MOAR ANGST 2:5deducing_freakOctober 14 2011, 07:02:06 UTC
[It had been a little longer then a year. It was one year, three months, two weeks, and five days... to be more precise. Not that the detective was keeping track. Why should he? It was his decision to leave London entirely and flee to Marrakech. Sherlock was good when it came to dropping completely off the radar, not even his brother was able to track him down. It wasn't like he left much of a clue when he had suddenly gone missing. There was only a note, tacked to the wall with a knife.]
[ Sherlock wasn't the easiest person to really get to know, but John had thought he'd at least figured him out just a little bit. He certainly thought he knew the detective better than this. Maybe if they hadn't been flatmates, his reaction might have been different. Perhaps if they had only been partners, he might have gotten over it eventually. But he had gone and fallen in love with that insufferable man, so finding that note was the heaviest, lowest blow he could possibly receive. And he was stubborn - he'd gone to Mycroft, practically beaten his door down, but the other man was genuinely as lost and confused as he was. Oh, he was better at hiding it, and he didn't seem completely surprised, but it was clear he didn't know his brother's whereabouts. Still, John searched, but it was an impossible hunt and Lestrade was the one who finally convinced him to stop.
Days went by, then weeks, and eventually months, and still John held onto the hope that Sherlock would show up as if he had never been gone. Although the doctor could not
( ... )
[It was raining that evening when a cab pulled up in front of 221 B Baker Street. The passenger inside wasn't at all hesitant when stepping out, but instead of rushing right in he only stood at the front door and then stared up at the familiar building. Nothing looked like it had changed, so there was no doubt that his key would still work the lock without giving him much trouble. The door opened slowly as the dark haired man stepped in from the rain. He was still clutching onto the small duffel bag as he headed up the stairs. Though once he started to get closer to the top, his steps began to eventually slow down some till the detective finally just came to a stop right outside the open doorway. That was when the hesitation struck him. He'd only linger there, staring into the main room from the shelter of the door frame, little did he realize his fingers had slipped and the bag was holding fell to the floor.]
John is kinda pissy at you and Sherlock for this, just so you know.mightbebloggingOctober 14 2011, 22:36:06 UTC
[ It was just another evening for John. He'd worked an earlier shift, and had returned home a while ago. Not that there was anything to rush home to, of course. Another meal alone. As she had many times before, Sarah offered to take him out, or come over for the company. They were still friends, which was nice, he supposed, but again, he had politely declined. Mrs. Hudson knew better than to push the doctor, and after an earlier greeting when he'd returned home, she'd left him to his solitude.
He wasn't actually in the main room when his 'visitor' arrived, instead in the kitchen, fixing some tea. For one. But his voice could be heard, because he was on the phone. ]
Harry, I'm fine, would you stop mother henning me already?
[ When he stepped into the main room, he would look noticeably different - thinner, perhaps, with more gray flecked in his longish, somewhat shaggy hair. Stress had also brought a bit of lining to his face, and although he would still look boyish if he were to smile, that didn't come very often these days. And
( ... )
He'll have to get over it :D *loves on*deducing_freakOctober 15 2011, 00:14:53 UTC
[It was the sound of the doctor's voice that first caught his attention. He hadn't heard that voice in so long. It sounded tired, which seemed to match with his worn appearance. Sherlock, however, didn't seem to age much at all. His hair was a bit longer though as it was barely touching his shoulders, and there was darkened evidence under his eyes to prove he hadn't been sleeping nearly at all. The detective's eyes focused on to the other man and he could almost feel his heart stop for that brief moment. Sherlock had attempted to say something, his lips parted in order to form words but nothing came from them. Now finally remembering to take a breath and start his heart back up again. The taller man stepped across the room quickly and without any warning he'd wrap his arms around the doctor tightly. His body was shaking all over but that may be blamed on the cold and the rain or simply just something else entirely.]
SO many tags. But I love this angst, had to get this one first.mightbebloggingOctober 15 2011, 01:49:22 UTC
[ John could hardly register the fact that Sherlock was, indeed, there, much less any changes in his appearance. There was nothing he could think to say in that moment. He really wasn't think much at all. It was probably a good thing that the detective strode forward to take him into his arms, because it was around that moment that his knees started to buckle and give out beneath him. He leaned into that embrace with a gasp, closing his eyes as he took in that familiar smell that was his Sherlock. Still, after all this time, it returned to him - and he realized, all over again, just how much he had really missed this man. His own body shook with the others', but he didn't move to wrap his own arms around him. It wasn't until the corners of his eyes were wet with tears that something finally snapped within him, and he came alive again
( ... )
angst is just so much fun with these twodeducing_freakOctober 15 2011, 02:05:40 UTC
[That moment there, actually being able to hold John again, something he had taken for granted so long, it didn't last nearly as long as Sherlock had wanted it to. But those few short minutes was enough to cure his longing. It wasn't until he felt a sharp blow that forced the two of them apart that the detective had to fall back into reality again. The push had caught him somewhat off guard and he had to take a step back in order to steady his balance. The look on the doctor's face was something unlike anything Sherlock had ever come to witness before. The man was positively livid, but not without good reason, and he could not deny it. And an apology was simply out of the question. Again Sherlock would try to speak up for himself again, only to lose the words the moment they reached the tip of his tongue, and the man remained ever silent.]
That Sherlock icon. Gah. I just want to give him a hug.mightbebloggingOctober 15 2011, 02:28:26 UTC
[ The fact that Sherlock didn't even try to apologize, or fight back, or just do anything only fueled the doctor's anger even more. Didn't the man know what he had done? How could he just stand there? It wasn't fair... and John intended on letting him know that. It was as if the floodgates had opened, and everything he'd kept bottled up just came pouring out. He probably couldn't stop himself if he tried. Damn straight he was angry. ]
You think you can just waltz back into my life as if nothing ever happened? As if you didn't just leave me with a stupid little note and nothing else? No goodbye, no explanation, like the bloody coward you are, hm? [ John pushed him again, as if the initial shove hadn't been enough. Yes. He was very upset. ] Is that it, then?
[ His voice was fiercely low, but it still broke. ] You...don't... deserve that right.
sad Sherlock is sad D:deducing_freakOctober 15 2011, 02:38:47 UTC
[There really wasn't much of anything that he could say. He had no defense in the matter at all. Leaving was his own decision and he knew what he'd be coming back to. Though Sherlock wasn't quite prepared for the verbal assault that John was currently unleashing upon him right now. He kept quiet and still, even when the doctor pushed hm again, it was enough to cause him to take another short step backwards.]
I...
[For the moment, that was the only vowel he could muster. Sherlock would cast his eyes downward and looked away, not really focusing on anything in particular really but he couldn't take seeing John glaring at him in such a rage.]
[ It would have been a rare moment for the old Sherlock and John. The detective didn't normally cower before anyone, much less the doctor. But if words could really hurt, it would be from someone you cared about. Right now, John isn't feeling satisfied with his long-lost flatmate's words of excuse. He actually smirks dryly, but he is absolutely humorless. ]
Oh, right. Of course. You had to figure something out. I hope you bloody well cured world hunger and bought everyone a fucking puppy for taking over a year to figure something out!
[ And oh, he doesn't try to stop the tears. What's the point anymore? ]
[He deserved that. Sherlock deserved every last venomous word that came from John's lips and pierced his ears. Even now, he couldn't think to actually look him in the eye. What he did was absolutely unforgivable. Sherlock knew this because he still couldn't forgive himself for doing what he had thought was necessary.]
It was something much more important then that..
[Naturally, the ever stoic detective had mastered the skill of keeping his emotions hidden from view. Only John was permitted to see his weaker and more vulnerable sides. Now was not an exception to that. Sherlock would slowly lift his chin up some, feeling that dreaded shaking start up again but he managed to not let it take full control.]
Everything had started to become routine... too commonplace... it was, well it was boring. I couldn't handle it. Everything was so... just so domestic. I wasn't myself anymore..
[ Although John might have felt just the very slightest bit of guilt and pity for the man, it didn't last very long. After all, he'd been gone for over a year. Do you know how much can happen in a year, how much people can change in a year? Sherlock's words certainly don't help the matter. Of course the doctor takes it the wrong way, or at least the way he think its meant to sound. His anger intensifies with a deep pain he hadn't felt in some time. Oh, he'd never stopped missing him, not really, but after a while, the pain had numbed him. This was the most intense emotions he'd felt in a long time, since the detective had first left. ]
Boring? Christ, Sherlock... is that what you thought of me, of us? Of what we had? You couldn't stand it so much that you had to leave, had to go and find yourself somewhere else?
[ John is a strong man, but he can't take it anymore. Sherlock might as well have punched him in the gut with that verbal blow. He leans heavily against chair for support, trying his damnedest not to fall to the floor on
( ... )
[Emotions never were his strong suit and now was the worst time for that trait to be making itself known. Sherlock can only watch as John is practically falling apart in front of his eyes and the only thing he wants to do right now is to hold onto him again. Never the less, the detective doesn't make any attempt to move from his position. He was already treading on dangerous grounds as it is.]
I only took me about three months before everything had finally become clear. But... I needed to be certain....
[His voice eventually dulls down to a quieter tone. Sherlock lowers his head again, dark hair falling to shadow his face as he speaks more gently in order to hide the tremble in his voice.] There wasn't a single day that went by where I didn't think about you...
[ Its completely frustrating, but part of John also wants to hold onto Sherlock again, if only because his arms had longed for it for so long. But right now, his hurt and anger are stronger than anything else. He just can't give in and trust this man again, as much as he wants to take him back. He doesn't like seeing Sherlock like this. Broken, defeated, shamed. ]
...three months? Is that all?
[ Its those gentle, soft words that he has to strain to hear that really do him in, however. He runs a hand over his face and through his longish, gray-flecked hair... then kicks the chair. Hard. It hurts, but that's good. ]
So it took you a year after those three months to be certain? [ Oh yes, he'd been keeping count, too. ] You thought about me every day, but that wasn't enough to bring you back to me?
[The detective's voice is soft even still, doing his best to maintain his composure, though now would have been the acceptable time to finally let everything show. It was still such a foreign feeling to him and Sherlock found difficulty when expressing himself completely in such intimate situations.]
John... please just answer me this.. [His voice actually shakes when he mentions the other's name but he manages and lifts his head up slowly. It's a daring move but Sherlock finally makes eye contact with the doctor.]
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John~
You can't come with me this time.
I'm sorry.
~SH
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Days went by, then weeks, and eventually months, and still John held onto the hope that Sherlock would show up as if he had never been gone. Although the doctor could not ( ... )
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He wasn't actually in the main room when his 'visitor' arrived, instead in the kitchen, fixing some tea. For one. But his voice could be heard, because he was on the phone. ]
Harry, I'm fine, would you stop mother henning me already?
[ When he stepped into the main room, he would look noticeably different - thinner, perhaps, with more gray flecked in his longish, somewhat shaggy hair. Stress had also brought a bit of lining to his face, and although he would still look boyish if he were to smile, that didn't come very often these days. And ( ... )
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You think you can just waltz back into my life as if nothing ever happened? As if you didn't just leave me with a stupid little note and nothing else? No goodbye, no explanation, like the bloody coward you are, hm? [ John pushed him again, as if the initial shove hadn't been enough. Yes. He was very upset. ] Is that it, then?
[ His voice was fiercely low, but it still broke. ] You...don't... deserve that right.
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I...
[For the moment, that was the only vowel he could muster. Sherlock would cast his eyes downward and looked away, not really focusing on anything in particular really but he couldn't take seeing John glaring at him in such a rage.]
...I had to figure something out.
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Oh, right. Of course. You had to figure something out. I hope you bloody well cured world hunger and bought everyone a fucking puppy for taking over a year to figure something out!
[ And oh, he doesn't try to stop the tears. What's the point anymore? ]
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It was something much more important then that..
[Naturally, the ever stoic detective had mastered the skill of keeping his emotions hidden from view. Only John was permitted to see his weaker and more vulnerable sides. Now was not an exception to that. Sherlock would slowly lift his chin up some, feeling that dreaded shaking start up again but he managed to not let it take full control.]
Everything had started to become routine... too commonplace... it was, well it was boring. I couldn't handle it. Everything was so... just so domestic. I wasn't myself anymore..
..I needed answers.
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Boring? Christ, Sherlock... is that what you thought of me, of us? Of what we had? You couldn't stand it so much that you had to leave, had to go and find yourself somewhere else?
[ John is a strong man, but he can't take it anymore. Sherlock might as well have punched him in the gut with that verbal blow. He leans heavily against chair for support, trying his damnedest not to fall to the floor on ( ... )
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[Emotions never were his strong suit and now was the worst time for that trait to be making itself known. Sherlock can only watch as John is practically falling apart in front of his eyes and the only thing he wants to do right now is to hold onto him again. Never the less, the detective doesn't make any attempt to move from his position. He was already treading on dangerous grounds as it is.]
I only took me about three months before everything had finally become clear. But... I needed to be certain....
[His voice eventually dulls down to a quieter tone. Sherlock lowers his head again, dark hair falling to shadow his face as he speaks more gently in order to hide the tremble in his voice.] There wasn't a single day that went by where I didn't think about you...
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...three months? Is that all?
[ Its those gentle, soft words that he has to strain to hear that really do him in, however. He runs a hand over his face and through his longish, gray-flecked hair... then kicks the chair. Hard. It hurts, but that's good. ]
So it took you a year after those three months to be certain? [ Oh yes, he'd been keeping count, too. ] You thought about me every day, but that wasn't enough to bring you back to me?
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[The detective's voice is soft even still, doing his best to maintain his composure, though now would have been the acceptable time to finally let everything show. It was still such a foreign feeling to him and Sherlock found difficulty when expressing himself completely in such intimate situations.]
John... please just answer me this.. [His voice actually shakes when he mentions the other's name but he manages and lifts his head up slowly. It's a daring move but Sherlock finally makes eye contact with the doctor.]
....how long did it take before you gave up..?
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