5 Seconds Of Summer Preferences

The Reichenbach Fall. Michael Clifford.

The Reichenbach Fall.
Michael Clifford.
Blurb: Don't be scared. Falling is just like flying, except there's a more permanent destination.
Final Part.

Two Years Later

=+=+=

"Guilt." Lestrade looks sternly at Anderson. "That's all this is. You pushed us all into thinking that Sherlock was a fraud, you and Donovan."

Anderson looks down at his shoes, feeling like a small child under Calum's strong gaze, his eyes hardened from the two years of hardship that Sherlock had left behind.

"You did this, and it killed him, and he's staying dead. Do you honestly believe that if you have enough stupid theories, it's gonna change what really happened?" Lestrade takes a small sip of his scolding black coffee and begins to walk away.

"I believe in Sherlock Holmes." Anderson calls after the inspector. He turns around, his lips pulled tight.

"Yeah, well that won't bring him back." Calum turns back around before Anderson could see the tears in his eyes. Even after two whole years, he can't get the insensitive, drug-addicted, stubborn, smart, witty, and amazing consulting detective. And deceased. Lestrade kept forgetting that Sherlock was no longer around to interfere. He had thought many times that it would be better if Sherlock wasn't around, but now that his presence was missing, Lestrade knew that he was wrong. He wanted Sherlock Holmes back.

=+=+=

At 221A Baker Street, Luke sat down at Mrs Hudson's kitchen table. She slams down the small tray balancing a cup and saucer and a jug of milk, then goes across the room to pick up a plate of biscuits, which she slams down equally hard onto the table. Luke silently watches her while she picks up a sugar bowl and drops it in front of him. Mrs Hudson hesitates, then points at the sugar bowl.

" Oh no – you don't take it, do you?" She asks, not looking at the man she hasn't heard from in more than two years.

"No."

"You forget a little thing like that." Luke nods along to her words. "You forget lots of little things, it seems."

"Uh-huh." He says, still not meeting her eyes.

She runs her finger along the skin between her nose and her upper lip while looking at Luke.

"Not sure about that." Luke reaches up to touch his moustache. "Ages you."

"Just trying it out."

"Well, it ages you."

Their eyes meet and an awkward silence drapes itself over their shoulders.

"Look . . ."

"I'm not your mother. I've no right to expect it . . ." Mrs Hudson's anger dissipates and her shoulders slump forward. "But just one phone call, Luke. Just one phone call would have done."

"I know." Luke breathes out heavily and looks down.

"After all we went through . . ."

Luke raises his head and looks her dead in the eye. "Yes. I am sorry."

Mrs Hudson sits down in the chair opposite to him. "Look, I understand how difficult it was for you after . . . after . . . and with Y/N . . ." She stops, shaking her head in sadness and her hands start to tremor ever so slightly.

"I just let it slide, Mrs Hudson. I let it all slide. And it just got harder and harder to pick up the phone somehow." Sighing, he looks away for a moment, then turns his eyes back to hers. "D'you know what I mean?"