Prompting Part XXIV
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IMPORTANT! Spoilers for aired episodes are now being allowed on this area of the meme, without warning. If you do not want to encounter spoilers, please prompt at our Spoiler-Free Prompt Post.
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Prompts from this post can be filled on the Overflow Post
IMPORTANT! Spoilers for aired episodes are now being allowed on this area of the meme, without warning. If you do not want to encounter spoilers, please prompt at our Spoiler-Free Prompt Post.
( Read more... )
“John, do sit down.”
“Mycroft.”
“I suppose you’re wondering why you’re here. It seems Sherlock left a will.”
“That’s...unexpected.”
“I was as surprised as you are.”
“Wait. Is this really your area?”
Mycroft merely raised an eyebrow.
“I deemed it best that I handle the matter myself. To be quite honest with you, he appears to have been in one of his more petulant moods at the time of the writing.”
“Oh, god.”
“I’m sure you can imagine. Although, I don't know that he ever intended for any of it to be read. Some if it is…rather frank. Even by Sherlock's standards.”
***
Mrs. Anderson -
Having met you once, and I’m sure if you think back you’ll remember me quite well, I was quickly able to discern that you are an intelligent woman. Though why you chose to bind yourself in marriage to such a cretin is beyond my understanding of emotional behaviour.
I don’t particularly care about the course of events that led to the decay of your marriage and the start of your husband’s affair with Sally Donovan, but I wished to inform you of the fact. Enclosed is a list of incidents of which I’m aware - we can only assume there were others. I’ve also included receipts and a journal detailing the evidence for my claims, though I suspect your husband will admit to the affair with minimal bluster or overacted denial.
15 January 2011: If your husband has a reason for why Ms. Donovan’s hand was rubbing his groin that isn’t sexual in nature, I’m sure we’d all be delighted to hear it.
30 January 2011: Ms. Donovan was wearing your husband’s brand of deodorant. Her trousers were dirty at the knees. Conclusion: your husband received oral pleasure from Ms. Donovan. Further, when confronted with these facts, neither could muster a denial, much less a defense.
15 March, 2011: This incident occurred in full view of approximately half the Met, though few are likely to remember it. Your husband engaged Ms. Donovan in a lengthy kiss and hasty assault of her chest. Dr. John Watson will corroborate this account.
20 March, 2011: See enclosed receipt #1.
2 May 2011: Your husband and Ms. Donovan engaged in sexual intercourse in the men’s loo. You’ll be pleased to know he used protection. I’ll spare you the full details of how I came to know this, but the evidence cannot be denied and has been forever branded in my memory, to my deep regret. But, in support of my claims: Ms. Donovan had no excuse at hand for why she was seen exiting the loo within seconds of your husband. Furthermore, I sincerely hope your husband knows the purpose of a bin, for the sake of the cleanliness of your home.
29 August 2011: See enclosed receipt #2.
4 January 2012: See enclosed photograph #1.
I could go on, but if the photograph hasn’t convinced you, I don’t know that recounting the events of the third week in February (and I do mean the whole week, you’ll want to inquire after that) will do anything to change your mind.
My sources indicate that I should send you words of consolation, express my sorrow at being the bearer of ill news. I am not at all sorry to expose the affair, though I am sorry you’ve been bonded in marriage to such an utter twat.
Regards,
- Sherlock Holmes
***
“Letters?”
“Three dozen, at least. Some were short, just a few gloating lines of condescension. Secrets he’d discovered, things of that nature.”
John chuckled at that. Mycroft tipped his head in acknowledgement, a slight smirk on his face.
“Yes, well.”
“And he wrote to you also? Sorry, personal. You don’t have to answer.”
“Not at all. My own letter was brief and to the point. He wished to return some items he’d borrowed.”
***
Mycroft -
Several items belonging to you have gone missing over the years. You know which.
Mortar, Soho, Mummy’s closet. hydrangea, Chile, four silk fibers, teal, Boxing Day. That should be more than enough to go on, and if it isn’t, you don’t deserve them back.
I’ve included Mrs. Hudson’s recipe for low fat chocolate cake. We both know why.
- S
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“But if he never meant for anyone to see it, how can it be legal?”
“The majority of the will’s contents are simply the letters, most of which are personal in nature. The legal instructions are in regards to the distribution of his possessions, and I assure you those are perfectly legitimate.”
“So you didn’t have to send out the letters.”
“I saw little harm in doing so.”
***
Lestrade -
I know you’re in a relationship with my brother, and knew from almost the moment it began. Not even John believes that rubbish about your supposed wife anymore. We’re both aware that it is within my brother’s power and abilities to conceal such knowledge from me, so he quite obviously is not ashamed of either you or his homosexuality. As such, you may stop feeling guilty and/or insecure.
Sometimes it seems that you are the one man holding the Yard back from complete ineptitude. There are days when I could justifiably call you competent. In recognition of that, I’ve solved several cold cases for you. I’ve attached my notes to this letter. May they be of some use.
- Sherlock
***
Mrs. Hudson -
My lovely landlady, you are the most formidable woman in all of England. A national treasure, and I will never tell a soul what you keep in your kitchen cupboard.
- Sherlock
***
“Of course, he’s left one for you as well. There’s some business to look after once you’re done reading. In the meantime, I’m afraid I have an urgent meeting. I trust you’ll be comfortable waiting for half an hour or so?”
“Yes, fine.”
Mycroft handed him an envelope and smiled sympathetically before leaving. John took a deep breath, unable to look down. He knew it was unreasonable, that Sherlock wouldn’t have been contemplating anything when he wrote it, was probably just in a snit. Yet he could hear Sherlock’s words echo on his head, ‘this is my note’, and he could not, did not want to read what was in Sherlock’s letter.
He sat for several minutes in the quiet of Mycroft’s office, staring at the polished wood and steeling himself. These were Sherlock’s last words, and even if John dreaded reading warning signs, even if he expected sarcasm and detached, cutting logic, it was going to hurt. With another deep breath, he took out the letter and began reading.
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John -
This is the 39th letter I've written today. ‘Saving the best for last’ is the expression, I believe. The notion would have been ridiculous a year ago.
I fully expect you’ll never see this, that I will recover my faculties and send the whole of today’s efforts into the bin, including this letter. This may end up an exercise in futility. But I felt I should try, at least, to preserve my thoughts in writing. I’ve been more or less honest with 38 other people today. I owe the same to you.
But if I could say it, sit down with you and reveal the sum of what I feel about you, for you, I wouldn’t be who I am. If it were so simple as making a declaration, none of this would be necessary. As it stands, I can’t piece it together. You confound me, John Watson. Completely. You are the most remarkable unremarkable man I have ever known.
What I can say is that I’ve never cared so much for another person in my entire lifetime.
This is difficult. I thought it might be easier, putting it all into writing, not being confronted with your face as I attempted to voice my thoughts. I don’t know what I feel, can’t summarise it in a few short words.
I can tell you I find the sound of your footsteps on the stairs soothing. That Mrs. Hudson makes better tea, but I enjoy the taste of yours more. The work is better now that you’ve become a part of it. I talk to you when you’re not here. I hate that I’ve disappointed you, and that I’ll do it again. I know that you would die for me a hundred times over, and I would do the same. There’s nothing more infuriating than when you don’t understand, and it is incredibly rewarding when you do. You don’t find Mycroft the least bit intimidating.
More than anything, when you said it’s all fine, you meant it. Above and beyond anything I supposed that night. It has never been anything approaching fine until we met.
How can I possibly thank you for that? For having faith, and holding to it with such tenacity? No one has ever believed in me. In my abilities, yes. But never me. I’ve never given them a reason, never given you a reason. Yet here we are, and there’s nothing I can say in response to that.
I’m leaving everything to you. My possessions, my money, all of it is yours. Even if you’ve moved on, if I’ve finally driven you away. You are a font of patience John, but I suspect even you have your limits. It’s inevitable. Take it and be happy, wherever you are. Because I meant what I said: you are my friend. The only one I’ve ever had.
And I am yours.
- Sherlock
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John stared at the paper clutched in his shaking hand. He’d read it through three full times, and the reality had only just begun to sink in.
It wasn’t enough. He didn’t want Sherlock’s microscope or his hidden trust. He wanted Sherlock, who was so brilliant, so fantastic in every way, except the one where he was a sodding idiot who could write an entire love letter without using the word love once. He wanted Sherlock, and he was never going to have him again.
“Jesus,” he said, setting the letter on the desk.
He glanced at the clock. Mycroft would be returning soon. Had probably returned already and was waiting for the right moment to announce himself. John sighed. As if on cue, Mycroft rapped softly on the door.
“I have the necessary paperwork. I only need a signature.”
“Right,” said John, wincing at the palpable note of sorrow in his voice.
Mycroft looked at him intently for a moment. He opened his mouth, but seemed to change his mind, as he pursed his lips and bent to retrieve a small stack of papers.
“The funds will be transferred directly to your account,” said Mycroft as he handed John a pen. “I assume you have no wish to read through the legalese, so you may sign here.”
“No, not particularly.” John scribbled his signature at the bottom of the page. “That’s it, then?”
“Yes.”
“Then I hope you won’t be offended if I leave,” said John, rising to his feet.
“Of course. Please don’t hesitate to ask for anything you might require.”
John nodded. “Goodbye, Mycroft.”
“Goodbye, John.”
***
He didn’t think to look at his account balance for nearly two weeks. When he did, he could only stare in disbelief. A million. Sherlock had given him almost a million pounds. John felt a burst of stunned laughter well up within him.
“God, Sherlock.”
And then he was struck, once more, by the sense of loss and missed opportunity. The letter, the money, they were as much a declaration as Sherlock knew how to make. The anger was there as well, the rage at everyone who could believe Sherlock a fake, who could be taken in so easily by Moriarty. It had all gone wrong in an instant; John was still in shock.
There was so much that had gone unresolved between them. Things they’d never told each other. An answer to what he was too afraid to ask and Sherlock was too stunted to articulate. More than he could tell a psychiatrist or a gravestone. Something that could only be said in person, because he’d need to say it while looking at Sherlock.
“I miss you.”
The rest he would leave unspoken.
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jkashfdsadgsadkfasd
your sherlock voice is absolutely impeccable. thank you so much for writing. <3
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*wills the moment John gets to say things in person to happen soon*
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//face raining//
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