Sherlock/John (Johnlock) fic: In the Dead of Night (There is a box)
Title: In the Dead of Night (There is a box)
Rating;PG-13
Fandom: Sherlock
Pairing: Johnlock
Summary: In the dead of night, Sherlock allows himself this one weakness
He had a chair, a new skull, and a bag of various body parts in his fridge.
He woke up each morning, helped solved little cases around the village, shot holes into his wall, and drank too much tea.
His life was dull, but it was comfortable, it was the life he had imagined once, at the age of 80, pestering John every weekend to buy the milk at the corner store down the road. He would have been bored, no doubt about that, but he would have done it for John; John whose knee would finally have given out, John who took more milk in his morning cup than tea, John who had snuck underneath Sherlock’s skin without so much as a warning and wrapped himself around everything that had ever made the other man into who he was, without apology.
But things were different, he was different, John was - John would never forgive him.
He told himself that every day. The past no longer mattered. He had done what he needed to do, had kept John safe, even if they - if he - could never go back to that life again. He repeated these words like a mantra, keeping the thoughts of the past at bay while the light of the afternoon sun streamed through the curtains and cast shadows on the kitchen table.
But nothing he did in the daylight could stop him at night, not when his mind turned inward and brushed against the box he had tried so hard to delete. The box labeled “Things from John”, the box that was much larger than Sherlock would ever care to admit, the box that just maybe, possibly, consisted of everything that had ever mattered to him in this decrepit world.
In the dead of night, his resistance fails. He opens the box stored in the darkest corner of his mind. He takes out the memory of his first case with John, marveling at the the way they had giggled as they left the crime scene, feeling once again the way something unfamiliar and strange had started to unfurl in the pit of his stomach as John leaned close to his side, feeling this new warmth seep through his coat and into his skin.
He gently strokes the glowing image of John, stretched out across their bed, satisfied and sleepy as Sherlock watched from the doorway. He grasps tightly to John handing him tea, John laughing at his jokes, John stroking his hair as they settled down for an evening of crap television after a particularly grueling case.
It is in the depths of the night that Sherlock does not deny the clench in his chest, the stutter in his breath, the slight shake in his hands. Once again he feels touches long since passed as they ghost across his hands, his cheeks, his lips. He allows himself these moments of weakness, these moments of John, John, John, to get him through the day.
But like clockwork, as soon as dawn’s pale light begins to creep across the sky, he somehow finds the strength to close the lid on John, to continue with his newfound life. Another 12 hours of daylight, another 12 hours without John, another 12 hours with only the hope that he will get through one more day and maybe just maybe, he can go back to how he was before John restarted his heart and escape this pain which refuses to leave. Because even in the light of day, he cannot forget the look on John’s face as he asked him, pleaded with him, begged him, to stay.
AN: Comment & Review? This is my first Sherlock/Johnlock fic, and my first fic in a while, so take that into consideration I guess. XD