Chapter Text
Sherlock was rather surprised at his awakening one crisp, early Thursday morning. He was positive it was Thursday, he couldn't forget such an awakening. A text, bright and early from John Watson. He had kept his friend as a contact out of morbid hope that he would soon return to see he friend and normality would set in. Of course, he knew it would never happen.
'My therapist said I should text you. I’m not even sure what to say. I feel so stupid, texting a dead man. It’s not like I can bring you back. -JW' his eyes scanned multiple times over the text, smiling a bit at it. John had been thinking the same foolish thought that had been running through his own mind. Some how, one of them could manage to bring them together for good. Though, he knew better and never kept the hopeful thought present for too long. He wasn't going to respond to the text, either. Rather, he couldn't. The phone was placed back on his night stand, and he stood to get changed into clothes for running errands. Seconds later, he heard the phone buzz loudly across the table. He awkwardly pulled out of his half removed shirt, and checked the phone.
'You’d probably call me an idiot. -JW' he allowed himself to give a short laugh to that one. He did in fact think it was rather stupid. It was pointless to dwell on the past and hope for a future that would never happen. Still, he felt an appreciation for his silly effort. He gripped the phone in both hands and typed out a response.
'Better then to sulk about it and ruin your day - SH' he nearly pressed the send button on his phone, swallowing as his mouth grew dry. He drafted the response and placed the phone down once again.
The day started off slow, and incredibly tedious as most days were. The first thing he had on his mental to do list, pick up food for the week. The money he was getting for rent and errands, was from Lestrade, Molly and Mrs.Hudson. It was near impossible for him to get a full working job. Too much of a risk of being noticed. He out stretched his hand to grab a can of soup, when he felt his phone buzz again. His curiosity got the best of him, and he decided to check the massage before grabbing the can.
'Lestrade’s wearing his wedding ring again; they must’ve gotten back together. -JW' Sherlock had heard about that. It wasn't going to last though, that he knew. It never would. He took the can quickly, feeling the phone buzz again seconds later.
'You’d say that was obvious, wouldn’t you? -JW' he scrunched his nose and decided on writing another response to the message.
'Sorry to disappoint you, but I've already heard about that. Won't last. - SH' he drafted the message and pocketed his phone, taking his food to the check out. He wasn't expecting another text for a while, but surprisingly he received another right after placing down his last item to be scanned.
'I miss you. -JW' he felt his mouth twist into an awkward smile and he squeezed his eyes shut, breathing in deeply and handing a fifty pound note to the cashier. He couldn't bring himself to respond to that message, no matter how much he wanted to. He felt nearly irritated as another text caused his phone to buzz.
'We’re out of milk. -JW' his brows dropped with confusion. Why had he decided to text Sherlock about that? Still, he thought he'd better write a reply.
'Luckily for you, I'm at the shop now. I'll pick some up while I'm here. - SH' he almost felt like sending this one out of sick, twisted humour but instead drafted it like he normally did, picking up his bags and lugging them back to his flat. For the rest of the night he spent dragging his feet around his flat, cooking supper and occasionally watching the news for recent crimes. He'd peer at his unmoving phone, hoping for a text but never received one. Perhaps John had gotten tired of texting someone who would never respond.
The next morning Sherlock awoke with a bitter taste in his mouth. The spark of joy he had received from yesterday had faded during sleep. Still, he kept the texts, but wasn't sure why he bothered. His breakfast was toast and jam, as it usually was. It was simple, but better then nothing. He had been finding it hard to continue eating. The dishes weren't much of a hassle that way. He cleaned off the knife he had used to spread the jam, and heard a faint buzzing from the kitchen table. The knife clattered into the sink as he nearly jumped to read the message, feeling a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
'I’ve started dating a girl named Mary. She’s compassionate, intelligent, and beautiful. You’d hate her. -JW' his expression darkened, feeling a pang of jealousy shoot across his chest. Why should he care? It was good that John was moving on. He deserved happiness beyond Sherlock. John was right, still. He did hate her, with every fibre of his being.
'She sounds dull. - SH' he texted with disdain, drafting the response as the bitter taste returned to his mouth. He had a meeting with Lestrade across town. Even under wraps, he still sometimes called on Sherlock to help with a crime they were puzzled on. They were all rather simple though, to him.
As he suspected, the meeting was short and quick. Another simple crime solved. Before pushing the office door open, he felt two continual buzzes from his phone.
'Saw someone who looked like you in the tube. -JW' his heart skipped a beat, eyes widening. John had been on the tube with him? His grumbling must've preoccupied his mind. 'It wasn’t you. -JW' he gave a quick sigh of relief and began to walk once again, texting with his thumb.
'Don't be so sure. - SH' he chuckled as the message saved to his phone, gripping it tightly in his palm, which had grown sweaty. He looked very different now, he had been told by Lestrade. He was required every three months to die his hair to be ginger, along with a slight haircut. He also wasn't allowed to wear his old clothes. He was forced into baggy sweat pants and plain t shirts. The only defining article of clothing he owned was a long, grey coat. He quite liked it, surprisingly. He wasn't sure anyone else did.
He was sure it was another week that had passed. He was positive John had forgotten about texting him now. Probably too busy making stupid noises with Mary, maybe even planning a proposal. Sherlock must have been the last thing on John's mind. He felt rather abandoned, though scolded himself for not expecting it sooner. While lounging around on his sofa, the buzzing phone nearly made him jump. He stopped himself from getting to excited about it, even after a second text came into his phone that moment.
'Sorry I haven’t texted in a while; I’ve been distracted with Mary. -JW' Just as he thought. Mary. "Is that a good thing? I think it is. -JW" his eyes glazed in annoyance. He didn't like the constant talk of this women, though he supposed it was better then constant topic changing. Before he had a chance to respond, another text alert appeared on his phone. 'I think I’m going to ask her to marry me. -JW' his eyes lowered and he felt his heart drop, ever so slightly. He was right again. Sometimes he hated being right.
'Never thought you would settle down with a girl. Congratulations. - SH' this was a response he didn't even want to save. He deleted it and tossed the phone onto the table beside him.
He didn't expect any more texts from John after that. He was getting married, after all. He didn't have time to be texting a 'dead' man any longer. Even after all the times he had already told himself that, he was sure marriage confirmed that. He was wrong, much to his surprise. Maybe he had some free time before the wedding? He'd received three while taking a nap, and felt bad for not checking them earlier. Not like it mattered.
'Non-Hodgkin’s Lymphoma. Stage 4. She knew. -JW' his jaw nearly dropped. That was something he hadn't been suspecting at all. 'She knew and she didn’t tell me, Sherlock. -JW' he rose a hand to his chest and clenched the baggy fabric, running his tongue over his lips, guilt setting in the pit of his stomach. 'I can’t lose her too. -JW' it took him a moment after reading it to convince himself to write a response, but he did eventually.
'I wish I could be there for you John. The last thing you deserve is to be alone again. - SH' his face was dark as he read his own text, over and over again. He was hesitant, but he saved it in the end.
Now he was expecting an update on her condition. He waited for two days, lounging around the flat and flipping through books he had read multiple times in the past, just waiting for the text. His patience was rewarded the evening of the second day with two texts.
'The funeral’s Wednesday. -JW' unfortunately, he had a feeling that was going to be the outcome after hearing about it. 'I need you. Why aren’t you here when I need you? -JW' he could hop on the tube and see him, but that would be incredibly stupid. Worst decision he could make, yet he found himself considering it.
'I would pay you a visit, if I could. Too caught up in my own problems im afraid. - SH' the messaged automatically drafted. He curled up, feeling horrible about this whole mess. He missed the simple days he lived back at 221b. More or less, he missed being with John.
He got other texts later the same day during his supper. Some plain pasta, which had also been a rather routine meal for him. It was a change from the zero texts he had received some days. In a way, he was glad he had something to ponder over.
'Ella (my therapist, you probably don’t remember her) thinks I’m going to go off the deep end. -JW' that was another thing Sherlock had suspected. As strong as John was, losing his fiancee and friend was a lot after everything else he had to deal with. He prayed that John could hold about a bit longer for him, in some way. 'I’m sorry, Sherlock. -JW' What was there to be sorry about? He had an idea. Something he had turned to himself a while ago. Knowing John, he wouldn't be on it for long though. He wasn't one for drugs.
'One shot and you're done. You could never put such sludge in your veins. - SH' it was more of a demand then a prediction. He was thankful for the auto drafting. It was becoming rather irritating though. Not more then a minute passed and he received yet another message.
'I couldn’t do it. I don’t think I ever could’ve. I miss you. -JW' he hadn't even done a shot. A grin slipped across Sherlock's slender face as pride filled his chest. John wasn't as deep in as he thought he was.
'What did I say? You're too sensible for that. - SH' auto drafted again. He hadn't even lifted his finger.
He forced himself to go for a stroll the next day. Blue, cloudless sky and a nice mood setting all around himself. The park around the corner looked abandoned, so he took a seat on the park bench, crossing his legs up onto it and took a long draw of air, closing his eyes. It was refreshing to be able to worry a little less at times like this. The alert from his phone only brightened his mood.
'I saw Mrs. Hudson today. She told me about when she met you. You were young, twenty-three? Twenty-four? -JW' odd question to be asking, though he was glad he could talk to Mrs.Hudson about him. She was terribly interested on how he had survived the fall, but hadn't told her. She kept his secret from John still. 'What did you look like when you were twenty-three? Was that before or after the drugs? -JW' he'd never really even considered that himself. He was rather grungy, obviously. Horrendously thin and pale. He had sores as well, if he remembered correctly. 'I shouldn’t have waited until now to ask you. Sorry. -JW' a chuckle managed to escape his barely parted lips. Apologizing to a dead man. Then again, he was still texting him as well, and that said something.
'No, don't apologize. It was during the drugs. I looked horrid. You'll never see me in that state again. - SH' that was incredibly true. Never again would he let himself get so sucked into the routine of the drugs. It took over his mind, and he could stand his body betraying him. The message drafted, and before he could put his phone away, the alert showed up again.
'I think I love you. -JW' he felt the phone slide down his palm and drop to his lap, leaning over to rub his flushed face. That was something he never expected. A part of him didn't mind it so much.
'I love you too. - SH' drafted. He wanted to send that one, more then any other. Maybe someday.
The routine of not a text a day returned and he wondered for John's safety. Something might of happened, but he doubted it. Or at least wanted to. Two weeks he scratched off the calender, and only one case in the entire time. He hated it, the sluggish rut he was getting himself into. The next text he received, was one he had been waiting for in a sense.
'Sorry it’s been so long. I saw Lestrade again. The ring’s gone. -JW' even after this long, his prediction had remained correct. Now he only hoped Lestrade wouldn't be enough of a tit to think of getting back together with her.
'What did I tell you? Wouldn't, couldn't last between them. - SH' the auto drafting had him fed up now. He deactivated it after that message. Out of odd sympathy, he travelled across the city to see Lestrade and check up on him. Ask him if he wanted to come over for some tea maybe. He was rejected, saying that would be too risky. He didn't see how, it was just tea. He gave a huff and left the office room, peering at the text displayed on his screen. It must have opened by accident.
'Saw a man in a long coat; thought of you. He was ginger, though. -JW' Sherlock pursed his lips, giving a toothy grin. It had probably been him. He thought he'd seen John, but he wasn't positive.
'Sorry, that was me. - SH' and without thinking, he pressed the send button. It clued into him a second later, as he saw the conformation 'Sent' appear on his screen, and he could have sworn his heart stopped.