John experiences the next few hours in staccato-like film vignettes. First, he’s in the back of an ambulance and someone is stitching closed the wound near his eyebrow. Everything appears sepia toned in the pre-dawn light, except where the flashing emergency lights create hyper-real pockets in red and white. He glances towards Sherlock’s grave in the distance, but he can’t make out any detail. Its presence in the scene is there, nonetheless; cracked, damaged and heavy.
In the next moment, he is at the police station. He is sitting in an uncomfortable plastic chair, picking at the dried blood on his jacket collar. Lestrade is seated across his desk from John and is talking. It takes several long moments and an uncomfortable silence before John realizes that he is supposed to respond. He hears nothing but a high-pitched ringing in his ears, similar to what one might experience after an explosion. He shakes his head slowly and it feels like water sloshing between his ears. Greg rubs his temple then leaves the room.
Now John finds himself back at 221B. He is seated on the couch, staring at the two chairs that face each other. Both are empty, abandoned. John blinks once, slowly, and his apparition of Sherlock picks up the violin and starts to play Vocalise by Rachmaninoff. He sits on the couch next to John and closes his eyes, letting the music fill the silent flat. John puts his head in his hands. A few minutes later, John hears footsteps and looks up to see Lestrade with a duffel bag of his things. Sherlock has vanished. Everything is washed in grey tones.
Finally, John finds himself in Lestrade’s flat. A modest, one-bedroom apartment a few blocks from the station. Greg offers him the bedroom and puts his bag on the floor next to the bed. He makes tea while John takes off his shoes, jacket and jumper. They drink without saying a word, but Greg mercifully pretends to watch the news. When they run out of reasons to be around one another, John slips into the bedroom and closes the door quietly.
In the duffel, John finds a t-shirt and pyjama pants that he can sleep in and gets changed slowly. When he packs up his regular clothes from the day, his hand brushes past something cool and smooth at the bottom of the bag. He pulls out Sherlock’s dressing gown, which Lestrade must have mistaken for his own. Without another thought, he wraps it around himself and curls up on the bed, praying that sleep will whisk him away from his waking nightmare.
- Reblogged from: thedoctorisin221b
- Tag(s): #sherlock #ibelieveinsherlockholmes #believeinsherlock #RP #John Watson #Sherlock RP #ooc: augh #i just like this one
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