false hope :: chapter one.

false hope.

chapter :: one

type :: fanfiction

pairing :: john watson x sherlock holmes

characters :: sherlock holmes , mrs. hudson, john watson, molly hooper

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Sherlock sat up straighter in his chair as he glanced down at his watch. The time seemed to move slower and slower as the same familiar footsteps he’d be longing for didn’t come. He hadn’t seen John since the wedding, they were supposed to be going for lunch today.

Lunch. Just lunch. At least it was something, but now they didn’t even have that. Everything was changing - he hasn’t seen John in weeks, the flat got emptier by the day, and even Molly stopped calling.. He hadn’t had an actual visitor in what seemed like forever, just boring clients he dismissed with a wave of his hand. Mrs. Hudson didn’t count, she lived next door.

There was one thing, however, that was constant. The tears. Sherlock Holmes was not a man to cry, but the wedding broke him. To see his .. best … friend .. be taken from him was heart wrenching. He still hated the word friend, the first time anyone ever considered him a friend, was well, John. And a friend seemed to hurt a lot more than an enemy every could. John Watson completed him, and now a part of him was missing. He didn’t know who he was anymore.

And deep down, he knew that one does not simply weep for weeks over someone as simple as a “best friend”, but he chose to ignore it. Chose to ignore the logic to steer himself away from more pain and devastation. The only time he chose anything over logic was for John. He was so great at deducing others, but you would never catch Sherlock Holmes deducing himself.

As he curled back into his chair, knees brought to his chest, he knew that John wasn’t coming. Probably forgot, and scheduled something with Mary. Or maybe, maybe he just didn’t want to see him. He would just have to be kept wondering.

A text at least, that would have been nice.

————

Sherlock lay wide awake on the sofa as Mrs. Hudson brought in some tea for him, he must have looked as if he was asleep, as she didn’t say anything to him, but instead muttered “Oh, .. Sherlock.” and set the tray down on the stand, then proceeded to walk away.

He hadn’t slept, showered, or ate anything in three days, and it showed. His eyes were red and puffy, but that was most likely from the crying. His usually well tamed curls where flat, greasy, and tangled. Not to mention he looked like he belonged in a homeless shelter, moping around in his sweatpants and baggy blue jacket.

As he stood up his legs were weak and wobbly, he gripped onto the edge of the table for . He blinked for a few seconds, resulting to his Mind Palace to how to stand. He poured a cup of tea and held the cup to his lips, eyeing the door. The floorboards creeked and he rolled his eyes. He set the cup back down without taking a sip. “John, do stop lingering,” he pleaded.

The blonde stepped inside the room and wore a face of pure anger. Sherlock couldn’t imagine what he must think - he probably thought he was high, but that was better than the truth. He himself would have preferred that over the truth. To be fair, at least he got to see John, not under the best circumstances, but still.

Sherlock glanced John up and down and made a few quick deductions; ah, he’s continuing his practice - working alongside Mary, no doubt. The heavy eye bags suggest he’s not been getting enough sleep, probably waking up to take care of Rosie, and failing to fall asleep again. No, scratch that. He can fall asleep anywhere, so somethings been distracting him. But what? That was the real question - what was so important, and secretive that he had to do it at ungodly hours of the night?

He didn’t say a word as the other man approached him, just flashed a weak smile. He was genuinely happy to see him. John on the other hand, wasn’t so happy. “You know, I had a talk with Mycroft again,” Sherlock interrupted, “I believe you mean he kidnapped you- ,”

John shook his head with a scoff, Sherlock wasn’t making it any better for himself, “Shut up, will you? Just let me speak for once. He told me to come check on you, that he’s worried about you. That only happens when you’re using again.”

“John, I don’t know why you continue to believe everything he sa-” John lost it, just everything about the man in front of him made him angry. He threw a punch at Sherlock, his knuckles colliding painfully against the others cheekbones. Sherlock’s right hand covering his throbbing cheek. “John, please,” he said, looking at the man with pleading eyes. It did no use, John aimed another powerful punch at him, this time it hit his nose. Sherlock lost his balance and fell backwards, knocking over the stand with the tea as he reached out for it, his already weak body hitting the floor with a loud thud. John didn’t stop there, he rammed his foot into Sherlock’s side over and over. Sherlock winced in pain, but he couldn’t fight back, he wouldn’t fight back.

Mrs. Hudson had heard the thud and came rushing upstairs, seventeen steps in the span of a few seconds took her breath away - she should work on her cardio. She caught her breath, and then it was taken again at the sight of the two boys.“John! Stop that at once!” she yelled, causing both men to look at her. John looked out-of-body, the sweet man who brings her biscuits on Sundays was replaced by a man full of rage.

John took a step back from the man on the ground and let out a huff of air, “Well, Mrs. Hudson, I think Sherlock Holmes needs to pee in a cup. Be a dear, and call Molly, will you?” he asked in his normal, sweet voice, which was odd, considering he could have just beat Sherlock to death if she didn’t interfere.

Mrs. Hudson nodded quickly and turned to walk back downstairs when Sherlock called out “wait!”, in which she stopped in her tracks and looked helplessly over at John.

“What are you going on about? Don’t want to do it? Scared of what I’ll find? I’m not surprised.” John stated, getting riled up again.

“Yes, nice to see you too.” he stated sarcastically, from the floor. “I’m quite offended you would even think that I care about a stupid drug test, only idiots care about those,” Sherlock shook his head and struggled to drag himself up onto the sofa, sitting on the edge, grimacing in pain. “but, I was right.”

“Right about what?” John questioned with a scoff. Sherlock pointed his index finger towards the door and just like that, a knock came from the other side. He looked down at the floor and stifled a chuckle. “You’re really not going to like this part ..” his eyes met Johns, “like what?”

“Come in!” And the answer to his question walked through the doorway - there was Molly Hooper, drug testing kit in hand. “Oh, hello John,” she smiled up at the blonde, “Sherlock asked me to come,” she checked her watch, “I do hope this is the right time.”

John exchanged a glance with Sherlock and crossed his arms over his chest. “Oh, you cock. There’s no way-“ Sherlock cut John off, “Yes Molly, thanks. John here, seems to think I’m off my tits again-“ a quick “because you are” came from the little man.