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gayalondiel_bakFandom: Sherlock (BBC)
Title: Will Not Fade Away (epilogue)
Character/Pairing: Sherlock/John, John/Mary
Length: c.900 words
Rating: R (series)
Spoilers: Reichenbach
Warnings: Character death
Disclaimer: The Holmes characters fall in the public domain: This version falls under the creative control of Messers Moffatt and Gatiss, and the BBC. No ownership is implied or inferred. This is done for love only.
Summary: Epilogue of the Youth of the Heart sequence. Sherlock and John go on with life, together
AN: A short one to finish, and that’s your lot. Thank you so much people who have stuck with this through all the angst - there came a point at the beginning of chapter four where even I, the evil author, wanted to fix it so that they could all live in OT3 land with a baby, but that was never where the story was going, and I do have purpose in my sad ficcery. Hopefully this is a bit of a balm after all the woe and grief. Thanks guys, it’s been fun!
Youth of the Heart
1: Love That is True Love
2: Never Be Sung
3: The Wisdom of Winter is Madness in May
4: Saved for My Darling
Epilogue: Will Not Fade Away
Crossposted to:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
221b_slash, johnsherlock, dispatch_box, sherlockbbc, cox_and_co, watsons_woesMaster Fanfic List
Sherlock and John worry about each other, constantly.
It has become a standing joke among Greg's team at Scotland Yard. If John has a duty shift Sherlock will be hanging around, annoying detectives, digging through cold cases and generally making a nuisance of himself, but always within reach of the Forensic Medical offices. If Sherlock is called in they now know well enough to copy John in on the message, and the two will arrive together, with an observable closeness between them that had not been there before. Greg repeatedly grumbles to Sally how bloody impossible it is to maintain a conversation with one of them on their own, because of the frequency with which the other will text them. He hopes fervently that they're both on unlimited message plans.
Generally, though, people understand. Those that know realise John has lost the two loves of his life, and some miracle of the universe allowed one to come back to him, so they won't begrudge him a little neediness. They may not agree with what Sherlock has done in the past, but they do at least respect the fact that he walked away from John, twice, once to keep him safe and once to stop him from ripping his own heart in two. No-one has the nerve now to tell them that they shouldn't be together, and shouldn't cling to that change in their relationship until they get used to the fact that it's not going to vapourise if they let go. In time the distance they can be parted and the time between texts will grow, as they learn to rely on their rebounding, naturally, inevitably, into one another's arms at the end of the day.
Sherlock has not spoken directly to Mycroft more than eight times, five times annually on their mother's birthday and three times for emergencies where Mycroft needed him badly enough to grovel in his own understated way, since the issue of Moran was wrapped up. John has been an unwilling liaison for two years, only when absolutely necessary, and never without reminding Mycroft that he too was still furious. Now he has begun initiating conversations with the elder brother himself, in the hope that he might in time be able to engineer a bridge of sorts across the rift between them.
John visits Mary's grave once a week, on Sundays. He tells her his news and sends love from her friends. He still wears his plain gold wedding ring on his left hand. On the first Sunday of every month Sherlock comes with him, bringing a bunch of white roses.
Two years into his exile, when Sherlock was lonely, heartsick and longing for John, he risked returning to Meiringen. While he was there he stopped in a tiny antique shop and happened upon a ring, gold and silver bands entwined, old and worn but clearly cared for and polished through the years. He bought it on some strange impulse, thinking one day, and slipped it into his wallet.
Two weeks after John found standing Sherlock at Mary's grave in the rain and took his hand, he pinched Sherlock's wallet to pay the takeaway deliveryman at the door. When he handed Sherlock a plate full of biryani and rice a few minutes later, silver and gold glinted from the ring finger of his right hand.
When John and Sherlock have sex it's making love: reverant, adoring and worshipful. They were tentative the first time, are still uncertain, still fearing that the other might break or recoil or become overwhelmed. The undercurrent of passion that has always been between them is rising, though. One day soon John will come home from work and jump Sherlock, wrestle him to the floor, and show him things that neither of them has dared to imagine in all their years apart, because they could not bear thinking of it.
When they sleep, it's together. John sometimes goes to sleep before Sherlock, or wakes up alone, but there are always signs, ruffled bedsheets and residual heat, that tell him his partner has at some point crawled up under the covers and wrapped himself around John's sleeping self. There are nights when John cries for his wife and his child, for everything that he's lost, and sobs until there are no tears left; and Sherlock holds him tightly through the grief, an anchor to that which he still has. There are rarer nights where the weight of three years alone and two and a half apart weigh heavily on Sherlock and he lies blank and quiet, thinking of things he would never dare to give voice; and John holds his hand, strokes his hair, murmurs reassurance and waits patiently for the spell to pass.
And at some point, every night, awake or asleep, they curl up together and revel in warmth and comfort and love, two souls who have been through the storm, picked through the wreckage, and found one another there, beyond hope and imagining.
Title: Will Not Fade Away (epilogue)
Character/Pairing: Sherlock/John, John/Mary
Length: c.900 words
Rating: R (series)
Spoilers: Reichenbach
Warnings: Character death
Disclaimer: The Holmes characters fall in the public domain: This version falls under the creative control of Messers Moffatt and Gatiss, and the BBC. No ownership is implied or inferred. This is done for love only.
Summary: Epilogue of the Youth of the Heart sequence. Sherlock and John go on with life, together
AN: A short one to finish, and that’s your lot. Thank you so much people who have stuck with this through all the angst - there came a point at the beginning of chapter four where even I, the evil author, wanted to fix it so that they could all live in OT3 land with a baby, but that was never where the story was going, and I do have purpose in my sad ficcery. Hopefully this is a bit of a balm after all the woe and grief. Thanks guys, it’s been fun!
Youth of the Heart
1: Love That is True Love
2: Never Be Sung
3: The Wisdom of Winter is Madness in May
4: Saved for My Darling
Epilogue: Will Not Fade Away
Crossposted to:
221b_slash, johnsherlock, dispatch_box, sherlockbbc, cox_and_co, watsons_woesMaster Fanfic ListSherlock and John worry about each other, constantly.
It has become a standing joke among Greg's team at Scotland Yard. If John has a duty shift Sherlock will be hanging around, annoying detectives, digging through cold cases and generally making a nuisance of himself, but always within reach of the Forensic Medical offices. If Sherlock is called in they now know well enough to copy John in on the message, and the two will arrive together, with an observable closeness between them that had not been there before. Greg repeatedly grumbles to Sally how bloody impossible it is to maintain a conversation with one of them on their own, because of the frequency with which the other will text them. He hopes fervently that they're both on unlimited message plans.
Generally, though, people understand. Those that know realise John has lost the two loves of his life, and some miracle of the universe allowed one to come back to him, so they won't begrudge him a little neediness. They may not agree with what Sherlock has done in the past, but they do at least respect the fact that he walked away from John, twice, once to keep him safe and once to stop him from ripping his own heart in two. No-one has the nerve now to tell them that they shouldn't be together, and shouldn't cling to that change in their relationship until they get used to the fact that it's not going to vapourise if they let go. In time the distance they can be parted and the time between texts will grow, as they learn to rely on their rebounding, naturally, inevitably, into one another's arms at the end of the day.
Sherlock has not spoken directly to Mycroft more than eight times, five times annually on their mother's birthday and three times for emergencies where Mycroft needed him badly enough to grovel in his own understated way, since the issue of Moran was wrapped up. John has been an unwilling liaison for two years, only when absolutely necessary, and never without reminding Mycroft that he too was still furious. Now he has begun initiating conversations with the elder brother himself, in the hope that he might in time be able to engineer a bridge of sorts across the rift between them.
John visits Mary's grave once a week, on Sundays. He tells her his news and sends love from her friends. He still wears his plain gold wedding ring on his left hand. On the first Sunday of every month Sherlock comes with him, bringing a bunch of white roses.
Two years into his exile, when Sherlock was lonely, heartsick and longing for John, he risked returning to Meiringen. While he was there he stopped in a tiny antique shop and happened upon a ring, gold and silver bands entwined, old and worn but clearly cared for and polished through the years. He bought it on some strange impulse, thinking one day, and slipped it into his wallet.
Two weeks after John found standing Sherlock at Mary's grave in the rain and took his hand, he pinched Sherlock's wallet to pay the takeaway deliveryman at the door. When he handed Sherlock a plate full of biryani and rice a few minutes later, silver and gold glinted from the ring finger of his right hand.
When John and Sherlock have sex it's making love: reverant, adoring and worshipful. They were tentative the first time, are still uncertain, still fearing that the other might break or recoil or become overwhelmed. The undercurrent of passion that has always been between them is rising, though. One day soon John will come home from work and jump Sherlock, wrestle him to the floor, and show him things that neither of them has dared to imagine in all their years apart, because they could not bear thinking of it.
When they sleep, it's together. John sometimes goes to sleep before Sherlock, or wakes up alone, but there are always signs, ruffled bedsheets and residual heat, that tell him his partner has at some point crawled up under the covers and wrapped himself around John's sleeping self. There are nights when John cries for his wife and his child, for everything that he's lost, and sobs until there are no tears left; and Sherlock holds him tightly through the grief, an anchor to that which he still has. There are rarer nights where the weight of three years alone and two and a half apart weigh heavily on Sherlock and he lies blank and quiet, thinking of things he would never dare to give voice; and John holds his hand, strokes his hair, murmurs reassurance and waits patiently for the spell to pass.
And at some point, every night, awake or asleep, they curl up together and revel in warmth and comfort and love, two souls who have been through the storm, picked through the wreckage, and found one another there, beyond hope and imagining.
