the solar system || johnlock ||

beyond the stars

Dear John,

I bought a house. My parents kicked me out. I'm twenty years old, I'll survive. Don't you go worrying about me.

And, before you ask, London. Baker Street. Nice place.

Love,
Sherlock.

~

Dear John,

I've taken it upon myself never to miss you again. So why don't you do me a favour?

Come back. Please. Please come back.

Love,
Sherlock.

~

Dear John,

I stargazed with you one night. Do you remember that? I remember it all. Your fingers, your words, your breaths, all of it. I remember you taking my colder than cold hands between your warm palms. I remember you kissing my knuckles and telling me you'd always stay with me, you'd be here for me.

I remember how you looked when you laid back and sighed to the sky. The breath left your mouth in a grateful plume of fog, and a smile just barely touched your lips. It was too small. I kissed you, and it became wider; so wide, I saw stars in your eyes. Blue eyes, sparkling with a passion beyond either of us, beyond anything of this world; beyond the stars.

Where there are unknown forces at play; where colours out of the spectrum scatter themselves by their own rules, unaffected by the human laws of physics; where sounds run freely through vacuums and black holes; where trucks don't appear out of nowhere and pluck golden souls from the earth at random; where only angels deserve to reside; that is where you are.

And that is where we will meet again. It won't be long, now.

Don't you go worrying about me, John. Don't miss me like I miss you. It won't be long before I'm yours to touch again.

I was always yours. The sun was our centre; we bounced from orbit to orbit, playing planets like marbles as we drifted farther and farther away from our safe, warm shelter. I was always yours, even when you left me stranded on my last marble, and let go of my hand.

I will always be yours.

Wait for me.

Wait for me, John.

Love,
Sherlock.

~

Dear John,

Please tell me that's you I'm looking at. They said I dreamt you up sometimes, John, they said you weren't truly there. In the kitchen. By the window. But I swear, your smile looks as real as the first time it shone through my broken windows.

Tell me it's not my aged eyes and brain playing tricks on me. Tell me it's really you I see.

~

Frail hands fist the sheets, alabaster skin looking almost translucent beneath harsh white lights.

There is a shuddering inhale, and a squeezing of eyelids. Cramming them shut, trapping a younger image in between the eyelashes.

There is a rattling exhale, and a slight movement of the head. Grey curls, swaying in a stale, deathly wind. There are hollow cheeks, hollow eyes, a hollow soul being recalled to its brethren.

A grieving brother stands to the side. He claps a hand over his open mouth in vain, trying to somehow halt the sound that rips itself out.

Mycroft Holmes cries softly as his little brother falls away, bit by bit. Breath by breath. He cries softly, so even the angel that leaves the body in front of him won't hear him.

Sherlock's rib cage expands with a frighteningly bleak inhale.

There is a consistent, deafening beep. Flatline.

He never exhales.

And just for a moment, Mycroft thinks he sees the ghost of a smile tug at the corner of the dead man's lips.

He leaves the room.

~

God, how I've missed you.

Love,
John.

$∆L

i'll go anywhere you want, anywhere you want, anywhere you want me

i will pull you so close, till no space lies in between

"till the sirens sound, i'm safe"

now we're young enough to try to build a better life

make my messes matter, make this chaos count

you taught me the courage of stars, before you left

my ink's run out; i want to love you, but i don't know how

i wake up more awake than i've ever been before

~fin~