4Author's Note: Let's assume that Sherlock is somewhere in England, say, five hours from London.
This is also my first Fanfiction story! Hope you like it. I'm sure this has been done before, but I haven't read any that have this song.
Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock, or characters from the show, nor do I own the song; Need You Now.
Picture perfect memories scattered all around the floor
Reachin' for the phone 'cause I can't fight it anymore
And I wonder if I ever cross your mind
For me it happens all the time
It's a quarter after one, I'm all alone and I need you now
Said I wouldn't call but I lost all control and I need you now
And I don't know how I can do without
I just need you now
Sherlock lay on the couch, hands pressed together in the usual prayer fasion. He tried to concentrate on the case at hand, but it was difficult as memories of John kept interrupting his thoughts. Colonel Moran, fought in Afghanistan- just like John- crack shot- just like John- worked for Moriarty as his right hand man- like a twisted version of John. Sherlock shook his head in frustration. Come on, he could stop thinking about John for five minutes. After five minutes of failure at this task, Sherlock sighed in defeat, and let the memories flood over him. John and him giggling at a crime scene, ignoring the glares from the officers. Running down alleys, chasing after criminals. John's stunned compliments at Sherlock's deductions. His reactions to finding body parts in the fridge, or other kitchen appliances. Sherlock grinned as the voice of his stunned flatmate floated through his memories.
"A severed head?"
"Just tea for me thanks,"
"No, there's a head in the fridge,"
John forcing him to eat and sleep. Sitting on a couch in Buckingham Palace, wrapped only in a sheet, giggling with John. But Sherlock's smile faded as his memories took a more serious turn.
"You MACHI- sod this. Sod this, you stay here, if you want, on your own,"
"Alone is what I have, alone protects me,"
"No, friends protect people,"
The door slammed closed.
The wind pulled at Sherlock's coat, his toes hovering just over the edge.
"No one could be that clever,"
"You could"
"SHERLOCK!"
John's scream ripped through Sherlock's memories, and he jolted upright, groaning. He sat on the couch properly, pushing his face into his hands. His loyal blogger. His loyal friend. He had read his last blog post; He was my best friend and I'll always believe in him. Even with the lie coming from Sherlock's own mouth, he still refused to believe it. He fought through the doubt. Sherlock had said it himself, when Lestrade had asked him to go down to the police station; "He planted that doubt in her head, that little nagging sensation you would have to be strong to resist,"
Sherlock glanced at the clock on the wall. 1:15 AM. He hadn't slept in two days. His mouth twitched in a half smile. John would be lecturing him on the dangers of sleep deprivation, counting how many times he yawned, then finally encouraging Sherlock to his bedroom. Unless Sherlock just fell out of exhaustion, which had happened on occasion. Sherlock would collapse in the living room, unconscious, then wake up tucked in bed. Sherlock smiled at the memories. He needed John. Not just for the health reasons, of course, all though that was a bonus. But for John himself, for his friendship, his voice, everything.
Sherlock fingered his phone. He had gotten Molly to fetch it after his death. Well, she stole it from the evidence department. But what ever, it was his phone. He unlocked it and fingered the name that read John Watson. Did John think about him? Did John still care, or had he moved on, like he should. He should call him. But Sherlock was close to catching Moran, he should wait till the job was done. But he could use John's help, though. His loyal, gun handy, partner and friend. John was right. Alone protected Sherlock to an extent, but he couldn't finish it alone. He needed John Watson.
XXXX
Another shot of whiskey can't stop looking at the door
Wishing you'd come sweeping in the way you did before
And I wonder if I ever cross your mind
For me it happens all the time
It's a quarter after one, I'm a little drunk and I need you now
Said I wouldn't call but I lost all control and I need you now
And I don't know how I can do without
I just need you now.
John took another swig from the shot glass, feeling the burning liquid pour down his throat. He'd taken up drinking since Sherlock's death. He refused to use the word suicide. Suicide meant weakness, the inability to live with the world and its/your mistakes. And Sherlock was never weak. Never. John glanced at the door, imagining himself back at 221B. He imagined Sherlock bursting in, excitement shining in his eyes, coat sweeping around him, yelling that Lestrade had a case and to grab his coat. Of course, once or twice an ill timed case would appear while John was taking a shower and Sherlock, being Sherlock with no sense of social norms, decency or privacy, would burst into the bathroom, yelling for John to "Grab your clothes and funny jumper, and get moving," while John would yell at him for some privacy. One time, John had tried taking even longer in the shower for revenge. Well, it was a failed revenge attempt. After four minutes of waiting, Sherlock decided to take action, bursting into the bathroom, ripping away the curtain, and pulling a loudly protesting and very angry John out of the shower, and pushing him into his bedroom, ordering him to get dressed in five minutes before he dragged John out, clothes or no clothes. Needless to say, John never tried to take his revenge that way again, instead resorting to ruining several of Sherlock's experiments by cleaning the kitchen and making it organ free. They hadn't talked to each other for weeks after that.
John grinned sadly at his empty shot glass, knowing that having an angry, rude, or just plain embarrassing Sherlock back, would be better than no Sherlock at all. He wished he could have Sherlock back, experiments, violin-at-the-dead-of-night, rudeness and sometimes-cruelty and all. His life was just so... Empty and grey without his best friend.
Guess I'd rather hurt than feel nothin' at all
John fingered his phone. His therapist, Ella, told him that he should text Sherlock's phone the things he would never be able to say, as a sort of, goodbye letter. John had scoffed at the notion before, but now, with his head and thoughts clouded by alcohol, the notion seemed... nice. He picked up his phone and opened the text box, fingering the keys. What could he say to a dead-man? How could he voice all his feelings about Sherlock in the small amount of space that he had? All the memories and feelings he wanted back? The words hit him. He typed out the message and pressed send. John yawned and looked at the time, shock flooding him when he saw it. 1:15. How had the time passed so quickly? He needed to sleep. He stumbled over to his bed and fell into an alcohol-induced sleep.
XXX
It's a quarter after one I'm all alone and I need you now
And I said I wouldn't call but I lost all control and I need you now
And I don't know how I can do without
I just need you now
Sherlock gasped in shock when a text box opened on his screen. His heart squeezed as he read the message.
From: John Watson
Message: I need you now and I still believe in you -JW
Sherlock's mind raced. Could John be in trouble? No, he would have texted someone who was alive then, like Lestrade. And it wasn't a misdial; the "believe in you" part was evidence of that. But this, this was night admittance, a conscious-clearing move. This was John's message to a dead friend. Sherlock felt his throat swell closed and an uncomfortable hot prickly feeling behind his eyes.
Screw the plan. He made his way into a taxi and payed his way to London. He would catch Moran with John. He needed John too.
Apologies for the fluff in John's chapter! I had an idea and I ran with it. :P
Hope you enjoyed it! Please review!