Help us to survive -- Epilogue
Summary: A crime scene involving a dead anorexic woman hits close to home for John and Sherlock, leading John to discover a disturbing pattern and Sherlock to face his eating disorder in new light.
Notes: This is part of the Eating us Alive verse and will make more sense if you have read at least Eating us Alive and Eating us Alive, again, first. The raw first draft of this story was written around the time I finished posting Eating us Alive, again. At that time, its sole purpouse was to entertain a friend. It was never my intention to create actual plot and make it public, but with the help and inspiration of willowmeg that happened anyway. I’m so grateful for the support throughout this, thank you.
I apoligise in advance for the severe hand waving I’ve occasionally done when it comes to medicine and to criminal law.
-x-
Four months later
-x-
John peeked into the kitchen. Sherlock was dissecting a human hand at the table, lost to the rest of the world. The hand had magically appeared two days ago, on the same day the verdict in Angel of Death case had come and the story had started to get media attention. The timing was a little bit too good, but John wasn’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth.
Not unexpectedly, Sherlock crashed a couple of days after they had finally stepped away from the case. He had slept for twelve, fifteen hours per day and John suspected that he hadn’t kept much of what he had forced himself to eat. Now he seemed had reached some sort of balance again, with the really bad days coming further and further apart, but he had been quiet and closed off for weeks. John felt as if Sherlock wasn’t letting him in anymore, but as long as Sherlock seemed to improve there was no need for alarm.
John backed away, bringing the laptop with him to the sofa. As he turned it on and logged onto LovED Ones, he couldn’t help finding it slightly ironic that he still tried to hide his online activities from Sherlock.
It was five months since he had last visited forum, three weeks before they had been forced to bring the case to Lestrade. During the case, John hadn’t imagine ever going back there. It was, in multiple ways, ruined for him as a safe haven. Now here he was, because he couldn’t help feeling that he had left a dead rat on the community’s metaphorical doorstep. The media’s coverage of the verdict (their back-tracking stories of the case and the trial, their killer profiles, and their sudden realisation that eating disorders and suicides were things) really put John’s teeth on edge, and he wanted to check in and see how everyone was doing. Personally, he had managed to convince himself that he had moved on, and that he didn’t care anymore. Especially since the man had been found guilty on all charges - murder, assault, and serious professional misconduct - even though he’d pleaded not guilty and refused to provide a motive.
John had expected to perhaps find a message or two from his friends, asking him how he was - it had been a long time without any sign of life - or asking for his opinion about the Angel of Death. Maybe a note from bubblenox. He had not expected his inbox to be bursting with two hundred and sixteen new messages.
For almost a solid minute John stared at the number next to the small letter icon. He couldn’t make sense of it, and he hesitated to open the inbox. His first thought was that they had traced the case back to him, because that had been his fear since the second he heard about it on the news. He didn’t even dare to imagine what that type of exposure would do to Sherlock.
It took a moment for him to convince himself that that couldn’t be the reason for all the messages. Lestrade had promised that his and Sherlock’s names were nowhere near the paperwork. And even if by bad luck and chance it would have showed up, no one would link it to the forum.
…at least not in just two days.
John took a deep breath, glancing towards the kitchen, before opening the inbox. He scrolled through the list of messages, most, if not all, of them were comments on a post called I apologise, which was odd, since he hadn’t bothered with titles on his entries for years. He kept scrolling until he found a user he knew and trusted (tombola_jr) and opened their comment. It was written nine days ago.
I don’t know what to say.. That took guts! the comment read. I’m so proud of both of you. Stay safe <3
John clicked on the next familiar user he saw.
Whatever it is you’re talking about, don’t apologise. It’s not your fault, I’m sure of it. And take it from someone who knows: he won’t leave. He cares so much for you.
“What?” John mumbled, more confused than worried now and he finally opened the entry everyone had commented on.
It read:
Hello,
I don’t know any of you, but I’m aware that some of you know me far more intimately than I would prefer. My name is Sherlock Holmes, and I’m a consultant to the Metropolitan police (among other things). I’m also the person referred to here as S - a great imagination has never been one of my flatmate’s strengths. Speaking of John, because that’s his name, I want to say thank you to each of you who has helped and supported him throughout the years. I’m aware that I owe John’s continued presence in my life, perhaps not solely, but definitely partly to all of you. By extension that means that I, in part, owe you my life. I won’t go as far as to say that I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for you, but you have undoubtedly made things better and for that I’m grateful.
The reason I’m writing is to inform you that a news story will most likely break in a couple of weeks. When it does, you will know what I’m referring to. Some of you have a very personal involvement in it, but it will affect all of you. The media frenzy that will undoubtedly follow won’t find this forum; John and I have made sure to keep it out of the investigation, and nothing you’ve done here has endangered anyone. You should know, though, that it’s thanks to John and this forum that justice will be done. I can only regret that I couldn’t stay objective enough to bring this to a swifter close. For that, I apologise.
S
“Sherlock!” John yelled, without taking his eyes off the screen. Nothing of that made any sense. He read it again, and again, but it didn’t help. He looked at the date. Five weeks, it was posted five weeks ago. John tried to think back on what had happened five weeks ago, but there was nothing standing out. They had worked a short fraud case about then, and a kidnapping of a dog. There hadn’t been any major setbacks. There had been six days with nothing but toast with honey on the menu, but… that wasn’t bad in comparison.
“What?”
John jumped. Sherlock was standing in the entrance to the sitting room, still with a scalpel in his hand, looking very annoyed.
All John could do was point at the laptop.
Sherlock’s irritated frown disappeared, and he blinked. “I thought you had seen that already.”
“And not said anything about it?”
Sherlock shrugged. “I thought you were mad.”
John stared. “I’m, I’m not. At all.”
Sherlock’s shoulders dropped, and he exhaled. A small, relieved smile breaking through.
“You really thought I’d be mad?” asked John.
“You haven’t precisely reacted well to my other activities on the forum.”
John smiled. That was true, and it wasn’t a completely unreasonable assumption that he would be upset now too, perhaps he even should be mad. Sherlock had, after all, robbed him of his anonymity without even asking him about it, but the idea of being angry with Sherlock for the post seemed ludicrous. Judging by Sherlock’s appearance right now made it clear that he hadn’t thought so.
“I’m not mad. I promise, I’m not,” John said, his throat closing. He pointed at the laptop again. “Sherlock, that’s… Are you okay?”
Sherlock shook his head. “I don’t know.”
John got up and walked over to hug him. Sherlock leaned into his arms, but didn’t hug him back.
“I’m so proud of you,” John whispered against his neck.
“John…” Sherlock mumbled. “You’re an idiot.”
John chuckled, holding him closer. “You too, Sherlock. You too.”
-x-
End notes: Thank you all of you for being with me through out this series. Thank you for reading and sharing this story with me, it has meant more than you can imagine.
Notes: This is part of the Eating us Alive verse and will make more sense if you have read at least Eating us Alive and Eating us Alive, again, first. The raw first draft of this story was written around the time I finished posting Eating us Alive, again. At that time, its sole purpouse was to entertain a friend. It was never my intention to create actual plot and make it public, but with the help and inspiration of willowmeg that happened anyway. I’m so grateful for the support throughout this, thank you.
I apoligise in advance for the severe hand waving I’ve occasionally done when it comes to medicine and to criminal law.
-x-
Four months later
-x-
John peeked into the kitchen. Sherlock was dissecting a human hand at the table, lost to the rest of the world. The hand had magically appeared two days ago, on the same day the verdict in Angel of Death case had come and the story had started to get media attention. The timing was a little bit too good, but John wasn’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth.
Not unexpectedly, Sherlock crashed a couple of days after they had finally stepped away from the case. He had slept for twelve, fifteen hours per day and John suspected that he hadn’t kept much of what he had forced himself to eat. Now he seemed had reached some sort of balance again, with the really bad days coming further and further apart, but he had been quiet and closed off for weeks. John felt as if Sherlock wasn’t letting him in anymore, but as long as Sherlock seemed to improve there was no need for alarm.
John backed away, bringing the laptop with him to the sofa. As he turned it on and logged onto LovED Ones, he couldn’t help finding it slightly ironic that he still tried to hide his online activities from Sherlock.
It was five months since he had last visited forum, three weeks before they had been forced to bring the case to Lestrade. During the case, John hadn’t imagine ever going back there. It was, in multiple ways, ruined for him as a safe haven. Now here he was, because he couldn’t help feeling that he had left a dead rat on the community’s metaphorical doorstep. The media’s coverage of the verdict (their back-tracking stories of the case and the trial, their killer profiles, and their sudden realisation that eating disorders and suicides were things) really put John’s teeth on edge, and he wanted to check in and see how everyone was doing. Personally, he had managed to convince himself that he had moved on, and that he didn’t care anymore. Especially since the man had been found guilty on all charges - murder, assault, and serious professional misconduct - even though he’d pleaded not guilty and refused to provide a motive.
John had expected to perhaps find a message or two from his friends, asking him how he was - it had been a long time without any sign of life - or asking for his opinion about the Angel of Death. Maybe a note from bubblenox. He had not expected his inbox to be bursting with two hundred and sixteen new messages.
For almost a solid minute John stared at the number next to the small letter icon. He couldn’t make sense of it, and he hesitated to open the inbox. His first thought was that they had traced the case back to him, because that had been his fear since the second he heard about it on the news. He didn’t even dare to imagine what that type of exposure would do to Sherlock.
It took a moment for him to convince himself that that couldn’t be the reason for all the messages. Lestrade had promised that his and Sherlock’s names were nowhere near the paperwork. And even if by bad luck and chance it would have showed up, no one would link it to the forum.
…at least not in just two days.
John took a deep breath, glancing towards the kitchen, before opening the inbox. He scrolled through the list of messages, most, if not all, of them were comments on a post called I apologise, which was odd, since he hadn’t bothered with titles on his entries for years. He kept scrolling until he found a user he knew and trusted (tombola_jr) and opened their comment. It was written nine days ago.
I don’t know what to say.. That took guts! the comment read. I’m so proud of both of you. Stay safe <3
John clicked on the next familiar user he saw.
Whatever it is you’re talking about, don’t apologise. It’s not your fault, I’m sure of it. And take it from someone who knows: he won’t leave. He cares so much for you.
“What?” John mumbled, more confused than worried now and he finally opened the entry everyone had commented on.
It read:
Hello,
I don’t know any of you, but I’m aware that some of you know me far more intimately than I would prefer. My name is Sherlock Holmes, and I’m a consultant to the Metropolitan police (among other things). I’m also the person referred to here as S - a great imagination has never been one of my flatmate’s strengths. Speaking of John, because that’s his name, I want to say thank you to each of you who has helped and supported him throughout the years. I’m aware that I owe John’s continued presence in my life, perhaps not solely, but definitely partly to all of you. By extension that means that I, in part, owe you my life. I won’t go as far as to say that I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for you, but you have undoubtedly made things better and for that I’m grateful.
The reason I’m writing is to inform you that a news story will most likely break in a couple of weeks. When it does, you will know what I’m referring to. Some of you have a very personal involvement in it, but it will affect all of you. The media frenzy that will undoubtedly follow won’t find this forum; John and I have made sure to keep it out of the investigation, and nothing you’ve done here has endangered anyone. You should know, though, that it’s thanks to John and this forum that justice will be done. I can only regret that I couldn’t stay objective enough to bring this to a swifter close. For that, I apologise.
S
“Sherlock!” John yelled, without taking his eyes off the screen. Nothing of that made any sense. He read it again, and again, but it didn’t help. He looked at the date. Five weeks, it was posted five weeks ago. John tried to think back on what had happened five weeks ago, but there was nothing standing out. They had worked a short fraud case about then, and a kidnapping of a dog. There hadn’t been any major setbacks. There had been six days with nothing but toast with honey on the menu, but… that wasn’t bad in comparison.
“What?”
John jumped. Sherlock was standing in the entrance to the sitting room, still with a scalpel in his hand, looking very annoyed.
All John could do was point at the laptop.
Sherlock’s irritated frown disappeared, and he blinked. “I thought you had seen that already.”
“And not said anything about it?”
Sherlock shrugged. “I thought you were mad.”
John stared. “I’m, I’m not. At all.”
Sherlock’s shoulders dropped, and he exhaled. A small, relieved smile breaking through.
“You really thought I’d be mad?” asked John.
“You haven’t precisely reacted well to my other activities on the forum.”
John smiled. That was true, and it wasn’t a completely unreasonable assumption that he would be upset now too, perhaps he even should be mad. Sherlock had, after all, robbed him of his anonymity without even asking him about it, but the idea of being angry with Sherlock for the post seemed ludicrous. Judging by Sherlock’s appearance right now made it clear that he hadn’t thought so.
“I’m not mad. I promise, I’m not,” John said, his throat closing. He pointed at the laptop again. “Sherlock, that’s… Are you okay?”
Sherlock shook his head. “I don’t know.”
John got up and walked over to hug him. Sherlock leaned into his arms, but didn’t hug him back.
“I’m so proud of you,” John whispered against his neck.
“John…” Sherlock mumbled. “You’re an idiot.”
John chuckled, holding him closer. “You too, Sherlock. You too.”
-x-
End notes: Thank you all of you for being with me through out this series. Thank you for reading and sharing this story with me, it has meant more than you can imagine.