don’t ever leave me,’ Sherlock whispers, kissing back.
***
‘Please,’ John says, clutching hold of the sheets as the memory starts to disappear, as Sherlock vanishes from underneath him. ‘Please, Moran, let me keep this memory. Just this one.’
***
Sherlock and John sit on Margate beach, watching the tide roll in. Sherlock rests his left hand on top of John’s right and squeezes, lacing their fingers together. He shifts to lie on his back and John does the same, their heads both turned in so they can look at each other.
‘I love you,’ John says, his voice sure, steady. ‘You make me feel alive again. I love you.’
Sherlock smiles crookedly and leans in, presses his lips to John’s.
A wave surges forwards and up and over, over their heads and it crashes around them and pulls Sherlock into the sea, his face frozen, his eyes wide.
John gasps and sits up, tightens his hands into fists. ‘I don’t want to do this anymore,’ he murmurs. He throws his head back and shouts to the sky, to anyone who can hear. ‘I want to stop this!’ He draws in a hitching breath, his eyes damp. ‘I want to call it off,’ he whispers. ‘Can you hear me?!’ he yells again. ‘I don’t want to do this anymore!’
***
Molly squints at the screen and taps at her keys.
***
‘Is anybody there?!’ John roars, slamming his fists down onto his knees, trying desperately to end it.
***
Molly sips her water.
***
‘John?’ Sherlock’s voice calls out from the darkness.
‘Sherlock?’ John scrambles to his feet, runs along the beach.
‘John?’
‘Sherlock?!’
John runs and runs and finds Sherlock on his side on the sand.
‘John?’
‘Sherlock, come on, get up,’ John says, pulling Sherlock to his feet, grasping his hand tightly. ‘We’ve got to go.’
‘What? Where?’ Sherlock says, though he follows John as he runs.
‘I have to stop this, I’ve got an idea,’ John mutters, pulling Sherlock along as he runs and runs and runs, their feet splashing in the surf, fragmented memories flashing alongside them.
John and Sherlock in the flat, drinking tea, John and Sherlock at Barts, inspecting corpses, John and Sherlock in bed, laughing together.
‘Concentrate,’ John says. ‘We’ve got to get back to the office, back to the tape recorder, concentrate, Sherlock!’
‘Doctor Watson, sorry, our files are confidential. I’m afraid I haven’t any evidence to give you but, ah... Mr. Holmes was not... was not happy. And he wanted to move on.’
John runs and runs and runs.
’Tell me about Sherlock.’
‘Tell me everything you remember, that’s what he said, everything I remember.’
They’re at Euston with luggage, about to catch a train.
‘Where are we going?’ Sherlock says as they dash through the station. People start vanishing around them.
‘Shit,’ John hisses. He drops their bags and grabs Sherlock’s hand again.
‘Why are we running?’
‘We’re not getting on the train,’ John says, running out of the doors into bright sunlight. ‘Moran!’ he shouts. ‘MORAN!’
‘Oh, must we run any more, John?’ Sherlock whinges as they stride through Lestrade’s dark flat, another version of the two of them playing scrabble on the other side of the wall.
‘Here,’ John says, throwing a door open.
‘Tell me about Sherlock,’ Moran says, sitting opposite another John.
‘Moran!’ John shouts. ‘Moran! Wake me up!’
‘Oh, I’m sorry, Dr. Watson, I thought you understood what was going on here.’
John closes his eyes and grits his teeth.
‘I don’t know,’ he says. ‘You’re erasing him from me. You’re erasing me from him, I...’ He turns to Sherlock and sees he is faceless; a blank, empty mask where his strange, lovely features should be. John slams the door. ‘I’m in my bed, you’re in my brain, you’ve got that machine...’
‘I’m part of your imagination too, John. How can I help you from there? I’m inside your head too. I’m you.’
A man in a white coat drops a pile of notes. ‘Sorry,’ he says. He is softly-spoken, Irish, small. He retreats into the blackness.
‘Who’s that?’ John demands.
‘Oh, that’s Jim,’ Moran says, affecting Sherlock’s deep, languid tones. ‘He works for us.’
‘He’s stealing my identity,’ John says, frantic, scratching his head, licking his lips. ‘He’s seducing my boyfriend, my-- my Sherlock, with my words and my things. He stole his underwear! Jesus, he stole his underwear.’
John opens a door and disappears.
***
Jim and Sherlock sit on Margate beach, watching the tide roll in. Jim rests his hand on top of Sherlock’s but Sherlock doesn’t respond. He shifts to lie on his back and Jim does the same, his head turned in so he can look at Sherlock.
‘I love you,’ Jim says, his voice an unsure whisper. ‘You make me feel, uh... alive again.’
Sherlock sits bolt upright.
‘I want to go home,’ he says.
‘What?’
Sherlock stands and marches off back towards the town.
‘Sherlock!’ Jim shouts after him, struggling to his feet and pretending to limp after Sherlock, holding onto his stick. ‘Sherlock!’
***
‘Sherlock?’ John calls. He’s on the roof of 221, looking out across the city. ‘Sherlock?’
‘Here I am,’ Sherlock says, jumping down off the chimney. He smiles.
‘Sherlock, I need you to concentrate,’ John says, tense and tight. ‘They’re erasing you from me.’
‘Oh, John, calm down,’ Sherlock says, rolling his eyes and going over to the edge of the roof. ‘Enjoy the view.’
‘This needs to stop,’ John says with a sigh. ‘I need to end it before I wake up and I haven’t got a clue who you are.’
Sherlock turns. ‘Tell them to cancel it, then,’ he says, walking over to sit next to John. He is wearing his grey shirt and a pair of skin-tight jeans. He holds a glass of wine.
John sighs in exasperation and clutches his head. ‘God, Sherlock, I’m asleep, I can’t just tell them to cancel it.’
‘Well then wake yourself up,’ Sherlock says, widening his eyes at John.
John mutters under his breath and moves to lie on the ground. ‘Right, fine, wake myself up, let’s give it a go.’ He prises his eyes open with his fingertips and stares up at the evening sky. He holds his eyes open wide. ‘Yep. Yep, that’s definitely working, that’s working really--’
The ceiling in Harry’s house has a patch of damp.
John-on-the-roof shakes himself.
‘That did work. Just for a second, but...’
‘But what?’ Sherlock says with a raised eyebrow.
‘But I couldn’t move.’
‘Well, you didn’t even try.’
‘Try, I couldn’t... I couldn’t move, Sherlock, I--’
Sherlock rolls his eyes again. John sighs heavily.
‘Look,’ John says. ‘You erased me first. That’s why I’m here, it’s why I’m doing this in the first bloody place.’
Sherlock tilts his head to the side and looks awkward. ‘I’m sorry,’ he murmurs. ‘I’m sorry, you know me, I get bored and I do strange, stupid things and--’
‘I love you for it,’ John murmurs, lifting his eyes to meet Sherlock’s.
They kiss, slowly.
***
‘John.’
They are on the sofa of 221b.
‘Mm?’ John kisses Sherlock’s shoulder.
‘I have an idea. This is a memory of me, how you wanted to have sex on the sofa after looking down at my crotch.’
True to the memory, John glances down at Sherlock’s crotch. ‘What?’ he says.
‘They’re coming here, to erase this memory. So... you should take me somewhere else, somewhere I don’t belong, and we can hide there ‘til morning?’
John’s head falls onto the back of the sofa. ‘I can hardly remember anything before you,’ he murmurs.
Sherlock snorts derisively. ‘Try,’ he orders.
***
It starts to rain inside the flat.
‘It’s working!’ Sherlock laughs. ‘I’m a genius.’
John crawls on his stomach underneath the sofa. He disappears.
‘John!’ Sherlock calls. ‘John!’
***
‘I think it’s working,’ Sherlock says after lying on his stomach in a field with a ten-year-old John Watson for nearly five minutes, thick grass around them as they watch the movements of a picnicking family.
‘Shh,’ John says with a glare, jabbing a small finger in the direction of the family. ‘They could be the enemy.’ He pulls his too-large beret down further over his face, cam cream daubed across his cheeks.
Sherlock chuckles. ‘The real enemy’s out there, John,’ he murmurs. ‘You never told me you used to play soldiers.’
‘Of course I used to play soldiers, every soldier used to play soldiers,’ John says with a grin. His face is the same as always but there is a certain boyishness in his flushed cheeks, his bright eyes. He looks happy.
‘Shh,’ John says again, pointing his plastic gun at a wasp and closing one eye, his tongue poking out of his mouth.
***
Molly is in the kitchen, making herself a cup of tea when the machine starts to beep loudly. ‘Shit,’ she mutters. ‘Shit.’ She runs over to the screen and presses several keys, her frown deepening. ‘Oh God, shit. He’s off the map. You’re off the map, why are you off the map?’
She looks at John and sighs, presses some more keys. The beeping continues. ‘Shit. Shit, I have to ring Sebastian.’
Tugging at her hair, Molly dials Sebastian’s number.
It rings five times.
‘Hello?’
‘Hello, Seb? I’ve... this man I’m working on at the minute, I... I seem to have lost him and... and he won’t come back up.’
‘Right, uh, tell me what happened before he disappeared.’
‘I don’t know, I’m not sure, I was only away for a moment, I was making a cup of tea and I had it on autopilot and uh...’
‘Well where’s Jim?’
‘Jim... Jim had to go home ill.’
Sebastian sighs.
‘I know,’ Molly says. ‘I know, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.’
‘What’s the address?’
***
‘You will remember me, in the morning, won’t you?’ Sherlock says. ‘And you’ll find me, and tell me about us, and we can start again.’
‘Johnny!’ a voice calls from across the field.
John grabs hold of Sherlock’s shoulder. ‘That Jim bloke,’ he says. He’s copying me. He’s one of them and he fell for you when they were doing you the other night and now he’s introduced himself like he doesn’t know you and he’s using me to get to you and you’re with him now.’
Sherlock raises his eyebrows. ‘Am I really?’
***
‘Sherlock, you’re fine, you’re the most brilliant person I’ve ever met, there’s nothing wrong with you,’ Jim says as Sherlock drives at least thirty miles an hour over the speed limit down the motorway back to London. He’d stolen and hotwired a car in Margate thirty minutes previously.
‘You’re clever and gorgeous and interesting and... and I feel like you’re going to save my life.’
‘What?’ Sherlock exclaims, staring incredulously at Jim. ‘What?’
***
Sebastian arrives soon enough. Molly lets him in with a blush and she explains breathlessly that she has no idea what’s gone wrong. Sebastian nods and sits down.
‘Did you try going through the C-gate?’ he asks.
‘Yes,’ Molly says. ‘Yes, I tried that, but... I’m so sorry, Sebastian, I--’
‘It’s alright, Molly.’ Sebastian looks at her for a long moment. ‘Let’s try and get to the bottom of this.’
***
Ten-year-old John glares as his mother dumps him on the draining board and rubs a wet cloth all over his face and knees and arms.
‘I hate being scrubbed with a cloth,’ he mutters, kicking his feet against the cupboard below the sink and passive-aggressively trying to resist his mother’s attempts to clean him up.
Sherlock laughs.
***
‘I’ve found it,’ Sebastian says, squinting at the screen. ‘But why is it off the map like that...? What’s he doing there?’
He hits the key to delete.
***
Sherlock disappears first and John starts to struggle.
***
John begins to thrash on the bed.
‘His... his eyes are open,’ Sebastian says, frowning, going to loom over John. ‘Has this happened before with him?’
‘No,’ Molly says. ‘No.’
‘Oh, this isn’t good,’ Sebastian mutters. He goes over to his briefcase and extracts a needle. ‘I’ll have to give him this.’ He pins John to the bed and injects the serum into his arm.
***
John appears in a taxi next to Sherlock, bruised and aching from his struggle.
***
‘That was beautiful to watch, Sebastian,’ Molly murmurs.
There is quiet between them for a long moment.
‘Thank you, Molly.’
***
‘The next time Lestrade calls me out for something that tedious I shall steal his possessions from him one by one.’
John laughs and shakes his head, looks out of the window of the taxi.
‘It wasn’t that bad,’ he says, and when he turns back, Sherlock vanishes.
‘Sherlock!’ he exclaims, grabbing hold of him, managing to pull him back out of the ether. ‘Sherlock, come on, we’ve got to go.’
***
John pulls Sherlock all the way back to Moran’s office.
***
‘That’s strange,’ Molly says, having taken Sebastian’s place at the monitor again. ‘He’s in a memory I’ve already erased. It looks as though he’s developing some sort of resistance to it, that’s... that’s not possible.’
***
‘Hide me somewhere deeper,’ Sherlock says, grabbing hold of John’s arms as he so often did. ‘Somewhere really buried.’
***
‘He’s disappeared again,’ Molly says. ‘Oh, I’m sorry, Sebastian.’
***
John is sixteen and tossing himself off in his single bed, his toes curling, his teeth sunk into his bottom lip. Sherlock lies next to him and laughs silently, runs his fingers down John’s thigh.
‘Need a hand?’ he asks, his voice amused.
‘Fuck off,’ John snarls.
‘Johnny, can I just--’ the door opens and John’s mother stands in front of them. She blinks once in surprise and turns away, closes the door again. ‘I’ll just ask you in the morning, love,’ she says through the door.
John moans, his face almost purple with embarrassment as he throws the covers over both of their heads.
***
Sherlock tears the covers away and grins at the snow-covered beach.
‘John,’ he says. ‘John, look where we are!’
‘Oh, this isn’t good,’ John groans, falling back onto the bed.
‘Then... then hide me somewhere deeper. Somewhere really buried.’
***
‘WATSON!’
There’s blood and gunfire and noise and blood and lights and blood and blood and blood.
John has his hands buried in another soldier’s torn-open chest as he tries to re-arrange everything, put it all back in its rightful position. He is shaking and crying and people are shouting for him, and dear God, the blood.
‘I’m scared, Sherlock,’ John cries, tears pouring down his cheeks. ‘I’m scared, I’m scared, I’m so scared.’
Sherlock wraps his arms around John from behind and holds onto him tightly. ‘You brave man,’ he murmurs. ‘You good, brave man, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.’
The body John has his hands in dries up and withers away; turns to bone and then to dust.
***
‘I still don’t understand this,’ Sebastian murmurs. ‘He’s easy enough to find, but...’
He presses a key.
***
‘Can you take it?’ Sherlock asks with a wicked grin, passing the riding crop between his hands.
‘Of course I can take it,’ John replies, on his front on their bed, his arse bare. ‘Go on, do it. Unless you’re scared.’
Sherlock arches one eyebrow and smiles slowly, so slowly it has a sinister edge to it. He brings the crop down hard on John’s arse, and John makes a frankly embarrassing noise as he arches into the bed.
‘Another?’ Sherlock says, grinning.
John nods. ‘Alright, one more, on the other cheek. Then it’s your turn.’
‘Then it’s my turn,’ Sherlock agrees, whacking John hard again.
‘Fuck!’ John roars, twisting for a minute until they both burst out laughing.
They swap places. ‘Ready?’ John asks, stroking Sherlock’s arse gently before raising the crop and swinging it down.
Sherlock disappears.
The crop hits the bed.
***
Snow gathers around John’s feet and he sighs as the room darkens and he finds himself on Margate beach.
‘John, come here,’ Sherlock calls from the shoreline, crouching as he sends a stone skipping across the waves.
‘We’ve got to go,’ John shouts back, though he goes over anyway. He grabs Sherlock’s wrist. ‘Come on, we’ve got to go.’
‘Do you remember the first time we came here?’ Sherlock asks. ‘It was for a case.’
‘Of course it was for a case, everything was for a case,’ John says. ‘Come on.’
Sherlock stands straight. ‘And you never once complained,’ he says quietly. ‘You always followed.'
‘You were worth it. You still are.’
Sherlock stoops to kiss John. He pulls back and as John watches, Sherlock slips away.
***
‘I like watching you work, Sebastian,’ Molly says quietly, sitting in a chair at the end of the bed as she watches Sebastian press the keys in front of him.
He smiles.
‘Do... do you like quotes, Sebastian?’ she asks. ‘Only... only I do and I’ve come across some that I thought you might like.’
‘Well, I’d... I’d love to hear them, Molly,’ he says.
‘There’s this one by... by Alexander Pope.’ She plays with the end of her plait. ‘It made me think of you.’
‘Go on,’ Sebastian says.
‘It goes... How happy is the blameless vestal’s lot?’
***
Sherlock and John run through London, down streets and back alleys and across buildings and up stairs. Sherlock hands John his gun and they share a look, a secret smile.
***
‘The world forgetting, by the world forgot.’
***
Sherlock plays his violin in the kitchen as John cooks dinner. He taps John’s bum with the bow and John turns, pretends to be angry as he pushes Sherlock against the counter and then kisses the breath out of him. They dissolve into helpess laughter.
***
‘Eternal sunshine of the spotless mind.’
***
Sherlock presses his lips to John’s forehead as John sleeps. He watches him for a very long time.
***
‘Each prayer accepted, and each wish resigned.’
***
Sherlock stops mid-deduction and runs into a crowd and John follows but can’t find him.
‘Sherlock?’ he calls. ‘Sherlock?’
***
‘I haven’t heard that one,’ Sebastian says to Molly. ‘It’s lovely.’
‘I just thought it might be appropriate.’ Molly stands and moves closer to Sebastian. ‘I really admire your work, Sebastian.’
Sebastian nods.
‘I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be so familiar.’
‘Oh, it’s... it’s fine. I’m happy to hear--’
Molly swoops in and grabs hold of his hair and presses a desperate kiss to his lips.
‘I’m sorry,’ she breathes when she pulls away. She walks back to sit in her own chair, her hand pressed to her mouth. ‘I’ve loved you for a very long time.’ She breathes in deeply. ‘I shouldn’t have said that.’
‘Oh, Molly, no,’ Sebastian says. ‘You’re a wonderful girl, you are, but I... I have a wife, and kids... and. You know I have a wife and kids.’
Molly buries her face in her hands.
‘Molly, we can’t do this. Sebastian gets up and cups her cheek, leans in and kisses her again. ‘We can’t.’ He kisses her again, and again.
***
A car roars up outside. A middle-aged woman gets out and sees Molly and Sebastian kissing in the window. Her face is tired and resigned, and her body slumps as she sighs. She slams the car door and Sebastian looks up, a look of horror twisting his features as he stands and runs outside.
‘Irene!’ he shouts after the car. ‘Irene!’ He runs until he is level with the car and Irene brakes sharply.
‘I knew it, Sebastian,’ she says, sounding exhausted.
‘Irene, it didn’t start like this, I swear, I came here to work.’
Molly has run outside too. ‘Irene, I promise, I’m just a stupid girl with a stupid crush, I... I forced him into it!’ she shouts.
Irene shifts her pained eyes to Molly. She shakes her head.
‘Don’t be a monster, Sebastian. Tell the girl.’
‘Tell me what?’ Molly murmurs.
‘Oh, you poor kid,’ Irene mutters. ‘You can have him. You did.’
Irene drives away.
‘What?’ Molly asks Sebastian.
‘Uh...’ Sebastian looks at the ground. ‘We... we have a history. You wanted the procedure, you wanted it done so you could get past... look, Molly, there’s work to do. It’s almost morning. We can talk later.’
He goes back inside.
***
‘So, what were we doing back there?’ John asks, catching his breath as he leans against the wall in the hall of 221.
‘Oh, just passing the time,’ Sherlock says, turning to grin at John. ‘And proving a point.’
‘Yeah? What point?’
‘You,’ Sherlock murmurs. ‘Mrs Hudson! Doctor Watson will take the room upstairs!’
‘Says who?’
‘Says the man at the door.’
A knock. John frowns, answers, retrieves his stick from Angelo and goes back over to Sherlock.
‘I had you pegged, didn’t I?’ Sherlock murmurs, looking at John.
‘You’ve got the whole human race pegged, Sherlock Holmes.’ John touches Sherlock’s wrist. ‘I thought you were going to save my life.’
Sherlock looks down. The furniture begins to disappear around them.
‘If we could just give it another go...’ John murmurs.
Sherlock sighs and rests his hand on John’s chest. ‘Remember me,’ he whispers. ‘Try your best. Perhaps we can.’ He touches their noses together and disappears. 221 disintegrates around John where he stands, becoming nothing more than frames and foundations.
***
Molly tears apart Sebastian’s office until she finds her file, secreted away in the top drawer of his desk. She fumbles to get her tape out and shoves it in the recorder, sitting down heavily in the chair to listen.
‘Tell me... just tell me what you remember, and we’ll, uh, take it from there.’
Molly-on-the-tape takes a breath.
’I liked you immediately. I was so tongue-tied around you at first. I wanted you to think I was clever. I couldn’t wait to come to work. I had these fantasies of us, and... oh, Seb, I can’t do this.’
‘We agreed it was for the best, Molly.’
‘I know. I know.’
***
‘This is the day we met,’ John murmurs.
He limps into the lab at St. Barts and all of Sherlock’s attention shifts to him. The deduction John thought about so many times afterwards is rattled off and Sherlock warns him about his not speaking for days on end and asks whether it would bother John.
‘That’s it, then? We’ve only just met, and we’re gonna go and look at a flat.’
Sherlock looks at John intently as he ties his scarf around his neck.
Mike fades away.
‘This is it, John,’ Sherlock murmurs. ‘All of this. It’s going to be gone soon.’
John sighs and changes his stance, closes his eyes. ‘I know.’ He meets Sherlock’s eyes.
‘What do we do?’ Sherlock asks.
John pauses. Resigns himself. ‘Enjoy it,’ he says.
***
They don’t have long. They don’t have long at all. The lab and the hospital begin to crash down around them, bricks tumbling as Sherlock strides through the lab, pulls open the door.
‘I didn’t even know your name,’ John shouts as Sherlock leaves. He walks over to the door, where Sherlock re-appears. They stand close together.
‘The name was and is Sherlock Holmes, and the address is 221 Baker Street,’ Sherlock says quietly.
‘Give me a proper goodbye, at least,’ John says.
‘Goodbye, John,’ Sherlock murmurs.
‘I love you.’ John takes Sherlock’s hand and leans in.
‘Meet me in Margate,’ Sherlock whispers.
The memory fades away.
***
‘That’s it,’ Moran says, closing his laptop. ‘Done.’
***
John wakes up in the spare bed at Harry’s.
***
Molly moves her things and as many boxes of files as she can fit in her car out of the office.
***
John is halfway to work before he turns and runs as quickly as he can to catch the tube to take the train to Margate.
***
Sherlock picks up a message on his answerphone just before John knocks the door.
‘Where are you, Sherlock?’ Jim asks. ‘I’m worried. I feel like you’re angry at me and I don’t know why. I love you so much, I’ll do anything to make you happy. Anything. Look, I’ll come round later to make sure you’re okay.’
Sherlock huffs and rolls his eyes, deletes the message.
The doorbell rings. Sherlock picks up the post that Mrs Hudson has left on the kitchen table and sifts through it, frowning when he sees two identical brown envelopes, one addressed to him, one to John. He runs down the stairs.
‘News travels fast,’ he says with a smirk as he pulls open the front door and hands John his envelope. ‘Post for you.’
‘You’re joking,’ John says, walking inside, following Sherlock back up the stairs. ‘Is that one the same?’ he asks, nodding to Sherlock’s envelope.
‘Mm,’ Sherlock says, ripping the envelope open and pulling out a letter, a file and a tape. ‘Strange,’ he murmurs.
‘“To all patients of Dr. Sebastian Moran,
My name is Molly Hooper. We’ve met, but you don’t remember me. I worked for a company you hired to have part of your memory erased. I have since decided that this is a horrible. In order to correct this, I'm sending everyone's file back to them.”’
Sherlock’s frown deepens. He takes the tape and shoves it in a cassette player on the living room table. He presses play.
‘My, ah... my name is Sherlock Holmes, and I’d like to erase John Watson.’
John looks at Sherlock, his mouth slightly open. Sherlock looks just as confused.
‘I’m bored. He’s boring, he’s so boring, is that enough reason to erase someone? All the... all the spirit’s gone out of him and I just... I just can’t bear to be in the same room as him anymore, can’t stand to look at his sad, old eyes and feel him judging me, I...’
‘Is this a fucking joke?’ John snarls, his fists clenching.
‘No,’ Sherlock exclaims softly. ‘No, no, Christ, no.’ He looks lost and confused.
‘This better be a fucking joke, Sherlock, because--’
‘Open yours.’
‘What?’
‘Open yours, it’s the same.’
Sherlock continues to talk on the tape as John pulls his own letter, tape and file out, the letter identical to Sherlock’s.
‘Here.’ Sherlock ejects his tape and shoves John’s into the machine. He presses play.
‘Uh. Uh, my name is John Watson and I’m here to, uh... I’m here to erase Sherlock Holmes.’
‘Tell me about Sherlock.’
‘I’d... I’d just been invalided out from Afghanistan. I’d gone for a walk one afternoon and I ran into an old friend of mine from university - Mike, Mike Stamford. He... he took me back to St. Barts, where we went, where he works, and I, uh... I met Sherlock.’
They stand next to each other, not looking at each other, listening as John’s quiet, sad voice steadily grows angrier, more sure. They listen as John mentions everything he doesn’t like about Sherlock, every tiny little thing until Sherlock presses the button to stop the tape.
‘Do you really think those things about me?’ he murmurs.
‘No,’ John says. ‘No, God, no, of course I don’t think those things.’
‘But you did.’
‘You thought stuff like that too, Sherlock; you erased me first!’ John ejects the tape and shoves it back in his envelope. ‘Look, this is... this is too much for me to deal with, I... I’m going to leave,’ He frowns and sighs and pulls open the door. ‘It was... it was nice meeting you, I... I suppose.’
He runs down the stairs. His hand is on the knob of the front door when he hears Sherlock’s voice.
‘Wait.’
‘Why?’ John sighs.
‘I... just... wait,’ Sherlock says, going down the stairs after John.
John looks into Sherlock’s eyes. He nods. ‘Alright.’
Sherlock breathes out and moves closer. ‘I don’t know why I erased you,’ he murmurs. ‘I don’t know why I said those things.’
‘I don’t know why I did either,’ John murmurs. ‘I can’t think of anything I don’t like about you.’
‘You will, though. You will think of things. And I’ll get bored and feel trapped and...’ He trails off.
John smiles. ‘Okay,’ he murmurs.
Sherlock breathes out, and nods. ‘Okay,’ he replies.
***
They run through London and down Margate beach and they solve crimes together and live in the flat, and they’re happy.
They’re happy enough.
Fandom: Sherlock, Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind
Characters/Pairing: John Watson, Sherlock Holmes, Jim Moriarty, Molly Hooper, Sebastian Moran. John/Sherlock, Jim/Sherlock, Molly/Sebastian.
Summary: ‘John?’ Sherlock whispers. They’re in bed together, lying under the sheets as summer sunshine pours in from outside. ‘Am I... am I a freak?’ John and Sherlock try to remember each other.
Rating: R
Contains: Dysfunctional relationships, infidelity, memory loss, emotional manipulation.
Word Count: ~10,000 (this part ~5,000)
Notes: Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind crossover/fusion/re-telling. I’ve borrowed a fair bit of dialogue from the film which is obviously not my creative property, and I’m not making any money from this. If you’re familiar with the film, John is Joel, Sherlock is Clementine, Jim is Patrick, Molly is a hybrid of Stan and Mary and Sebastian is Howard. Writing this completely swallowed the past couple of days so I really hope you enjoy it! Part one is here.
‘John?’ Sherlock whispers.
‘Mm?’
They’re in bed together, lying under the sheets as summer sunshine pours in from outside.
‘Am I... am I a freak?’
‘No,’ John breathes, brushing his thumb over Sherlock’s lower lip.
Sherlock’s brow furrows. ‘Sometimes... sometimes I think people forget how lonely it is, to be a child,’ he murmurs. He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. ‘I... was eight,’ he says. And... and I had some toys, you know, wooden dolls, soldiers, that sort of thing.’ He swallows. ‘My favourite was a wind-up monkey that banged its cymbals together, you know the sort?’
He turns to look at John, and John nods.
‘He... he had a rainbow waistcoat and a lopsided grin and a missing button eye and a wonky leg. I pretended he... he didn’t fit in with the other toys, that he wasn’t like them, kept him in a corner.’ Sherlock closes his eyes. ‘I called him Sherlock. I used to tell him: “be normal! You can’t be a freak, be normal, you have to be normal, you have to make them like you!”’ Sherlock sighs. ‘It was as though if I could make him change... then I would change too.’
Pain flashes across John’s face and he rolls on top of Sherlock, kisses him and kisses him and kisses him. ‘You’re not a freak,’ he murmurs, stroking Sherlock’s face, his throat, his chest. ‘You’re not a freak, you’re not, you’re not, you’re not...’
‘John, don’t ever leave me,’ Sherlock whispers, kissing back.
***
‘Please,’ John says, clutching hold of the sheets as the memory starts to disappear, as Sherlock vanishes from underneath him. ‘Please, Moran, let me keep this memory. Just this one.’
***
Sherlock and John sit on Margate beach, watching the tide roll in. Sherlock rests his left hand on top of John’s right and squeezes, lacing their fingers together. He shifts to lie on his back and John does the same, their heads both turned in so they can look at each other.
‘I love you,’ John says, his voice sure, steady. ‘You make me feel alive again. I love you.’
Sherlock smiles crookedly and leans in, presses his lips to John’s.
A wave surges forwards and up and over, over their heads and it crashes around them and pulls Sherlock into the sea, his face frozen, his eyes wide.
John gasps and sits up, tightens his hands into fists. ‘I don’t want to do this anymore,’ he murmurs. He throws his head back and shouts to the sky, to anyone who can hear. ‘I want to stop this!’ He draws in a hitching breath, his eyes damp. ‘I want to call it off,’ he whispers. ‘Can you hear me?!’ he yells again. ‘I don’t want to do this anymore!’
***
Molly squints at the screen and taps at her keys.
***
‘Is anybody there?!’ John roars, slamming his fists down onto his knees, trying desperately to end it.
***
Molly sips her water.
***
‘John?’ Sherlock’s voice calls out from the darkness.
‘Sherlock?’ John scrambles to his feet, runs along the beach.
‘John?’
‘Sherlock?!’
John runs and runs and finds Sherlock on his side on the sand.
‘John?’
‘Sherlock, come on, get up,’ John says, pulling Sherlock to his feet, grasping his hand tightly. ‘We’ve got to go.’
‘What? Where?’ Sherlock says, though he follows John as he runs.
‘I have to stop this, I’ve got an idea,’ John mutters, pulling Sherlock along as he runs and runs and runs, their feet splashing in the surf, fragmented memories flashing alongside them.
John and Sherlock in the flat, drinking tea, John and Sherlock at Barts, inspecting corpses, John and Sherlock in bed, laughing together.
‘Concentrate,’ John says. ‘We’ve got to get back to the office, back to the tape recorder, concentrate, Sherlock!’
‘Doctor Watson, sorry, our files are confidential. I’m afraid I haven’t any evidence to give you but, ah... Mr. Holmes was not... was not happy. And he wanted to move on.’
John runs and runs and runs.
’Tell me about Sherlock.’
‘Tell me everything you remember, that’s what he said, everything I remember.’
They’re at Euston with luggage, about to catch a train.
‘Where are we going?’ Sherlock says as they dash through the station. People start vanishing around them.
‘Shit,’ John hisses. He drops their bags and grabs Sherlock’s hand again.
‘Why are we running?’
‘We’re not getting on the train,’ John says, running out of the doors into bright sunlight. ‘Moran!’ he shouts. ‘MORAN!’
‘Oh, must we run any more, John?’ Sherlock whinges as they stride through Lestrade’s dark flat, another version of the two of them playing scrabble on the other side of the wall.
‘Here,’ John says, throwing a door open.
‘Tell me about Sherlock,’ Moran says, sitting opposite another John.
‘Moran!’ John shouts. ‘Moran! Wake me up!’
‘Oh, I’m sorry, Dr. Watson, I thought you understood what was going on here.’
John closes his eyes and grits his teeth.
‘I don’t know,’ he says. ‘You’re erasing him from me. You’re erasing me from him, I...’ He turns to Sherlock and sees he is faceless; a blank, empty mask where his strange, lovely features should be. John slams the door. ‘I’m in my bed, you’re in my brain, you’ve got that machine...’
‘I’m part of your imagination too, John. How can I help you from there? I’m inside your head too. I’m you.’
A man in a white coat drops a pile of notes. ‘Sorry,’ he says. He is softly-spoken, Irish, small. He retreats into the blackness.
‘Who’s that?’ John demands.
‘Oh, that’s Jim,’ Moran says, affecting Sherlock’s deep, languid tones. ‘He works for us.’
‘He’s stealing my identity,’ John says, frantic, scratching his head, licking his lips. ‘He’s seducing my boyfriend, my-- my Sherlock, with my words and my things. He stole his underwear! Jesus, he stole his underwear.’
John opens a door and disappears.
***
Jim and Sherlock sit on Margate beach, watching the tide roll in. Jim rests his hand on top of Sherlock’s but Sherlock doesn’t respond. He shifts to lie on his back and Jim does the same, his head turned in so he can look at Sherlock.
‘I love you,’ Jim says, his voice an unsure whisper. ‘You make me feel, uh... alive again.’
Sherlock sits bolt upright.
‘I want to go home,’ he says.
‘What?’
Sherlock stands and marches off back towards the town.
‘Sherlock!’ Jim shouts after him, struggling to his feet and pretending to limp after Sherlock, holding onto his stick. ‘Sherlock!’
***
‘Sherlock?’ John calls. He’s on the roof of 221, looking out across the city. ‘Sherlock?’
‘Here I am,’ Sherlock says, jumping down off the chimney. He smiles.
‘Sherlock, I need you to concentrate,’ John says, tense and tight. ‘They’re erasing you from me.’
‘Oh, John, calm down,’ Sherlock says, rolling his eyes and going over to the edge of the roof. ‘Enjoy the view.’
‘This needs to stop,’ John says with a sigh. ‘I need to end it before I wake up and I haven’t got a clue who you are.’
Sherlock turns. ‘Tell them to cancel it, then,’ he says, walking over to sit next to John. He is wearing his grey shirt and a pair of skin-tight jeans. He holds a glass of wine.
John sighs in exasperation and clutches his head. ‘God, Sherlock, I’m asleep, I can’t just tell them to cancel it.’
‘Well then wake yourself up,’ Sherlock says, widening his eyes at John.
John mutters under his breath and moves to lie on the ground. ‘Right, fine, wake myself up, let’s give it a go.’ He prises his eyes open with his fingertips and stares up at the evening sky. He holds his eyes open wide. ‘Yep. Yep, that’s definitely working, that’s working really--’
The ceiling in Harry’s house has a patch of damp.
John-on-the-roof shakes himself.
‘That did work. Just for a second, but...’
‘But what?’ Sherlock says with a raised eyebrow.
‘But I couldn’t move.’
‘Well, you didn’t even try.’
‘Try, I couldn’t... I couldn’t move, Sherlock, I--’
Sherlock rolls his eyes again. John sighs heavily.
‘Look,’ John says. ‘You erased me first. That’s why I’m here, it’s why I’m doing this in the first bloody place.’
Sherlock tilts his head to the side and looks awkward. ‘I’m sorry,’ he murmurs. ‘I’m sorry, you know me, I get bored and I do strange, stupid things and--’
‘I love you for it,’ John murmurs, lifting his eyes to meet Sherlock’s.
They kiss, slowly.
***
‘John.’
They are on the sofa of 221b.
‘Mm?’ John kisses Sherlock’s shoulder.
‘I have an idea. This is a memory of me, how you wanted to have sex on the sofa after looking down at my crotch.’
True to the memory, John glances down at Sherlock’s crotch. ‘What?’ he says.
‘They’re coming here, to erase this memory. So... you should take me somewhere else, somewhere I don’t belong, and we can hide there ‘til morning?’
John’s head falls onto the back of the sofa. ‘I can hardly remember anything before you,’ he murmurs.
Sherlock snorts derisively. ‘Try,’ he orders.
***
It starts to rain inside the flat.
‘It’s working!’ Sherlock laughs. ‘I’m a genius.’
John crawls on his stomach underneath the sofa. He disappears.
‘John!’ Sherlock calls. ‘John!’
***
‘I think it’s working,’ Sherlock says after lying on his stomach in a field with a ten-year-old John Watson for nearly five minutes, thick grass around them as they watch the movements of a picnicking family.
‘Shh,’ John says with a glare, jabbing a small finger in the direction of the family. ‘They could be the enemy.’ He pulls his too-large beret down further over his face, cam cream daubed across his cheeks.
Sherlock chuckles. ‘The real enemy’s out there, John,’ he murmurs. ‘You never told me you used to play soldiers.’
‘Of course I used to play soldiers, every soldier used to play soldiers,’ John says with a grin. His face is the same as always but there is a certain boyishness in his flushed cheeks, his bright eyes. He looks happy.
‘Shh,’ John says again, pointing his plastic gun at a wasp and closing one eye, his tongue poking out of his mouth.
***
Molly is in the kitchen, making herself a cup of tea when the machine starts to beep loudly. ‘Shit,’ she mutters. ‘Shit.’ She runs over to the screen and presses several keys, her frown deepening. ‘Oh God, shit. He’s off the map. You’re off the map, why are you off the map?’
She looks at John and sighs, presses some more keys. The beeping continues. ‘Shit. Shit, I have to ring Sebastian.’
Tugging at her hair, Molly dials Sebastian’s number.
It rings five times.
‘Hello?’
‘Hello, Seb? I’ve... this man I’m working on at the minute, I... I seem to have lost him and... and he won’t come back up.’
‘Right, uh, tell me what happened before he disappeared.’
‘I don’t know, I’m not sure, I was only away for a moment, I was making a cup of tea and I had it on autopilot and uh...’
‘Well where’s Jim?’
‘Jim... Jim had to go home ill.’
Sebastian sighs.
‘I know,’ Molly says. ‘I know, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.’
‘What’s the address?’
***
‘You will remember me, in the morning, won’t you?’ Sherlock says. ‘And you’ll find me, and tell me about us, and we can start again.’
‘Johnny!’ a voice calls from across the field.
John grabs hold of Sherlock’s shoulder. ‘That Jim bloke,’ he says. He’s copying me. He’s one of them and he fell for you when they were doing you the other night and now he’s introduced himself like he doesn’t know you and he’s using me to get to you and you’re with him now.’
Sherlock raises his eyebrows. ‘Am I really?’
***
‘Sherlock, you’re fine, you’re the most brilliant person I’ve ever met, there’s nothing wrong with you,’ Jim says as Sherlock drives at least thirty miles an hour over the speed limit down the motorway back to London. He’d stolen and hotwired a car in Margate thirty minutes previously.
‘You’re clever and gorgeous and interesting and... and I feel like you’re going to save my life.’
‘What?’ Sherlock exclaims, staring incredulously at Jim. ‘What?’
***
Sebastian arrives soon enough. Molly lets him in with a blush and she explains breathlessly that she has no idea what’s gone wrong. Sebastian nods and sits down.
‘Did you try going through the C-gate?’ he asks.
‘Yes,’ Molly says. ‘Yes, I tried that, but... I’m so sorry, Sebastian, I--’
‘It’s alright, Molly.’ Sebastian looks at her for a long moment. ‘Let’s try and get to the bottom of this.’
***
Ten-year-old John glares as his mother dumps him on the draining board and rubs a wet cloth all over his face and knees and arms.
‘I hate being scrubbed with a cloth,’ he mutters, kicking his feet against the cupboard below the sink and passive-aggressively trying to resist his mother’s attempts to clean him up.
Sherlock laughs.
***
‘I’ve found it,’ Sebastian says, squinting at the screen. ‘But why is it off the map like that...? What’s he doing there?’
He hits the key to delete.
***
Sherlock disappears first and John starts to struggle.
***
John begins to thrash on the bed.
‘His... his eyes are open,’ Sebastian says, frowning, going to loom over John. ‘Has this happened before with him?’
‘No,’ Molly says. ‘No.’
‘Oh, this isn’t good,’ Sebastian mutters. He goes over to his briefcase and extracts a needle. ‘I’ll have to give him this.’ He pins John to the bed and injects the serum into his arm.
***
John appears in a taxi next to Sherlock, bruised and aching from his struggle.
***
‘That was beautiful to watch, Sebastian,’ Molly murmurs.
There is quiet between them for a long moment.
‘Thank you, Molly.’
***
‘The next time Lestrade calls me out for something that tedious I shall steal his possessions from him one by one.’
John laughs and shakes his head, looks out of the window of the taxi.
‘It wasn’t that bad,’ he says, and when he turns back, Sherlock vanishes.
‘Sherlock!’ he exclaims, grabbing hold of him, managing to pull him back out of the ether. ‘Sherlock, come on, we’ve got to go.’
***
John pulls Sherlock all the way back to Moran’s office.
***
‘That’s strange,’ Molly says, having taken Sebastian’s place at the monitor again. ‘He’s in a memory I’ve already erased. It looks as though he’s developing some sort of resistance to it, that’s... that’s not possible.’
***
‘Hide me somewhere deeper,’ Sherlock says, grabbing hold of John’s arms as he so often did. ‘Somewhere really buried.’
***
‘He’s disappeared again,’ Molly says. ‘Oh, I’m sorry, Sebastian.’
***
John is sixteen and tossing himself off in his single bed, his toes curling, his teeth sunk into his bottom lip. Sherlock lies next to him and laughs silently, runs his fingers down John’s thigh.
‘Need a hand?’ he asks, his voice amused.
‘Fuck off,’ John snarls.
‘Johnny, can I just--’ the door opens and John’s mother stands in front of them. She blinks once in surprise and turns away, closes the door again. ‘I’ll just ask you in the morning, love,’ she says through the door.
John moans, his face almost purple with embarrassment as he throws the covers over both of their heads.
***
Sherlock tears the covers away and grins at the snow-covered beach.
‘John,’ he says. ‘John, look where we are!’
‘Oh, this isn’t good,’ John groans, falling back onto the bed.
‘Then... then hide me somewhere deeper. Somewhere really buried.’
***
‘WATSON!’
There’s blood and gunfire and noise and blood and lights and blood and blood and blood.
John has his hands buried in another soldier’s torn-open chest as he tries to re-arrange everything, put it all back in its rightful position. He is shaking and crying and people are shouting for him, and dear God, the blood.
‘I’m scared, Sherlock,’ John cries, tears pouring down his cheeks. ‘I’m scared, I’m scared, I’m so scared.’
Sherlock wraps his arms around John from behind and holds onto him tightly. ‘You brave man,’ he murmurs. ‘You good, brave man, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.’
The body John has his hands in dries up and withers away; turns to bone and then to dust.
***
‘I still don’t understand this,’ Sebastian murmurs. ‘He’s easy enough to find, but...’
He presses a key.
***
‘Can you take it?’ Sherlock asks with a wicked grin, passing the riding crop between his hands.
‘Of course I can take it,’ John replies, on his front on their bed, his arse bare. ‘Go on, do it. Unless you’re scared.’
Sherlock arches one eyebrow and smiles slowly, so slowly it has a sinister edge to it. He brings the crop down hard on John’s arse, and John makes a frankly embarrassing noise as he arches into the bed.
‘Another?’ Sherlock says, grinning.
John nods. ‘Alright, one more, on the other cheek. Then it’s your turn.’
‘Then it’s my turn,’ Sherlock agrees, whacking John hard again.
‘Fuck!’ John roars, twisting for a minute until they both burst out laughing.
They swap places. ‘Ready?’ John asks, stroking Sherlock’s arse gently before raising the crop and swinging it down.
Sherlock disappears.
The crop hits the bed.
***
Snow gathers around John’s feet and he sighs as the room darkens and he finds himself on Margate beach.
‘John, come here,’ Sherlock calls from the shoreline, crouching as he sends a stone skipping across the waves.
‘We’ve got to go,’ John shouts back, though he goes over anyway. He grabs Sherlock’s wrist. ‘Come on, we’ve got to go.’
‘Do you remember the first time we came here?’ Sherlock asks. ‘It was for a case.’
‘Of course it was for a case, everything was for a case,’ John says. ‘Come on.’
Sherlock stands straight. ‘And you never once complained,’ he says quietly. ‘You always followed.'
‘You were worth it. You still are.’
Sherlock stoops to kiss John. He pulls back and as John watches, Sherlock slips away.
***
‘I like watching you work, Sebastian,’ Molly says quietly, sitting in a chair at the end of the bed as she watches Sebastian press the keys in front of him.
He smiles.
‘Do... do you like quotes, Sebastian?’ she asks. ‘Only... only I do and I’ve come across some that I thought you might like.’
‘Well, I’d... I’d love to hear them, Molly,’ he says.
‘There’s this one by... by Alexander Pope.’ She plays with the end of her plait. ‘It made me think of you.’
‘Go on,’ Sebastian says.
‘It goes... How happy is the blameless vestal’s lot?’
***
Sherlock and John run through London, down streets and back alleys and across buildings and up stairs. Sherlock hands John his gun and they share a look, a secret smile.
***
‘The world forgetting, by the world forgot.’
***
Sherlock plays his violin in the kitchen as John cooks dinner. He taps John’s bum with the bow and John turns, pretends to be angry as he pushes Sherlock against the counter and then kisses the breath out of him. They dissolve into helpess laughter.
***
‘Eternal sunshine of the spotless mind.’
***
Sherlock presses his lips to John’s forehead as John sleeps. He watches him for a very long time.
***
‘Each prayer accepted, and each wish resigned.’
***
Sherlock stops mid-deduction and runs into a crowd and John follows but can’t find him.
‘Sherlock?’ he calls. ‘Sherlock?’
***
‘I haven’t heard that one,’ Sebastian says to Molly. ‘It’s lovely.’
‘I just thought it might be appropriate.’ Molly stands and moves closer to Sebastian. ‘I really admire your work, Sebastian.’
Sebastian nods.
‘I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be so familiar.’
‘Oh, it’s... it’s fine. I’m happy to hear--’
Molly swoops in and grabs hold of his hair and presses a desperate kiss to his lips.
‘I’m sorry,’ she breathes when she pulls away. She walks back to sit in her own chair, her hand pressed to her mouth. ‘I’ve loved you for a very long time.’ She breathes in deeply. ‘I shouldn’t have said that.’
‘Oh, Molly, no,’ Sebastian says. ‘You’re a wonderful girl, you are, but I... I have a wife, and kids... and. You know I have a wife and kids.’
Molly buries her face in her hands.
‘Molly, we can’t do this. Sebastian gets up and cups her cheek, leans in and kisses her again. ‘We can’t.’ He kisses her again, and again.
***
A car roars up outside. A middle-aged woman gets out and sees Molly and Sebastian kissing in the window. Her face is tired and resigned, and her body slumps as she sighs. She slams the car door and Sebastian looks up, a look of horror twisting his features as he stands and runs outside.
‘Irene!’ he shouts after the car. ‘Irene!’ He runs until he is level with the car and Irene brakes sharply.
‘I knew it, Sebastian,’ she says, sounding exhausted.
‘Irene, it didn’t start like this, I swear, I came here to work.’
Molly has run outside too. ‘Irene, I promise, I’m just a stupid girl with a stupid crush, I... I forced him into it!’ she shouts.
Irene shifts her pained eyes to Molly. She shakes her head.
‘Don’t be a monster, Sebastian. Tell the girl.’
‘Tell me what?’ Molly murmurs.
‘Oh, you poor kid,’ Irene mutters. ‘You can have him. You did.’
Irene drives away.
‘What?’ Molly asks Sebastian.
‘Uh...’ Sebastian looks at the ground. ‘We... we have a history. You wanted the procedure, you wanted it done so you could get past... look, Molly, there’s work to do. It’s almost morning. We can talk later.’
He goes back inside.
***
‘So, what were we doing back there?’ John asks, catching his breath as he leans against the wall in the hall of 221.
‘Oh, just passing the time,’ Sherlock says, turning to grin at John. ‘And proving a point.’
‘Yeah? What point?’
‘You,’ Sherlock murmurs. ‘Mrs Hudson! Doctor Watson will take the room upstairs!’
‘Says who?’
‘Says the man at the door.’
A knock. John frowns, answers, retrieves his stick from Angelo and goes back over to Sherlock.
‘I had you pegged, didn’t I?’ Sherlock murmurs, looking at John.
‘You’ve got the whole human race pegged, Sherlock Holmes.’ John touches Sherlock’s wrist. ‘I thought you were going to save my life.’
Sherlock looks down. The furniture begins to disappear around them.
‘If we could just give it another go...’ John murmurs.
Sherlock sighs and rests his hand on John’s chest. ‘Remember me,’ he whispers. ‘Try your best. Perhaps we can.’ He touches their noses together and disappears. 221 disintegrates around John where he stands, becoming nothing more than frames and foundations.
***
Molly tears apart Sebastian’s office until she finds her file, secreted away in the top drawer of his desk. She fumbles to get her tape out and shoves it in the recorder, sitting down heavily in the chair to listen.
‘Tell me... just tell me what you remember, and we’ll, uh, take it from there.’
Molly-on-the-tape takes a breath.
’I liked you immediately. I was so tongue-tied around you at first. I wanted you to think I was clever. I couldn’t wait to come to work. I had these fantasies of us, and... oh, Seb, I can’t do this.’
‘We agreed it was for the best, Molly.’
‘I know. I know.’
***
‘This is the day we met,’ John murmurs.
He limps into the lab at St. Barts and all of Sherlock’s attention shifts to him. The deduction John thought about so many times afterwards is rattled off and Sherlock warns him about his not speaking for days on end and asks whether it would bother John.
‘That’s it, then? We’ve only just met, and we’re gonna go and look at a flat.’
Sherlock looks at John intently as he ties his scarf around his neck.
Mike fades away.
‘This is it, John,’ Sherlock murmurs. ‘All of this. It’s going to be gone soon.’
John sighs and changes his stance, closes his eyes. ‘I know.’ He meets Sherlock’s eyes.
‘What do we do?’ Sherlock asks.
John pauses. Resigns himself. ‘Enjoy it,’ he says.
***
They don’t have long. They don’t have long at all. The lab and the hospital begin to crash down around them, bricks tumbling as Sherlock strides through the lab, pulls open the door.
‘I didn’t even know your name,’ John shouts as Sherlock leaves. He walks over to the door, where Sherlock re-appears. They stand close together.
‘The name was and is Sherlock Holmes, and the address is 221 Baker Street,’ Sherlock says quietly.
‘Give me a proper goodbye, at least,’ John says.
‘Goodbye, John,’ Sherlock murmurs.
‘I love you.’ John takes Sherlock’s hand and leans in.
‘Meet me in Margate,’ Sherlock whispers.
The memory fades away.
***
‘That’s it,’ Moran says, closing his laptop. ‘Done.’
***
John wakes up in the spare bed at Harry’s.
***
Molly moves her things and as many boxes of files as she can fit in her car out of the office.
***
John is halfway to work before he turns and runs as quickly as he can to catch the tube to take the train to Margate.
***
Sherlock picks up a message on his answerphone just before John knocks the door.
‘Where are you, Sherlock?’ Jim asks. ‘I’m worried. I feel like you’re angry at me and I don’t know why. I love you so much, I’ll do anything to make you happy. Anything. Look, I’ll come round later to make sure you’re okay.’
Sherlock huffs and rolls his eyes, deletes the message.
The doorbell rings. Sherlock picks up the post that Mrs Hudson has left on the kitchen table and sifts through it, frowning when he sees two identical brown envelopes, one addressed to him, one to John. He runs down the stairs.
‘News travels fast,’ he says with a smirk as he pulls open the front door and hands John his envelope. ‘Post for you.’
‘You’re joking,’ John says, walking inside, following Sherlock back up the stairs. ‘Is that one the same?’ he asks, nodding to Sherlock’s envelope.
‘Mm,’ Sherlock says, ripping the envelope open and pulling out a letter, a file and a tape. ‘Strange,’ he murmurs.
‘“To all patients of Dr. Sebastian Moran,
My name is Molly Hooper. We’ve met, but you don’t remember me. I worked for a company you hired to have part of your memory erased. I have since decided that this is a horrible. In order to correct this, I'm sending everyone's file back to them.”’
Sherlock’s frown deepens. He takes the tape and shoves it in a cassette player on the living room table. He presses play.
‘My, ah... my name is Sherlock Holmes, and I’d like to erase John Watson.’
John looks at Sherlock, his mouth slightly open. Sherlock looks just as confused.
‘I’m bored. He’s boring, he’s so boring, is that enough reason to erase someone? All the... all the spirit’s gone out of him and I just... I just can’t bear to be in the same room as him anymore, can’t stand to look at his sad, old eyes and feel him judging me, I...’
‘Is this a fucking joke?’ John snarls, his fists clenching.
‘No,’ Sherlock exclaims softly. ‘No, no, Christ, no.’ He looks lost and confused.
‘This better be a fucking joke, Sherlock, because--’
‘Open yours.’
‘What?’
‘Open yours, it’s the same.’
Sherlock continues to talk on the tape as John pulls his own letter, tape and file out, the letter identical to Sherlock’s.
‘Here.’ Sherlock ejects his tape and shoves John’s into the machine. He presses play.
‘Uh. Uh, my name is John Watson and I’m here to, uh... I’m here to erase Sherlock Holmes.’
‘Tell me about Sherlock.’
‘I’d... I’d just been invalided out from Afghanistan. I’d gone for a walk one afternoon and I ran into an old friend of mine from university - Mike, Mike Stamford. He... he took me back to St. Barts, where we went, where he works, and I, uh... I met Sherlock.’
They stand next to each other, not looking at each other, listening as John’s quiet, sad voice steadily grows angrier, more sure. They listen as John mentions everything he doesn’t like about Sherlock, every tiny little thing until Sherlock presses the button to stop the tape.
‘Do you really think those things about me?’ he murmurs.
‘No,’ John says. ‘No, God, no, of course I don’t think those things.’
‘But you did.’
‘You thought stuff like that too, Sherlock; you erased me first!’ John ejects the tape and shoves it back in his envelope. ‘Look, this is... this is too much for me to deal with, I... I’m going to leave,’ He frowns and sighs and pulls open the door. ‘It was... it was nice meeting you, I... I suppose.’
He runs down the stairs. His hand is on the knob of the front door when he hears Sherlock’s voice.
‘Wait.’
‘Why?’ John sighs.
‘I... just... wait,’ Sherlock says, going down the stairs after John.
John looks into Sherlock’s eyes. He nods. ‘Alright.’
Sherlock breathes out and moves closer. ‘I don’t know why I erased you,’ he murmurs. ‘I don’t know why I said those things.’
‘I don’t know why I did either,’ John murmurs. ‘I can’t think of anything I don’t like about you.’
‘You will, though. You will think of things. And I’ll get bored and feel trapped and...’ He trails off.
John smiles. ‘Okay,’ he murmurs.
Sherlock breathes out, and nods. ‘Okay,’ he replies.
***
They run through London and down Margate beach and they solve crimes together and live in the flat, and they’re happy.
They’re happy enough.