I reach for you and you’ll never let me go
Title: I reach for you and you’ll never let me go
Rating: G
Warning: SPOILERS FOR SEASON 2, drama
Characters: Sherlock, John (can be considered slash-y if you squint)
Summary: After the fall, he hopes you’ll understand.
Author’s note: Okay, this was supposed to be cathartic for me. After watching the last episode and crying rivers two seconds in, I needed to get all the emotions out of my system. So here is the result of that. This was written while Kanashige, Hakanage and Samishige composed by Takanashi Yasuharu for the Mononoke soundtrack was on loop in my itunes. It served as soundtrack for this fic. These are some of the saddest instrumentals I’ve ever heard.
Thanks for reading and enjoy! ^_^
The impact was startling.
John, I can hear your voice, your unmistakable voice telling the crowd to make way for you, a doctor. I can’t see clearly. I can’t turn my head. But from the corner of my eye I see the crowd has not parted for you. And so you tell them that I am your friend, in hopes that they will move aside.
They do not.
They hold onto you, pushing you away but you struggle against them until your outstretched hand grabs hold of my wrist. I know exactly what you want to do. Your fingers are placed precisely on my pulse but I know you won’t feel anything. Not because you are too shaken. No. You are and always will be a steady man, even in face of the gravest danger or the sharpest pain.
Remember the night at the pool? You were strapped with semtex and yet you didn’t lose your head. I remember, John.
I remember also you telling me that you were a very good doctor and there was a huff of pride before that. But I am sorry, John, you won’t feel my pulse. Not this time.
I have taken all the steps needed to fool a brilliant doctor like you and I am deeply sorry for having done so.
I know this and I feel it keenly when you release my wrist. I want to say “Do not let me go!” but I cannot. I cannot summon the words. Even if I could, I don’t think I can say them. The game must go on, John. Moriarty’s men must believe that I am dead. They will go after all of you if they don’t and this is something I can’t have.
Moriarty said that he wanted to burn the heart out of me and I, so sure about myself, replied that I had been reliably informed that I had no heart. But Moriarty was right. We knew that wasn’t true. It was bravado, John, that made me say those words. I didn’t want to present any weakness that he could take advantage of.
But he knew me so well, perhaps better than I do. He knew my weakness from the start. That’s why he took you.
That’s why he used Molly.
That’s why you received a call that Mrs. Hudson had been shot.
That’s why he got to Mycroft.
John, take my hand again. Don’t leave me. It is so unbearable to have to go through this. But I think, from what you have taught me about sentiment, it will be harder for you.
You are brilliant, John. You might have guessed at things I didn’t say during the call. All the things I didn’t say, John, I meant them. I am sorry. Please forgive me.
Medics are turning me over. I can hear you say something, but more than that I can hear your disbelief.
Believe it, John. Believe that I am dead because it is the only way you will live. No one will harm you if you believe in this fairy tale.
I am so so truly sorry.
The doctors are inept. They do not see the fresh tears that roll down my cheeks.
Remember me, John.
Will you do this for me?
Please.