Sherlock Oneshots

Oblivion

Johnlock Bromance

The good doctor stumbled his way down the symmetrical street, flats and buildings towering over his blonde head. John Watson stopped infront of an ebony door, with golden letterings stating '221B'. He gently knocked on the door, and stood back.

~

Sherock had been sat on the foot of the staircase on the landing for three hours; his patience was weak. It had been a few months since John's accident, and everyone decided for the best - due to John's amnesia - that he should restart his life living with the detective once again, and to not fluster John any further.

As soon as a delicate tap tap tap broke the silence in the flat, Sherlock was up on his feet in a blink of an eye, and was eagerly at the door. However, a feeble hand clenched onto the mans' anaemic wrist, and spun him round gently. Mrs Hudson, concerned, glared at Sherlock, and sternly gave him a quick talk over.

"Just be, a little calmer. I know it's been a while, but John will become incredibly confused if you blabber on," She whispered, Sherlock tried to pull away, but his mother-like-landlady held on, "It will be hard, Sherlock, and it will take time." She smiled lightly, and let him open the door, as she scutterrd away to her flat.

~

After the hardly audible mutterings from the flat had silenced, a lanky man with fair skin opened the charcoal door. The man smiled sadly, and held out his hand in greeting.

"Sherlock Holmes, please come in." He stepped back, and let John limp - which Sherlock noted had returned - into the flat. He followed John upstairs, and spoke about Mrs Hudson to break the silence. As they reached the top, John stepped aside to let Sherlock open the flat, and smiled at the cosy interior as he stepped in. Sherlock strode into the kitchen, and tided up the wooden table which was cluttered with experiments; he heard John trudge behind him.

"Well, this is a very comfortable indeed." John smiled, "There are two bedrooms, yes?"

Sherlock chuckled lightly and smirked.

"Of course, John." As soon as the words left his lips, he instantly regretted even uttering his name.

"How did you know my name? We've only just me-"

"Uhh- I- Should I give you a tour?" Mrs Hudson was right, this was going to be difficult.

~

John seemed quite relaxed with the skull ( which John actually found amusing ) and Sherlock - but how he knew his name still bewildered him - and enjoyed his company. Despite that, every once in a while, John would accidently catch out Sherlock smiling at him grievously, as if someone had left the detective in a dismal way. As the night proceeded, John began to learn more about Sherlock, and John spoke a bit about himself too; but Sherlock knew everything he mentioned, and stayed quiet. Both men ventured to their bedrooms as the darkness concealed the sky.

That night, Sherlock lay awake the whole night, picturing pleasent memories of his cases and adventures with John. He, however, stumbled across the very cause of John's incident in his mind palace, and flinched at the reconstruction in his head..

-

Sherlock scampered down alleyways and paths, a tear cascading down his face. He barged through idiotic, boring crowds and their stupid hubbub, and raced to the hospital to the understanding, generous man for whom he only cared for. As he reached the desk, he breathed out his flatmate's name, sweat coursing down limp curls on his forehead. A muffled number was spoken from the receptionist, and he dashed down the corridor. Why he left for the stupid case without his blogger, he did not know, and would never forgive. As he reached John Watson's bedside, gasped with a sigh of relief. It had not been a serious accident; John merely tripped over his own feet as he strode down the stairs, and crashed down the last several steps. His face was a little battered, with violaceous bruises and shallow cuts from splinters. Sherlock pulle out the chair closer to his bed, and mumbled a 'typical' towards the sleeping John.

The next day, however, when he wished to revisit John with Mrs Hudson ( demanded to accompany Sherlock ), their visit would be less happy. They were greeted with the doctor who was taking care of John, and ushered them to sit down before seeing him. Sherlock knew already that John had suffered more severe injuries, as the doctor had a concerned look plastered on his face. The doctor spoke for a while, which Sherlock blocked out, until he reached the important part of the tedious conversation.

"I'm afraid Mr Watson has amnesia. With the sign which we have been given during the night, it is permanent. I am deeply sorry." The doctor left Sherlock with Mrs Hudson sniffling into his chest.

~

Once Sherlock finally had a bit of privacy with John, he silently bawled into the chair next to John. John would never be the same again. Not his John. A different John would replace him. It was as if someone had restarted their game, and lost everything as soon as they hit the 'RESTART' button. All the memories. Sherlock smiled lightly as some briefly flickered in his mind.

"You know, John, some people might give up on you now. Because as soon as you wake, your life will be ready to be re-written. Before you fell, your life would have been like a book, but now that you have forgotten, that book will be thrown away and a new one about you will be written. I only hope that I will appear in the chapters of your life again. I won't forget you, though, don't worry. Your life won't be an oblivion, not in my eyes."

And with that, Sherlock drifted back to 221B, rain pattering against Sherlock's coat and hair, to be ready for John once more.