Void
Title: Void
Fandom: Sherlock (BBC)
Word Count: 338
Rating: PG-13
Note: Amnesty prompt fill for watsons_woes - Random image - I typed John Watson BAMF into Google and the first thing that popped up was-
Summary: See image above.
Void
The streets were empty; monochrome. Was this how the world was going to be from now on?
John Watson couldn’t picture it being anything else.
Not with him gone.
He’d brought color and life back when John thought it was lost - it was only fitting for it to be hollow and ashen now that he was gone.
He’d been walking for hours now. Thinking; trying not to think; fine with being lost; trying to find his way. None of it really mattered, did it?
The black car had shown up about five minutes ago. The first sign of life he’d seen since the cab Lestrade had sent him off in had dropped him off at 221B - where he’d stood for a few minutes before turning away like a stray mutt with its tail between its legs.
That wasn’t his home.
He had no home.
His lip curled back. The calm purr of the car stalking him rubbed like salt in wound. The longer it trailed him the more feral he felt. An animal in a trap; a bird missing its wings; a man with nothing to lose.
The gun was in his hand, the trigger pulled. He felt calm. He’d thought the sound would be muted, like everything else in the world now. But it was loud and jarring. As was the sound of the car’s tires blowing out as the bullets struck their targets.
The silent stillness settled back around them - the car unmoving now and John frozen with the gun still pointed at it.
Seconds. Minutes. It didn’t matter. What difference did time make now?
The back door opened slowly; a tall, somber figure unfolding himself.
“Dr. Watson.”
“What good are you?” John rasped, then shook his head. It didn’t matter. “Stay away from me, Mycroft. If I see you again, I’ll kill you.”
His hand had started shaking. Not from doubt - but from fighting the urge to pull the trigger. He forced it down; slipped the gun back in his waistband; walked on.
Fandom: Sherlock (BBC)
Word Count: 338
Rating: PG-13
Note: Amnesty prompt fill for watsons_woes - Random image - I typed John Watson BAMF into Google and the first thing that popped up was-
Summary: See image above.
Void
The streets were empty; monochrome. Was this how the world was going to be from now on?
John Watson couldn’t picture it being anything else.
Not with him gone.
He’d brought color and life back when John thought it was lost - it was only fitting for it to be hollow and ashen now that he was gone.
He’d been walking for hours now. Thinking; trying not to think; fine with being lost; trying to find his way. None of it really mattered, did it?
The black car had shown up about five minutes ago. The first sign of life he’d seen since the cab Lestrade had sent him off in had dropped him off at 221B - where he’d stood for a few minutes before turning away like a stray mutt with its tail between its legs.
That wasn’t his home.
He had no home.
His lip curled back. The calm purr of the car stalking him rubbed like salt in wound. The longer it trailed him the more feral he felt. An animal in a trap; a bird missing its wings; a man with nothing to lose.
The gun was in his hand, the trigger pulled. He felt calm. He’d thought the sound would be muted, like everything else in the world now. But it was loud and jarring. As was the sound of the car’s tires blowing out as the bullets struck their targets.
The silent stillness settled back around them - the car unmoving now and John frozen with the gun still pointed at it.
Seconds. Minutes. It didn’t matter. What difference did time make now?
The back door opened slowly; a tall, somber figure unfolding himself.
“Dr. Watson.”
“What good are you?” John rasped, then shook his head. It didn’t matter. “Stay away from me, Mycroft. If I see you again, I’ll kill you.”
His hand had started shaking. Not from doubt - but from fighting the urge to pull the trigger. He forced it down; slipped the gun back in his waistband; walked on.