“Did I ever tell you?” John asked. He laughed, looked down at
his hands. “About what it was like after your—well. After your miraculous
return from the dead?”
John did not know why he had started talking. It was something about
Sherlock’s face, he thought. There had been something sad and fleeting in his
expression. It had been gone so quickly he could not be sure if it had only
been a trick of the light.
Sherlock glanced at him, his brow furrowed. “My miraculous and
poorly timed return, you mean.”
John shrugged. “I wouldn’t say poorly timed. Poorly executed,
perhaps.”
Sherlock’s lip twitched. He made an amused sound. His face was sharp
and deeply shadowed under the streetlamps.
"I barely slept that night, you know.“
"Mm,” Sherlock said. He looked away, his lips pursed
thoughtfully. “Neither did I.”
"I was angry.“
"I know.”
"I was also absurdly happy.“
Sherlock blinked. Shook his head. Blinked again. He looked at John for
a moment, then away.
Something lurched sickly in John’s stomach at the expression on his
face.
"I was under the impression that you didn’t wish to continue our
association,” Sherlock said. He seemed to be choosing his words carefully.
He pressed his hands together, rested them against his mouth. He did not look
back at John.
"Yes, well, you caught the angry part. Not the happy part.“
"Ah.”
"I wanted you not to be dead.“
"So you’ve said,” Sherlock agreed mildly. He went on staring off
into the distance.
"So that next day. The whole day. I was—" John laughed, a
little self-consciously, scratched at the back of his neck. “I was waiting
for you to show up.”
Sherlock was silent.
"The way you always used to do when something came up.
Just—barging in, making a scene. Dragging me off somewhere.“
"You—” Sherlock’s voice was uncertain. “You’d made it
quite clear that—”
"I know what I said,“ John said. “But I also—well. I
guess I wasn’t expecting you to actually listen.”
"You wanted me to show up,“ Sherlock said. Flat,
disbelieving.
"I expected you to.”
"But—”
"Sherlock,“ John said.
Sherlock stopped speaking. Turned to look at John, his face expectant.
Patient.
John shifted where he stood, looked down at his hands. “I am,
apparently, utter shit at letting you know what you—how important you—”
He stopped, pressed his knuckles against his mouth. Even now, he
couldn’t seem to say it. Even now, he couldn’t do it properly.
I thought I was in love with you, once, he
thought, squeezing his eyes shut. Maybe I was. Maybe I still am. And
I would have followed you anywhere.
"You’re always right,“ he said, instead.
Sherlock looked over at him, surprised.
John shook his head, held up a hand. “Just hear me out. You’re not
right about everything, Christ, sometimes you’re the biggest idiot I know. But
when it comes to me, Sherlock, when it’s me—you are. Always. Always right.”
"What are you—”
"You reach out,“ he said. “To me. Over and over and over again. You never let me alone. Even when I beg you
to.”
"You hate it when I do that.“
"No,” John said, and his voice emerged thick, choked. “I
really, really don’t.”
Sherlock’s face had shifted back into that careful blankness, that
devastatingly still expression that John had come to learn meant he was terrified.
I know that this is—this is a shit thing to lay at your feet, Sherlock.
It’s stupid. If I want—” he paused. Pushed on. “If I want something
from you, I should just say it. But I can’t. Do you understand? I can’t. And left to my own devices, I keep on making the
wrong choices. Over and over again.”
"I can’t tell you what to do,“ Sherlock said slowly. He had
drawn back into himself. He looked tense, coiled, ready to flee.
"That’s not what I—” John shook his head. “I don’t want
you to tell me what to do. I just want—just—don’t fade away, Sherlock. Don’t
politely excuse yourself from my life. Because I’m afraid that I’ll let
you.”
Sherlock stared.
"I don’t want that,“ John said, and his voice had gone so quiet
he could barely hear himself. “I’ve tried that, and it’s not—it’s not
good. For me.”
Sherlock nodded, and then stilled. He pressed his lips down into a hard
line. Tucked his chin. He seemed at war with himself.
After a moment, he lifted his head, looked steadily at John. “Stop
telling me to leave.”
John’s breath caught. Their eyes held.
"John, I realize that my—vows are worthless to you,“ Sherlock
said. "But please believe me when I tell
you that I will always want—I will always want you by my side.”
John rubbed at the bridge of his nose. His face had gone hot again, the
blood roaring in his ears.
"But I can’t—I don’t know what to do. You’re the one who helps
with—” Sherlock stopped, frustrated. He waved an impatient hand in the
air. “You’re the one who does all of this. Feelings. Whatever. And there
are times when it’s quite obvious that you’re saying something you don’t mean,
like when you suggest salads for lunch but you really want Chinese, you only think you want a salad because you’ve stopped cycling to
work and you’re worried—correctly—about putting on weight, but—”
"Sherlock,“ John said, helpless. He did not know whether to start
laughing or shouting. His throat felt tight.
"—But,” Sherlock pressed on. “There are other
times—times when you say things like stay the hell away from
me, or I’d rather have anyone but you, and I
can’t tell—John, I have no idea how to tell if you actually mean that. If it
would be better for you, if I stayed away.”
"No,“ John said. “It wouldn’t.”
"I can’t know that. I can’t know that, John,
don’t you understand how—” Sherlock turned away, his shoulders rising and
falling with his rapid breaths.
John looked at him and thought, oddly, of Sherlock’s face when he’d
asked him to be his best man. That blank, shocked expression. The endless
blinking. The confusion. He’d been stopped cold by the words best
friend.
And no wonder, really. He’d been surprised, even now, to discover that
John had been happy about his return from the dead. All of
this time, had he truly been living with the perception that John had forgiven
him not for the deception, not for the dying, but for surviving? As if turning
up alive had been anything less than a miracle. As if turning up alive was
something he’d need to atone for.
"Christ,“ John said. He moved closer, bumped up against
Sherlock’s shoulder. The night air was chilly against his face. He hesitated
for a moment, and then reached out his hand, twined his fingers through
Sherlock’s.
Sherlock froze, rigid as a statue, unyielding. And then, slowly,
cautiously, he thawed. His fingers slackened, then tightened. A firm squeeze.
"Just—don’t leave,” John said, staring straight ahead. He
could not bring himself to turn, could not bring himself to look Sherlock in
the eye.
Anyway, Tumblr informed me that a teaser trailer for Sherlock Season 3 has been released tonight. Only 25 seconds, but enough to make me ask: “Why is John showing off that majestic moustache?”
I’ve reached that point in fandom where, even though I know this is John Watson, I could very easily see this as a solarpunk AU of Steve Rogers.
There’s a famous quote from Dion Fortune, from one of her novels, that “All the gods are one god, and all the goddesses are one goddess.” Theologically, I don’t agree with that *g*, but I’ve reached that point where I am starting to say, All the blonds are one blond, and all the brunets are one brunet, and there is one pairing, the Man of Thought and the Man of Action. So mote it be.
the horrible terrible irony of John always falling in love with guarded emotionally closed off men so he always gets the impression they don’t return his feelings when they are actually in fact also in love with him
As we all know, Sherlock would be lost without his blogger. That’s why, after one year, they’re finally together. I drew this fanartfor itsloki and her birthday wish this year was to also have a John in the same style.
john has a blog, doesnt know what to write in it, finds his life boring until he meets sherlock. starts writing blog posts about his life with sherlock and the first case they have, a study in pink, john already redacts names from people working on the case, showing us already the difference between what we see in the show and what is presented as an official version of the case
moriarty who already knew about sherlock thanks to his website, gets more infos on sherlock thanks to john’s blog: sherlock already criticizes john’s blog for the way he writes about him (the great game), moriarty uses clues from john’s blog to get sherlock in the game
season 2:
sherlock gets more and more famous thanks to john’s blog: john’s blog become a real part of their jobs and twice in this season someone compliments john on his writing of a particular case: the aluminum crutch, a case about a man killing himself by accident while acting on stage, we also can see already how john distorts reality just by writing about The Woman. we also see more cases that aren’t truly talked about on the show or just referenced, full of subtext and codes. we also get multiple references to what is the truth, who is sherlock who is moriarty, the lie behind reichenbach fall and the destruction of sherlock’s reputation: a big lie wrapped up in truth
season 3:
season 3 starts with the presentation of multiple versions of the same story: the empty hearse gives us three theories about how sherlock survived, what sherlock accepts to tell us about it, we also have mary reading an excerpt of john’s blog that we never have heard before. john’s blog becomes active again, full of longing and again distortions of truth (the stag night???), tsot is about john’s blog and the story of sherlock and john seen through john’s blog and sherlock’s own memories: again we can see the difference between what is written from john’s pov and what sherlock tells us.
the main villain of this season is magnussen, controlling the media, publishing whatever he wants to pursue his own goals. we see how it doesnt matter to him if what he’s published is untrue, just the action of publishing it makes it true for the public.
tab:
john’s blog or should we say watson’s stories are part of the official narrative: sherlock in his drug mind palace is aware that what john’s writing is just an official version of the story, a public persona for sherlock that is not the truth, this episode finally makes a point of telling everyone that john’s blog is not telling the truth: it’s just something sold to the readers/audience
season 4:
finally john’s blog is the show. when before we had the line between reality and fiction, when before we could as the audience tell exactly where was the lie between what john wanted to present as the truth and what he experienced, now we have no idea: the blog has officially announced it wouldn’t be updated anymore (by the BBC) and gave a link to the actual show: the blog tells us that for more content of its nature, we had to watch the show. the promotion for season 4 was all about lie and distortion of the truth, from glitches during the relentless promo videos (an entire month before it premiered): all the videos we got from all the main characters were, in my opinion, a presentation of john’s version of these characters, hence the video glitches for each of them.
Beltainefaerie's Flights of Fancy 