Remind me not to ride along with you. John Watson x Sherlock Holmes

Hey guys, so I finally got my writing mojo back after reading this beautifully sad fic: https://sebastianshoe.tumblr.com/post/186821909126/hey-bean-i-was-wondering-if-i-could-request-a by @sebastianshoe which inspired me to write with her consent, a response fic. And I am actually quite excited to share this with you, and so without further ado, let’s get this show on the road.

summary: After Sherlock clings to John at his “grave”.John is unable to process that this is a reality and not some nightmare that has been stuck on loop for the past two years. As such, he takes off through the graveyard as Sherlock tries to convince him that this is a reality and that he (Sherlock is actually back). But what will Sherlock do, when John is nowhere to be found?…

TW: mentions of suicide, death and major angst. Semi happy end

song/lyrics here:https://listenonrepeat.com/?v=VK6MBdBiv-8&s=&e=#The_Night_We_Met_(from__13_Reasons_Why_)

I am not the only traveler Who has not repaid his debt I’ve been searching for a trail to follow again Take me back to the night we met

“Sherlock?” a small broken whisper upon Watson’s lips, his eyes wide and scanning. This couldn’t be a reality, surely? His eyes had tricked him for months on end, visions of sherlock sitting in his armchair or running along the streets of London with his long coat flying in the breeze, or even in the most bizarre times: when John would meet Sherlock in his dream – only to wake up screaming in a cold sweat because his best friend Sherlock Holmes is dead…

Or that is what John was led to believe for two miserable years. No matter how hard he tried to accept that Sherlock was clinging to him like a drowning man, it wasn’t possible – “how, if he is truly here could he justify putting me through heart-wrenching agony for two miserable years? How if he is holding me, could I have buried him? If he’s real then I must have…gone mad.” John thought to himself as he shook to his core, every instant, military and civilian told him to run- that this was simply his mind on the brink of disintegrating. His heart beat out of his chest screaming, pounding at his ribcage until he was certain he could feel every one of his defenses ripping at the seams.

  And then I can tell myself What the hell I’m supposed to do And then I can tell myself Not to ride along with you

His feet hit the ground hard like smoke from a bayonet, with only one destination in sight he ran as hard and as fast as his legs could carry him, weaving through graves. Ducking behind trees. Doing everything in his power to escape the detectives’ gaze. And yet, that did nothing to stop Sherlocks’ broken cries from penetrating his ears.

“John! John! Wait, you need to hear this! I did it for good reason, JOHN!”

“Good reason…good reason! Oh yes because apparently, faking your death and leaving me on the brink of suicide is classed as a good reason” John hissed under his breath, his hands clenched tightly at his side – his nails beginning to draw blood from how hard he clenched them. His chest burned with an inextinguishable fire, as he gasped for breath. Wanting nothing more to scream into the void, allowing every word of self-hatred, agony and unrequited love ring out across the universe. And yet all he could do is run, run hard and far to 221B. A safe haven if you will.

  I had all and then most of you Some and now none of you Take me back to the night we met I don’t know what I’m supposed to do Haunted by the ghost of you Oh, take me back to the night we met

Visions of John Watson laying on the cold marble floor, surrounded in blood- a gun in one hand and a knife in the other – his body shaking uncontrollably, thrashing as he fought to cling to life. The whites of his eyes were now visible as his mouth frothed at the edges. Death became him. Circled Sherlock’s mind, breaking and recalibrating as his heartbeat with every ounce of fear, as he followed John through the graveyard, shoving people out of the way as he chased him throughout the smog-filled streets of London, rain pounded on the streets bouncing rhythmically as Sherlock’s breathing got heavier. A harsh rumble ripped throughout the sky as the wind blurred vision, sending a chill into his spine. As the greatest sense of trepidation made a mess of him. His heart pounded in time to the rain, as he crashed through the doors of 221B Baker Street. He could see John Watson limping up the stairs, his hands covered in raw nail marks as a sob wrenched from his throat like a bullet from a gun.

“Please, John! Please just hear me out… five minutes” Sherlock plead as he looked at Johns broken form, his eyes full of love, sorrow, self-hatred and most of all: regret. “And if after then you still wish to hate me, understandably so, then I will not hold it against you. Thus, leaving you and Mary be”

“HATE YOU? You seriously think that this” he gestured around him, the fire burning within his veins “is what that’s about. Hell, Sherlock, you might be a consulting detective, but you are remarkably thick. Two years!” he snapped; his eyes full of disgust as his lips curled into a vicious sneer. One that Sherlock both knew and feared.

“Two years. I thought… I thought… you were dead. Hm. And you let me grieve. Hm? How could you do that? How?” his sneer grew dark, his eyes devoid of emotion as he marched into the living room. Unfazed by the bust clouds and cobwebs he threw himself into his red armchair, pushing Sherlock’s treasured skull out of the way, ever so slightly.

  When the night was full of terrors And your eyes were filled with tears When you had not touched me yet Oh, take me back to the night we met

“Have you?” Sherlock raised an inquisitive eyebrow at how the skull was carelessly tossed to the side

“No…perhaps but that isn’t the point Sherlock. I want to know how” John said, his voice almost welcoming, as Sherlock settled into his armchair wincing as he felt a small trickle of blood leave his side. He knew that his stitches were coming undone, but as long as he had John Watson’s attention and safety in his hands, nothing else mattered.

“I calculated that there were thirteen possibilities once I’d invited Moriarty onto the roof. I wanted to avoid dying if at all possible. The first scenario involved hurling myself into a parked hospital van filled with body bags. Impossible. The angle was too steep. Secondly, a system of Japanese wrestling–“

“I don’t care how you faked it, Sherlock. I want to know why you faked it. And why you thought that I’d be okay with it?” he sighed irritably amused by his now not dead best friend. “One word, Sherlock! That’s all I would have needed! One just to let me know that you were alive”

“I couldn’t John, it was too dangerous, in fact, I’m still technically supposed to be dead for another five months according to Mycroft’s’ plan” Sherlock gave a small guilty smile before he was tackled by Watson. His stitches pulling at the side as he held his nose. A groan of pain rumbled low in his throat as John stormed into the kitchen, creating distance between them.

“Mycroft’s’ plan? Oh, so this was your brothers’ idea, who else knew? Who? “

“Molly.”

“Molly! Oh, this just gets better and better, doesn’t it! Christs sake sherlock, even a letter would have sufficed” his rage subsided as tears brewed in his eyes threating to fall, his shoulders shook with withdrawn sobs. All he wanted was to be held by someone, to feel something other than this excruciating agony that ran amuck within his mind and his heart. Every ounce of his body ached for someone to tell him to wake up or that this is reality, he couldn’t withstand the pain any longer as all of his walls came crumbling down, his knees gave out sending him crashing towards the floor and heart wrenching sobs wrecked his body. As Sherlocks’ arms wound around Johns thinner scared frame, as he held him close, moving an elegant hand to wipe Johns tears, Sherlocks own glistened deeply within his heterochrome eyes.

“I’m so sorry John, I’m sorry, I’m sorry” was a mantra upon Sherlock’s lips as they clung to each other, their arms clinging to each other as they laid still, sobbing hysterically wanting nothing more than to return to normality.

  I had all and then most of you Some and now none of you Take me back to the night we met I don’t know what I’m supposed to do Haunted by the ghost of you Take me back to the night we met

For hours on end, they stayed on the floor, exchanging apologies and promises, before they finally decided to move to Sherlocks bedroom in order to get some well-needed rest. However, that did not come naturally, as neither of them wished to back down and fall asleep before the other in fear that they would wake up and neither of them would be there. “I love- “Sherlock began, as he reached for John. But his words fell upon deaf ears as John hushed him with a sorrowful smile. “I can’t Sherlock…” he battled with thoughts of telling him about Mary, while they had only just started talking, he couldn’t allow himself to get romantically involved, especially after he spent two years convincing himself that he did not have a shred of romantic love for the oblivious consulting detective. That was all mysterious with his… cheekbones and turning his coat collar up so he’d look cool.

“I…I’ve started talking to someone” he closed his eyes as his brows knitted together in frustration “And as much as it would be a joy to, um, return the; sentiment. I can’t. We can’t Sherlock.” He pressed his head to Sherlocks’ chest as he felt unshed tears bubbling up within him, as Sherlock laid his chin on top of Johns’s head and sighed placing a light kiss to his crown

“I understand. Goodnight John”

“Goodnight Sherl”

Was all that passed between them as they drifted to sleep within their tight embrace. It wasn’t until about 5am when Sherlock rolled over and swung his arm into the middle of the bed – expecting to pull John closer. That he noticed that the bed was all but empty. All that lay in Johns’ place was his phone and a letter which simply read

I’ll just be over here crying in a corne r

AHHH LMGOMGONGOMGOMG THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR REBLOGGING IT!! This means so much to me as a writer, I actually sqeeed so hard thank you so much!! Did you want to be added to the tag list for this, as im planning on making it into a series?