The things that happen in a years time... *Sighs wistfully*
The possibilities are endless! They can watch shows they never had time for! Eat all the left-behind food! Go Skinny Dipping! Worry about keeping Sherlock entertained! Being slightly immortal during this time frame?
So, someone got inspired and sat down for six hours to write like a madman until this was out. I went with a slightly ”The World Without Us” kind of idea, except there wasn't much about London, so I ended up winging most of it. I hope this fits what you had in mind, OP!
i.
John's first thought after waking up is that he's still dreaming. The silence permeating the room is almost unearthly; no hum of traffic from outside, no broken murmurs of conversation or sounds of television bleeding through the walls from next door. Just silence and his own breathing, so he closes his eyes and tries waking up again.
After a while it occurs to him that he's as awake as he's going to be, and that a silent house with one Sherlock Holmes in it is rarely a good thing, so he gets up and heads downstairs.
The man in question is sitting in the living room with both their laptops open and muttering something about data, can't have data without network while the buzz of static from the television fills the background. John gets himself a cup of tea (
( ... )
They stay in London after that, for reasons neither of them can quite explain. Maybe it's the instinct of a lost child - if you lose your way, just sit still and stay where you are, and someone will come and find you.The last of the gas runs out near the end of the first month, and soon after that the electricity finally cuts off. Their laptops and phones, useless and without connection though they were, use up their batteries and fall dark and silent, and Sherlock sits with their remnants on the sofa as if in mourning
( ... )
Sometimes Sherlock hears John crying in the night; quiet, shuddering sobs that travel through his whole body.
I had a dream I woke up and you were gone too, John moans before Sherlock can say I know, because he has seen it too, has felt the same bone-deep fear and panic and cold cold loneliness of the dreams.
Don't ever go away. I promise. Double promise. I promise. Triple promise. I promise.
They lie together, finding comfort in their shared heat, and fill their cocoon of blankets with promises.
viii.
Sherlock has dedicated a corner of the room for gathering data. It's a process he started on the very first week, when they still had electricity, but after the first month or so the progress began to dwindle, and now he adds bits of memory to it only to later erase them, deeming them inaccurate, and rearranges the pieces around.
Do you remember, John, the exact shape of her brooch? I'm sure if I only could-- How about the way he looked at his watch, the motions of his wrist? It could be important.And so on. He's determined
( ... )
“No.” John sets his foot down. “You're not breaking into Buckingham Palace.”
The Palace Garden is starting to resemble more a moor than a real garden with the grass reaching halfway up his shin. In the periphery John can see a wary family of foxes lurking about, and in his immediate vicinity he can see Sherlock trying to frown and pout at the same time, a rather unbecoming expression to be honest.
“Why not?” he asks. “The alarms aren't working.”
“Not the point.” John can't believe he's arguing about this. “You just... don't.”
Sherlock stares at him, tilts his head, narrows his eyes just so, then gives a self-satisfied twist of his lips. “Ah, yes, you. Always for the Queen and country,” he murmurs.
“No Queen,” John says, without realising. “Not any more.” And again it hits him, that everyone, everyone, is just gone. Doesn't matter if you're a cabbie or a minister or the Queen, all gone just the same
( ... )
Re: FILL 4/4
anonymous
April 22 2011, 19:48:51 UTC
OOH I really enjoyed this! I love the style, the little vignettes of small, quiet moments between them and the sense of stillness. And I like that their missing year wasn't explained in the end!
They go out further and though they find some life - birds, insects, roaming sheep and ponies - they find no more people.
The world stays like that for a year, just him and Sherlock. And then he wakes up to the roar of life again.
John/Sherlock, preferably.
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The possibilities are endless! They can watch shows they never had time for! Eat all the left-behind food! Go Skinny Dipping! Worry about keeping Sherlock entertained! Being slightly immortal during this time frame?
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You got me.
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(That said, anon, would you mind if i stole this idea for a piece of original fiction?)
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Really hoping for someone to fill this! It could be really pretty. Kinda sad, but pretty.
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i.
John's first thought after waking up is that he's still dreaming. The silence permeating the room is almost unearthly; no hum of traffic from outside, no broken murmurs of conversation or sounds of television bleeding through the walls from next door. Just silence and his own breathing, so he closes his eyes and tries waking up again.
After a while it occurs to him that he's as awake as he's going to be, and that a silent house with one Sherlock Holmes in it is rarely a good thing, so he gets up and heads downstairs.
The man in question is sitting in the living room with both their laptops open and muttering something about data, can't have data without network while the buzz of static from the television fills the background. John gets himself a cup of tea ( ( ... )
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They stay in London after that, for reasons neither of them can quite explain. Maybe it's the instinct of a lost child - if you lose your way, just sit still and stay where you are, and someone will come and find you.The last of the gas runs out near the end of the first month, and soon after that the electricity finally cuts off. Their laptops and phones, useless and without connection though they were, use up their batteries and fall dark and silent, and Sherlock sits with their remnants on the sofa as if in mourning ( ... )
Reply
Sometimes Sherlock hears John crying in the night; quiet, shuddering sobs that travel through his whole body.
I had a dream I woke up and you were gone too, John moans before Sherlock can say I know, because he has seen it too, has felt the same bone-deep fear and panic and cold cold loneliness of the dreams.
Don't ever go away.
I promise.
Double promise.
I promise.
Triple promise.
I promise.
They lie together, finding comfort in their shared heat, and fill their cocoon of blankets with promises.
viii.
Sherlock has dedicated a corner of the room for gathering data. It's a process he started on the very first week, when they still had electricity, but after the first month or so the progress began to dwindle, and now he adds bits of memory to it only to later erase them, deeming them inaccurate, and rearranges the pieces around.
Do you remember, John, the exact shape of her brooch? I'm sure if I only could-- How about the way he looked at his watch, the motions of his wrist? It could be important.And so on. He's determined ( ... )
Reply
“No.” John sets his foot down. “You're not breaking into Buckingham Palace.”
The Palace Garden is starting to resemble more a moor than a real garden with the grass reaching halfway up his shin. In the periphery John can see a wary family of foxes lurking about, and in his immediate vicinity he can see Sherlock trying to frown and pout at the same time, a rather unbecoming expression to be honest.
“Why not?” he asks. “The alarms aren't working.”
“Not the point.” John can't believe he's arguing about this. “You just... don't.”
Sherlock stares at him, tilts his head, narrows his eyes just so, then gives a self-satisfied twist of his lips. “Ah, yes, you. Always for the Queen and country,” he murmurs.
“No Queen,” John says, without realising. “Not any more.” And again it hits him, that everyone, everyone, is just gone. Doesn't matter if you're a cabbie or a minister or the Queen, all gone just the same ( ... )
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You're a genius, the little bubble you created for them is just... wow.
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