(Third-Person View: )
John Watson sat in a chair as the rain poured down outside the window and thunder rumbled. He looked tired and his face was full of pain.
“Why today?” Ella asked gently. John frowned enquiringly. His therapist was sitting opposite him.
“D’you want to hear me say it?” John asked.
“Eighteen months since our last appointment.” Ella noted.
“D’you read the papers?” John asked, his voice becoming quietly angry.
“Sometimes.” Ella nodded.
“Mmm, and you watch telly? You know why I’m here.” John replied in the same tone as before. There was a pained groan in his voice as he ended the sentence. “I’m here because...” His voice broke and he couldn’t continue. He looked down, swallowing hard as he fought not to weep. Ella leaned forward sympathetically.
“What happened, John?” She insisted. John closed his eyes, trying to get control of himself, then looked up at her again, his eyes full of loss. He cleared his throat and breathed heavily.
“Sher...” He began, his voice breaking. He couldn’t continue and he cleared his throat again, swallowing hard.
“You need to get it out.” Ella encouraged gently.
“My best friend... Sherlock Holmes...” He began, softly, his voice full of pain and tears. He sniffed, forcing his voice through the anguish. “...is dead.” His voice broke the worst that time, and he broke down and began to cry.
THREE MONTHS EARLIER
(Alice’s POV: )
In the art gallery, the Director of the gallery was finishing his long, tiring speech as he stood near the painting.
“Falls of the Reichenbach, Turner’s masterpiece, thankfully recovered owing to the prodigious talent of Mr. Sherlock Holmes and his accomplices.” The patrons applauded. John was standing nearest to the painting, Sherlock next and me last, trying to hide behind him. (My family and I were getting attention that we didn’t need or want.) The Director gave a small gift-wrapped box to Sherlock. “A small token of our gratitude.” He said proudly. Sherlock took the box and looked at it, me leaning forward and doing the same.
“Diamond cufflinks. All my cuffs have buttons.” He said flatly.
“He means thank you.” John and I said simultaneously to the director. It was a regular occurrence for us.
“Do I?” Sherlock asked smugly.
“Just say it.” John said discreetly.
“Thank you.” He said insincerely to the director. He started to walk away, me getting ready to trail behind, but John held him back.
YOU ARE READING
How They Met Alice (BBC Sherlock Fanfiction)
FanfictionSherlock and John are just starting out when a cryptic Alice White comes into their acquaintance. Sherlock begins to grow attached to her, but not in the way you think. John trusts her as much as he trusts Sherlock, but is that right? This is just h...
