After The Fall || A Sherlock Fanfiction

Chapter 1 - An Old Friend

Jemima was sitting in front of the television as usual. The room glowed with warm light from the screen. The mixture of moonlight from the crack in the curtains and the broken, dappled light from the TV was slightly unsettling. She picked up her steaming cup of tea and pulled a soft blanket around herself . She had only watched five minutes of her programme before the doorbell rang.

"It's fucking midnight!" Jemima shouted. The bell rang out again, her ears filled with the shrill noise. She groaned aloud and slung the blanket aside. She sighed and marched purposefully towards the door, ready to have a good go at anyone the other side of it.

When she pulled the door open, what she revealed was definitely the last thing she had expected to see. John Watson was standing on her front step, looking dishevelled and desperate. Tears were pouring down his cheeks and the cuffs of his shirtsleeves were damp from continually wiping his red, sore eyes. She gently led him inside where he promptly collapsed into her arms. He was a ragdoll, unable to hold himself up any longer. Jemima sat him down on the sofa while he sobbed. She turned the telly off and the only sound in the room was of a broken man.

"What happened?" Jemima asked shakily.

"Sherlock." He managed to choke out.

"Who's Sherlock?" She asked.

John just cried harder, obviously not wanting to talk about it. Realising that it was probably inappropriate to probe any further she instead settled for "Is he ok?". John shook his head vigorously in reply. She knew what was coming next.

"Dead." He whispered in a hoarse voice. He broke down again, as if saying out loud had made it somehow more real. He gripped her tightly, struggling to hold himself together.

"Oh John." She whispered, not knowing how to comfort him. "I'm so sorry."

"Could I..." He stammered. "Could I stay here tonight?" He made eye contact with her for the first time since he got in.

"Yes of course you can!" Jemima told him without a second thought. She knew when someone was desperate, it's hard to miss, and John Watson was definitely desperate. She didn't have the heart to refuse him. He'd done so much for her, it was the least she could do.

"Thank you." He sobbed. "I just couldn't face going back home tonight and you are the only person I could think of that doesn't make me think of him."

"It's fine." She said. "Make yourself at home. Do you want to be alone or...?"

He nodded.

"Okay, I understand. Tell me if you need anything, I can get it for you."

"Thank you." He said in a tiny whisper behind her as she left.

Jemima left John crying in the living room. She got him a drink and then realised that there was nothing she could do for him now but leave him to his memories and go to bed. She was distressed at seeing her friend like that. She hadn't seen him in years and suddenly he'd turned up out of the blue, a complete mess. She hated to see him so distraught. Whoever Sherlock was, he must have been important.

Jemima rolled over and fell into a sleep riddled with nightmares. She saw the blood and violence from her memories, forced to relive it again, and in the middle of all of it was John Watson.