Episode 3 Preview
Newscasters follow him relentlessly to try and get answers and he can only tell them to piss off and leave him the hell alone as he stays at 221B Baker Street to watch over the place.
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John feels lost. Out of place again, it’s akin to his first moments out of the army as a civilian, those first months spent drifting and alone without a foot on the ground. But then he met Sherlock and everything- well, it was a terribly amazing time. And then he met Mary, and things became even better, greater, he had a place, somewhere to call home, people to call friends. And Sherlock is his best friend. His best friend in existence and he shouldn’t have-
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Mycroft spoke in few words whenever he interacted with John but John could tell that he knew what it was to lose something precious, something like a Bonded.
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She looked lost, too. Thinner than the last time he had seen her, as if a small hole had been pricked in her side and she was slowly deflating day by day, turning into a ghost. But despite her appearance, she was still the love of his life. The tattoo lay bare to the world for all to see from her revealing dress the color of the blood she spilled on the pavement that day. Sherlock feels the bile rise in his throat but gives nothing away, swallowing it back down because now is not the time to be ruled by his body.
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"Come with me, my dear, and you'll never have to live in squander again. I can give you more, show you more, bring you the things in life that no one else could possibly give you, not even The Sherlock Holmes." Moriarty offers his hand, the same way he did that day you woke up against the pavement, inviting, warm. All of your memories up until now are filled with him.
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"He's lying to you. Believe him and the moment you've outgrown your usefulness, he'll be rid of you, too," Sherlock speaks in a quiet tone, much unlike himself. There is a sharp pain in his side, twisting and turning before embedding itself deeper into his flesh. There is another stab at his chest; the conclusion spreads through him like a slow burning poision.
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He thinks... maybe... his heart is breaking.
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"Moriarty knew that this would happen. He knew every step, planned three different paths I could take from the moment he had me shot. He.." The word 'won ' almost leaves his throat but his silence speaks volumes. John refuses to listen.
.x.
The sound of the violin is haunting, stealing away the warmth in the room and leaving a hollow echo of what once was.
I hope you enjoyed this! Prepare your emotions. This is nothing.