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belphegor1982Title: When the World Stops
Author: Belphegor
Fandom: Sherlock
Characters: John Watson
Pairing: none
Spoilers: major spoilers for "The Reichenbach Fall"
Genre: lots of hurt, and little comfort.
Author's Note: jotted this down last night after finally getting to see that episode, because that sentence would not let me go during the last few minutes.
Warning: major character death, some stream-of-consciousness, and no beta whatsoever.
What do you do when the world stops?
It’s a funny thing to think, really, but the question has taken up room in John’s mind and made itself comfortable now in the cold, big, empty space. Sometimes it’s all he can think about, because thinking about a lot of other things is much too painful.
What do you do when the world stops? You freeze, and you stare at the tall, lean silhouette in black against the pale stones, you stare so very hard and you feel you’re falling even as he is, and even though somehow your brain tells you that both your feet are touching the ground you’re not so sure where the rest of your body is –
– he takes such a long time to fall, his arms flailing in some futile attempt to grasp the air, and this tells John he didn’t want to die, not now, not in those last few seconds –
Then you run. The world has stopped, but you run, and it’s like one of those nightmares when you know you’ve got to get there but invisible forces are gripping you, slowing you down, and the only thing you can do is fight back with all your strength. You fight back these invisible hands and the sensation of running through molasses, because you know if you don’t you’ll give in to the primal urge to scream, just to hear something, because obviously this can’t be real …
The world is bleak at the foot of the building, and it has no colour at all apart from black, white, and red. His coat is black, his face is white and his blood is red and there’s not such a lot of it on the ground but John knows he’ll be seeing black, white and red for the rest of his life each and every time he closes his eyes.
Later, he’s alone at Bart’s, and he’s got his eyes wide open and he still sees black, white and red.
He calls Lestrade, mechanically, but when he hears the detective answer the phone John finds his voice is gone. Lestrade stays silent for three whole minutes – maybe his own voices deserted him as well – and then he just says, “I’m on my way” before he hangs up.
He gets there, but John is still alone, and the world doesn’t start up again.
There is a funeral, and John can’t cry, not now, not with so many strangers people around, watching, judging, prodding. Mycroft doesn’t cry either, and in a sudden flash of feeling things John finds it odd that his sister is crying but his own brother – he can’t bring himself to think the name, let alone say it – isn’t.
Mrs Hudson takes him back home, and he realises he can’t ever go home again.
The following days are about surviving: remembering to eat, to drink, to sleep – black, white and red make that almost impossible. Putting one foot in front of the other. Looking for a flat. People visit him but they don’t stay long – because he gently, politely shuts them out – and they don’t comment on the return of the cane.
It dawns on John during one of his therapy sessions – the ones where he doesn’t say anything and stares into the distance, waiting to see if the world starts again.
What do you do when the world stops?
Nothing. The world never really stops just for you.
The hard part is to keep on pretending you’re still part of it.
Oh, Mr Freeman. I didn't think I'd cry at the end of that one, with the foregone conclusion and everything, but you damn well made me.
Author: Belphegor
Fandom: Sherlock
Characters: John Watson
Pairing: none
Spoilers: major spoilers for "The Reichenbach Fall"
Genre: lots of hurt, and little comfort.
Author's Note: jotted this down last night after finally getting to see that episode, because that sentence would not let me go during the last few minutes.
Warning: major character death, some stream-of-consciousness, and no beta whatsoever.
What do you do when the world stops?
It’s a funny thing to think, really, but the question has taken up room in John’s mind and made itself comfortable now in the cold, big, empty space. Sometimes it’s all he can think about, because thinking about a lot of other things is much too painful.
What do you do when the world stops? You freeze, and you stare at the tall, lean silhouette in black against the pale stones, you stare so very hard and you feel you’re falling even as he is, and even though somehow your brain tells you that both your feet are touching the ground you’re not so sure where the rest of your body is –
– he takes such a long time to fall, his arms flailing in some futile attempt to grasp the air, and this tells John he didn’t want to die, not now, not in those last few seconds –
Then you run. The world has stopped, but you run, and it’s like one of those nightmares when you know you’ve got to get there but invisible forces are gripping you, slowing you down, and the only thing you can do is fight back with all your strength. You fight back these invisible hands and the sensation of running through molasses, because you know if you don’t you’ll give in to the primal urge to scream, just to hear something, because obviously this can’t be real …
The world is bleak at the foot of the building, and it has no colour at all apart from black, white, and red. His coat is black, his face is white and his blood is red and there’s not such a lot of it on the ground but John knows he’ll be seeing black, white and red for the rest of his life each and every time he closes his eyes.
Later, he’s alone at Bart’s, and he’s got his eyes wide open and he still sees black, white and red.
He calls Lestrade, mechanically, but when he hears the detective answer the phone John finds his voice is gone. Lestrade stays silent for three whole minutes – maybe his own voices deserted him as well – and then he just says, “I’m on my way” before he hangs up.
He gets there, but John is still alone, and the world doesn’t start up again.
There is a funeral, and John can’t cry, not now, not with so many strangers people around, watching, judging, prodding. Mycroft doesn’t cry either, and in a sudden flash of feeling things John finds it odd that his sister is crying but his own brother – he can’t bring himself to think the name, let alone say it – isn’t.
Mrs Hudson takes him back home, and he realises he can’t ever go home again.
The following days are about surviving: remembering to eat, to drink, to sleep – black, white and red make that almost impossible. Putting one foot in front of the other. Looking for a flat. People visit him but they don’t stay long – because he gently, politely shuts them out – and they don’t comment on the return of the cane.
It dawns on John during one of his therapy sessions – the ones where he doesn’t say anything and stares into the distance, waiting to see if the world starts again.
What do you do when the world stops?
Nothing. The world never really stops just for you.
The hard part is to keep on pretending you’re still part of it.
__________________________________________________________________________________
Oh, Mr Freeman. I didn't think I'd cry at the end of that one, with the foregone conclusion and everything, but you damn well made me.
