Chapter Text
Sherlock could feel every snowflake as it touched down on his hair. The coldness of the bridge’s steel frame beneath his hands was biting into his skin, just as the water below surely would, once he summoned the courage to fling himself into it. The churning foam-ice of the Thames looked even less appealing than usual, and yet the cold and shock of hitting the black water would surely kill him quicker and with more kindness than many other ways he could think of.
Sherlock took a breath, and put a foot on the framework, heaving himself up. In the distance, church bells were beginning. Christmas Eve. As fine a day as any to do this. What was Christmas but another day of families and loved ones. And Sherlock was none and neither to anyone. No one would miss him. Maybe Mycroft would give him a moment’s thought. But that hardly counted.
Merry Christmas, he thought as the wind caught under his coat.
“I wouldn’t, if I were you.”
Sherlock’s hands slipped on the railing, and he panicked, gripping hard and cursing his body’s failure to simply let himself fall. He looked around.
A small-ish man with greying hair, and what could probably be described as a kind smile, was leaning against the bridge. The snow fell on him like confetti, though Sherlock could see no footprints where the man had walked up. He must have been stood still longer than he thought.
“Go away,” he snapped.
“Shan’t,” the man shrugged, putting his hands in his pockets. He glanced over the side at the iron water of the Thames. “You’d be an idiot to go through with it.”
“With what?”
“Suicide.”
Sherlock thought for a moment, then stepped back onto the walkway, shrugging. “It’s against the law to commit suicide around here.”
“Yes,” the man walked over, “it’s against the law where I come from, too.”
“And where’s that?”
“Heaven.”
Sherlock raised an eyebrow. “I see.”
The man smirked. “You don’t believe me.”
“Obviously. I believe religion is best left to those who enjoy talking to their imaginary friends in public long after it has lost any sort of childish appeal.”
The man shrugged. “That’s ok, you believing in me isn’t part of the deal. Now, are you going to come away from this bridge? I believe if you stay here, you might do something foolish, and unnecessary.”
“Unnecessary?!” Sherlock spat. “You have no idea what’s brought me here, so shut your mouth and fuck off home, why don’t you?”
“Because it’s my job to look after you,” the man shrugged again.
“Look after me?”
“My name was, and I suppose still is, John,” the man held a hand out. “I’m your guardian angel.”
Sherlock ignored the hand. “You’re insane.”
“Afraid not,” John lowered his arm. “I’m here to convince you that you should remain on Earth, Sherlock Holmes.”
Sherlock’s head snapped up. “How’d you know my name?”
“I told you,” John smiled, “I’m your guardian angel. I know everything there is to know about you.”
Sherlock blinked.
“And yes, that does include your internet history,” John rolled his eyes. “You still want to jump into the Thames?”
Sherlock glanced over the side, weighing up. It would be very easy to fling himself in. On the other hand, this mystery man was almost interesting enough to try and unpick. Who believed they were really an angel, unless mad? And this John didn’t seem too mad, aside from every single word he said. And yet, staying alive was just…
“I don’t believe much good will be achieved by me continuing to live,” Sherlock said softly.
“You mustn’t talk like this.”
“Well, I am,” Sherlock brushed a pile of snow onto the ground. “The world does not need Sherlock Holmes. It never has.”
“You’re making my job very difficult, you know.”
“Your job?”
John sighed patiently. “I’m here to convince you to live, Sherlock. If I can do so, I will earn my wings. That is – the ability to come and go, to fly between Heaven and Earth, within reason. At the moment, I am trapped in Heaven, and although it is paradise, it is somewhat restrictive if you have a desire to help people.”
“And you want to help people.”
“It’s what I did when I was alive,” John said.
Sherlock stared.
John shook his head, digging his hands further into his pockets. “You honestly believe killing yourself would make everyone feel better, do you?”
Sherlock sighed. “Perhaps. Or maybe they would be better off had I never been born.”
John’s face lit up. “Oh, now there’s a thing. You think that?”
“I do.”
John clapped his hands together. “Well, then. There we go.”
Sherlock frowned. “What do you mean ‘there we go’?”
“I mean it’s done. The world is changed. William Sherlock Scott Holmes, you were never born.”
Sherlock stared. “What is this? Some sort of hypnotism?”
“Oh, no.”
“Then –” he went in his pocket for his phone, and came up with nothing.
“You don’t have a phone,” John smiled. “You never bought it, because you were never born. I’ve let you keep your clothes on, though. It’s cold.”
“Have you pickpocketed me?” Sherlock snapped.
“Stealing is a sin,” John said seriously.
Sherlock shook his head. “This is ridiculous. I’ve had enough of talking to lunatics. Good night.”
“Good night, Sherlock,” John said brightly. “I’ll see you shortly, I expect.”