Fic: A Good Man (Sherlock BBC)
Title: A Good Man
Author: laurieisme (aka revolution25)
Fandom: BBC Sherlock 2010
Spoilers: TGG, but not the end, the end is different in this fic.
Rating: R for subject matter.
Warning: A little bit of violence towards animals, some swearing, and some violence toward people.
Summary: John has never been a good man.
Author’s Note: Not beta-ed or brit-picked. There's going to be more to this, but it can stand on it's own.
It’s always been the three of them.
When John’s mum left it was in the middle of the night; John still blames himself for not waking up, for not hearing her leave.
He’s such a light sleeper, in the Army everyone wants to know how after thirty-six hours of not sleeping the slightest noise will still wake him up.
He lies.
His dad was always there, always did the right thing no matter what. John tries to be like his father, but it’s always been an unattainable goal. He wonders sometimes, when he’s lying in bed after not sleeping for several hours, what Sherlock would think if he knew. If Sherlock knew that John had all the appearance of goodness, but in reality he was just as far away from it as Sherlock was.
*
It’s a year after their mother left their house in Ireland when he finds it. It’s sitting there on the kitchen table, his father’s there smiling sadly. A gift his mother dropped off. Only one, only for him. Harry doesn’t get a present because Harry is not her daughter. She gave birth to her, but every time Harry did something wrong their mum would look her in the eye and say she wasn’t her mistake.
John sees the present and he’s just reminded of how much he wants to break their mum, break her like she broke Harry.
He looks over to his father and remembers, good people don’t think that way. His father doesn’t think that way.
‘You don’t have to open it, but your mother wanted you to have it. If you need me I’ll be here for you John.’
It’s what a good man would say, so his father does, but he never could if the roles were reversed. He sees the great distance between himself and his father, between what he wants to be and what he is.
It seems immeasurable.
*
When he gets back home from Afghanistan the first thing he has to do is pick up Harry from a bar before she gets arrested.
He carries her to a taxi and in his ear she keeps breathing, ‘you remember the mice John? The poor fucking mice…. The mice…’
*
When they moved to Ireland Harry is sleeping in the back seat, John between his mum and dad. His dad gets back in the car from filling it with petrol and John falls asleep against his arm.
He smells wet woollen jumper all the way to their new home.
*
DI Lestrade comes by with a case for Sherlock. He has to sit on the coffee table because the scull is in the chair.
Mrs. Hudson comes up with a package for John; he quickly takes it in the kitchen to get a knife to open it.
Lestrade is trying to show Sherlock some crime scene photos when John breaks a glass on the counter and screams, ‘Fucking bastard!’
The whole room is silent while john grips the back of a chair, blood dripping from his left hand.
Lestrade is about to get up to help him but Sherlock stops him with a hand on his arm, pulling him back down.
John grabs a towel and walks out the door. By the time he’s on the street Sherlock can see him rapping his hand with the towel.
‘Does he do that often?’ Lestrade asks as Sherlock stands up and walks to the kitchen.
‘Never,’ Sherlock looks at the address and sees Harry’s drunken scribble. Inside there is no note, only a gift that looks to be quite old and unopened.
*
When John leaves for med school his dad helps him pack up his room, trying to decide what goes with him and what stays.
His father finds the gift under his bed and asks if he still hasn’t opened it even though the answer is obvious.
John shakes his head no and tries to continue to pack but his father stops him.
‘I think you should John. I think when you open it; you’ll see it’s just a gift. Leaving it like this, it’ll become a part of who you are.’
‘I’m not-‘ he cuts himself off, and turns to leave, to escape from all of this.
His father’s warm hand between his shoulder blades stops him. He never remembers his father’s hands being anything but warm.
‘I’ll be here when you are ready.’
*
John doesn’t like to wait here. It feels like a power play, as if it’s not busy, but he has to wait like everyone else.
He hates being treated like everyone else, because he sees that he really has always meant nothing.
He lies to himself, he’s important. He has to be or else what he’s done… all of the horrible things he’s done.
He’s not a good man; he doubts he ever will be.
‘He’ll see you now,’ the woman behind the desk gives him a fake smile.
He gingerly gets up; the towel in his left hand is now almost completely soaked in blood.
He shouldn’t have come here, but he couldn’t stop himself. Never could.
*
Harry is crying at the other side of the table, a bottle of gin in her hand, their father is at the doorway looking at John like he’s disappointed.
John looks down in front of him. Two mice are cut open, a y-incision showing all of their internal organs into the bright desk light.
They’re alive.
He takes the knife that’s on his right into his left hand and in one quick movement severs their heads completely.
‘We’re going to go see a doctor, okay?’ His father’s voice is calm, even loving.
He’ll never be a good man like his father. Never.
*
‘Don’t make people into heroes John, heroes don’t exist, and if they did I wouldn’t be one of them.’
John hangs his head, all he can think is please don’t say that, if it’s true than it’s me. It’s always been me. I’m the reason so many people died. I’m the reason that blind woman and all those others are dead. I’ll do anything, just say that you care that a human being is dead, say that it means something.
*
He comes out from the men’s locker room and he can hear laughing, a lot of boys laughing. He turns his head to the shallow end to see a boy laughing and pointing.
He wants to smash his fucking face into the tile. He doesn’t, but good people don’t have those thoughts.
*
‘Is the gift from your father?’ Sherlock is watching crap telly and John is trying to make himself some toast.
‘Don’t.’
‘It’s obviously a parent, and when you said that your father was dead you didn’t want to talk about it, so it’s a sensitive subject, and the only reason you wouldn’t open a gift from a parent-‘
‘Sherlock if you don’t leave it I swear to you I will leave and not come back. You can deduce anything else about me, you can stare at me for hours like you always do, but you are not allowed this. I get to have one thing. One thing, Sherlock! Do you hear me?’
Sherlock doesn’t say another word which is as good a response John is ever going to get. John tries to let out the breath he was holding and stop his heart from beating out of his chest.
A good man would never get this mad.
*
A year after his father dies John is in a department store looking for a gift for Harry and Clara. He passes by a mannequin and stops dead in his tracks.
It’s an oatmeal coloured jumper exactly like one of the many his father always wore. He reaches out to touch it, to make sure it’s not a mirage but pulls his hand back, scared that it will go away.
‘Can I help you?’ the sales girl asks.
‘I’ll take it,’ is the only thing his mouth can manage.
A year later he’s in an on-call room next to the A & E and he takes it out of the shopping back and finally puts it on. The nurse has to call his name five times before he wakes up.
*
There’s a new plant in the waiting room. John wonders if it’s poisonous. Another man is sitting on the other couch, hat and coat next to him as he fumbles with the locks of his briefcase.
‘You can go in Doctor Watson,’ the receptionist gives him a fake smile.
‘Excuse me,’ the man stops him from getting up, then addresses the receptionist, ‘I had an appointment thirty minutes ago, I’ve been waiting here for forty-five minutes. This man came in not five minutes ago; I really must insist that I be seen.’
‘You will be seen but Doctor Watson is more important than you are.’
John gets up and leaves before he can hear more of the conversation with a small smile on his face.
*
John gets made fun of when he visits back home, wearing a jumper very much like one their dad would wear.
Even Clara laughs, even though she’s only seen their father in pictures.
Black eyes set on his and a hand covers his own and gently squeezes, ‘It suits you John.’
John smiles but he can’t help but think it’s a hollow representation, he may look like their dad but on the inside he is so different it burns.
*
Leaving Sherlock to his crap telly John steps outside into the cold air, he’s glad the bombings stopped, he really couldn’t take much more of it.
He makes a right and then a left turn before he feels it.
It’s like someone’s watching him. He stops and lets out a deep breath, Mycroft is making him paranoid.
*
Dark eyes and dark hair are running ahead of him, he calls after them, ‘You can’t go too far!’
‘Frogs!’ is the enthusiastic reply he gets.
He laughs and puts his hand out in front of him, wiggling his fingers.
A little hand goes into his and he can’t help but smile at how unbelievably warm it is.
*
John waits for Sarah to get ready. She says he can turn the telly on but he decides to check the update to Science of Deduction.
His heart skips a beat and he has to re-read what Sherlock has posted four times before he jumps off the couch and leaves Sarah’s flat without saying a word.
*
They all sit down in the living room after dinner. A small hand clicks the buttons on the telly to their favourite channel.
Their father sits in the arm chair next to Harry on the couch, and the house turns quiet except for the sounds of the telly. John always likes this, the quiet times they spend together. When Harry forgets to rebel against nothing and everything is just calm, like this was always how their family was supposed to be and no one feels a missing piece at all.
‘Poor boy,’ his father says.
It brings John’s attention back to the telly, the story on the news says a boy died. John doesn’t feel anything, but he knows he should.
A black head of hair turns and black eyes look at him. He looks back and suddenly he knows. He wants to hyperventilate but he keeps his breath calm and steady.
He doesn’t say anything. A good man would.
*
He’s breathless when he arrives at the pool.
Sherlock has his gun pointing at Moriarty. In the middle of them Lestrade is wearing a bomb vest breathing just as heavily as John.
‘Give me the gun,’ John says unable to catch his breath.
‘John what are you-‘ Sherlock is quiet almost unable to be heard, he can’t believe John is here.
‘The gun Sherlock,’ John stretches out his hand and motions for Sherlock to give it to him.
Sherlock, for all his mental capabilities isn’t using them, but he does hand over the gun.
John puts it in his waistband and turns to Lestrade next, The catches of the vest are hard to get undone with his shaky hands.
‘The snipers!’ Lestrade barks at him, trying to pull away.
John takes the vest and the jacket completely off and throws them across the room.
‘It’s fine,’ Moriarty says resigned, ‘It didn’t really work anyway, I had to use Lestrade.’
‘This ends, I’m sick of it,’ John addresses Moriarty.
Sherlock looks between the two and a stone falls in the pit of his stomach.
‘I couldn’t agree more,’ Moriarty says happily, ‘Now step aside I’m going to kill your friend John.’
‘You’re not. You’re just going to leave. No more puzzles, no more.’ John says as he takes the gun from his waistband.
Little red lights appear on his chest but their waived off by Moriarty.
‘You’re not going to shoot me John,’ Moriarty smiles.
John raises his gun so it’s over Moriarty’s heart, ‘You’re not killing them.’
‘John, it’s going to be alright, just come here,’ Moriarty stretches his arm out in front of him and wiggles his fingers, ‘We’ll leave here together.’
John doesn’t know he’s crying until a cool burst of air turns the tear tracks on his cheeks cold, ‘You’re still going to kill them aren’t you?’
Moriarty’s voice is soothing, ‘Of course I am John. Are you going to stay and watch your friends die, or come with me? I promise my snipers will all aim for the head, they’ll feel no pain. Now what’s your answer?’
John catches sight of the bomb vest still on the ground a couple of meters from Moriarty. He looks from the bomb to the outstretched hand.
He had never been a good man, and now he knows he never will be.
That’s his answer.
Author: laurieisme (aka revolution25)
Fandom: BBC Sherlock 2010
Spoilers: TGG, but not the end, the end is different in this fic.
Rating: R for subject matter.
Warning: A little bit of violence towards animals, some swearing, and some violence toward people.
Summary: John has never been a good man.
Author’s Note: Not beta-ed or brit-picked. There's going to be more to this, but it can stand on it's own.
It’s always been the three of them.
When John’s mum left it was in the middle of the night; John still blames himself for not waking up, for not hearing her leave.
He’s such a light sleeper, in the Army everyone wants to know how after thirty-six hours of not sleeping the slightest noise will still wake him up.
He lies.
His dad was always there, always did the right thing no matter what. John tries to be like his father, but it’s always been an unattainable goal. He wonders sometimes, when he’s lying in bed after not sleeping for several hours, what Sherlock would think if he knew. If Sherlock knew that John had all the appearance of goodness, but in reality he was just as far away from it as Sherlock was.
*
It’s a year after their mother left their house in Ireland when he finds it. It’s sitting there on the kitchen table, his father’s there smiling sadly. A gift his mother dropped off. Only one, only for him. Harry doesn’t get a present because Harry is not her daughter. She gave birth to her, but every time Harry did something wrong their mum would look her in the eye and say she wasn’t her mistake.
John sees the present and he’s just reminded of how much he wants to break their mum, break her like she broke Harry.
He looks over to his father and remembers, good people don’t think that way. His father doesn’t think that way.
‘You don’t have to open it, but your mother wanted you to have it. If you need me I’ll be here for you John.’
It’s what a good man would say, so his father does, but he never could if the roles were reversed. He sees the great distance between himself and his father, between what he wants to be and what he is.
It seems immeasurable.
*
When he gets back home from Afghanistan the first thing he has to do is pick up Harry from a bar before she gets arrested.
He carries her to a taxi and in his ear she keeps breathing, ‘you remember the mice John? The poor fucking mice…. The mice…’
*
When they moved to Ireland Harry is sleeping in the back seat, John between his mum and dad. His dad gets back in the car from filling it with petrol and John falls asleep against his arm.
He smells wet woollen jumper all the way to their new home.
*
DI Lestrade comes by with a case for Sherlock. He has to sit on the coffee table because the scull is in the chair.
Mrs. Hudson comes up with a package for John; he quickly takes it in the kitchen to get a knife to open it.
Lestrade is trying to show Sherlock some crime scene photos when John breaks a glass on the counter and screams, ‘Fucking bastard!’
The whole room is silent while john grips the back of a chair, blood dripping from his left hand.
Lestrade is about to get up to help him but Sherlock stops him with a hand on his arm, pulling him back down.
John grabs a towel and walks out the door. By the time he’s on the street Sherlock can see him rapping his hand with the towel.
‘Does he do that often?’ Lestrade asks as Sherlock stands up and walks to the kitchen.
‘Never,’ Sherlock looks at the address and sees Harry’s drunken scribble. Inside there is no note, only a gift that looks to be quite old and unopened.
*
When John leaves for med school his dad helps him pack up his room, trying to decide what goes with him and what stays.
His father finds the gift under his bed and asks if he still hasn’t opened it even though the answer is obvious.
John shakes his head no and tries to continue to pack but his father stops him.
‘I think you should John. I think when you open it; you’ll see it’s just a gift. Leaving it like this, it’ll become a part of who you are.’
‘I’m not-‘ he cuts himself off, and turns to leave, to escape from all of this.
His father’s warm hand between his shoulder blades stops him. He never remembers his father’s hands being anything but warm.
‘I’ll be here when you are ready.’
*
John doesn’t like to wait here. It feels like a power play, as if it’s not busy, but he has to wait like everyone else.
He hates being treated like everyone else, because he sees that he really has always meant nothing.
He lies to himself, he’s important. He has to be or else what he’s done… all of the horrible things he’s done.
He’s not a good man; he doubts he ever will be.
‘He’ll see you now,’ the woman behind the desk gives him a fake smile.
He gingerly gets up; the towel in his left hand is now almost completely soaked in blood.
He shouldn’t have come here, but he couldn’t stop himself. Never could.
*
Harry is crying at the other side of the table, a bottle of gin in her hand, their father is at the doorway looking at John like he’s disappointed.
John looks down in front of him. Two mice are cut open, a y-incision showing all of their internal organs into the bright desk light.
They’re alive.
He takes the knife that’s on his right into his left hand and in one quick movement severs their heads completely.
‘We’re going to go see a doctor, okay?’ His father’s voice is calm, even loving.
He’ll never be a good man like his father. Never.
*
‘Don’t make people into heroes John, heroes don’t exist, and if they did I wouldn’t be one of them.’
John hangs his head, all he can think is please don’t say that, if it’s true than it’s me. It’s always been me. I’m the reason so many people died. I’m the reason that blind woman and all those others are dead. I’ll do anything, just say that you care that a human being is dead, say that it means something.
*
He comes out from the men’s locker room and he can hear laughing, a lot of boys laughing. He turns his head to the shallow end to see a boy laughing and pointing.
He wants to smash his fucking face into the tile. He doesn’t, but good people don’t have those thoughts.
*
‘Is the gift from your father?’ Sherlock is watching crap telly and John is trying to make himself some toast.
‘Don’t.’
‘It’s obviously a parent, and when you said that your father was dead you didn’t want to talk about it, so it’s a sensitive subject, and the only reason you wouldn’t open a gift from a parent-‘
‘Sherlock if you don’t leave it I swear to you I will leave and not come back. You can deduce anything else about me, you can stare at me for hours like you always do, but you are not allowed this. I get to have one thing. One thing, Sherlock! Do you hear me?’
Sherlock doesn’t say another word which is as good a response John is ever going to get. John tries to let out the breath he was holding and stop his heart from beating out of his chest.
A good man would never get this mad.
*
A year after his father dies John is in a department store looking for a gift for Harry and Clara. He passes by a mannequin and stops dead in his tracks.
It’s an oatmeal coloured jumper exactly like one of the many his father always wore. He reaches out to touch it, to make sure it’s not a mirage but pulls his hand back, scared that it will go away.
‘Can I help you?’ the sales girl asks.
‘I’ll take it,’ is the only thing his mouth can manage.
A year later he’s in an on-call room next to the A & E and he takes it out of the shopping back and finally puts it on. The nurse has to call his name five times before he wakes up.
*
There’s a new plant in the waiting room. John wonders if it’s poisonous. Another man is sitting on the other couch, hat and coat next to him as he fumbles with the locks of his briefcase.
‘You can go in Doctor Watson,’ the receptionist gives him a fake smile.
‘Excuse me,’ the man stops him from getting up, then addresses the receptionist, ‘I had an appointment thirty minutes ago, I’ve been waiting here for forty-five minutes. This man came in not five minutes ago; I really must insist that I be seen.’
‘You will be seen but Doctor Watson is more important than you are.’
John gets up and leaves before he can hear more of the conversation with a small smile on his face.
*
John gets made fun of when he visits back home, wearing a jumper very much like one their dad would wear.
Even Clara laughs, even though she’s only seen their father in pictures.
Black eyes set on his and a hand covers his own and gently squeezes, ‘It suits you John.’
John smiles but he can’t help but think it’s a hollow representation, he may look like their dad but on the inside he is so different it burns.
*
Leaving Sherlock to his crap telly John steps outside into the cold air, he’s glad the bombings stopped, he really couldn’t take much more of it.
He makes a right and then a left turn before he feels it.
It’s like someone’s watching him. He stops and lets out a deep breath, Mycroft is making him paranoid.
*
Dark eyes and dark hair are running ahead of him, he calls after them, ‘You can’t go too far!’
‘Frogs!’ is the enthusiastic reply he gets.
He laughs and puts his hand out in front of him, wiggling his fingers.
A little hand goes into his and he can’t help but smile at how unbelievably warm it is.
*
John waits for Sarah to get ready. She says he can turn the telly on but he decides to check the update to Science of Deduction.
His heart skips a beat and he has to re-read what Sherlock has posted four times before he jumps off the couch and leaves Sarah’s flat without saying a word.
*
They all sit down in the living room after dinner. A small hand clicks the buttons on the telly to their favourite channel.
Their father sits in the arm chair next to Harry on the couch, and the house turns quiet except for the sounds of the telly. John always likes this, the quiet times they spend together. When Harry forgets to rebel against nothing and everything is just calm, like this was always how their family was supposed to be and no one feels a missing piece at all.
‘Poor boy,’ his father says.
It brings John’s attention back to the telly, the story on the news says a boy died. John doesn’t feel anything, but he knows he should.
A black head of hair turns and black eyes look at him. He looks back and suddenly he knows. He wants to hyperventilate but he keeps his breath calm and steady.
He doesn’t say anything. A good man would.
*
He’s breathless when he arrives at the pool.
Sherlock has his gun pointing at Moriarty. In the middle of them Lestrade is wearing a bomb vest breathing just as heavily as John.
‘Give me the gun,’ John says unable to catch his breath.
‘John what are you-‘ Sherlock is quiet almost unable to be heard, he can’t believe John is here.
‘The gun Sherlock,’ John stretches out his hand and motions for Sherlock to give it to him.
Sherlock, for all his mental capabilities isn’t using them, but he does hand over the gun.
John puts it in his waistband and turns to Lestrade next, The catches of the vest are hard to get undone with his shaky hands.
‘The snipers!’ Lestrade barks at him, trying to pull away.
John takes the vest and the jacket completely off and throws them across the room.
‘It’s fine,’ Moriarty says resigned, ‘It didn’t really work anyway, I had to use Lestrade.’
‘This ends, I’m sick of it,’ John addresses Moriarty.
Sherlock looks between the two and a stone falls in the pit of his stomach.
‘I couldn’t agree more,’ Moriarty says happily, ‘Now step aside I’m going to kill your friend John.’
‘You’re not. You’re just going to leave. No more puzzles, no more.’ John says as he takes the gun from his waistband.
Little red lights appear on his chest but their waived off by Moriarty.
‘You’re not going to shoot me John,’ Moriarty smiles.
John raises his gun so it’s over Moriarty’s heart, ‘You’re not killing them.’
‘John, it’s going to be alright, just come here,’ Moriarty stretches his arm out in front of him and wiggles his fingers, ‘We’ll leave here together.’
John doesn’t know he’s crying until a cool burst of air turns the tear tracks on his cheeks cold, ‘You’re still going to kill them aren’t you?’
Moriarty’s voice is soothing, ‘Of course I am John. Are you going to stay and watch your friends die, or come with me? I promise my snipers will all aim for the head, they’ll feel no pain. Now what’s your answer?’
John catches sight of the bomb vest still on the ground a couple of meters from Moriarty. He looks from the bomb to the outstretched hand.
He had never been a good man, and now he knows he never will be.
That’s his answer.