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Peja's Wonderful World of Makebelieve Import
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Published:
2020-11-05
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879
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Buried feelings

Summary:

A map on his phone. A cemetery. A cryptic message. John decides to find out why Sherlock wants him there.

Notes:

(See the end of the work for notes.)

Work Text:

Disclaimer: The characters from the show aren't mine, they belong to others. No copyright infringement intended. Any characters you don't recognize are mine. Feedback would be nice, positive feedback would be nicer. Enjoy!

Category: Sherlock 2010 short angsty ficlet with a tiny helping of implied slash

Rating: PG for theme

Characters:  Sherlock, Mycroft and, later, John

Series:  No

Spoilers: None intended, not canon but anything in to the current season might get mentioned and set some time after A Study In Pink.

Summary: A map on his phone. A cemetery. A cryptic message. John decides to find out why Sherlock wants him there.

Archive: Just tell me where it's going

Additional 'stuff': I have no information on the Holmes’ family’s religious beliefs. In ‘A Study in Pink’ both Sherlock and Mycroft refer to their mother in the past tense.

Personal note: This will be my last Sherlock fic for some time. I’m working on a novel-length fic and it has become clear it will take me quite some time to complete.

Title: Buried feelings

Within a few minutes of waking, John had washed his face, cleaned his teeth and combed his hair.

“Sherlock?”

Walking down to the living room, it became clear, both from the lack of response and the lack of noise or smells coming from the kitchen that Sherlock was out. Checking his phone for messages – none - gave no clues. John flicked the kettle on and dropped a teabag into a mug, waiting for the kettle to boil. As the kettle clicked off, his phone beeped.

A message, from Sherlock. More precisely, a map and two words. “Come now.”

Drinking his tea while he dressed, John went downstairs, hailed a taxi and headed to what was evidently a cemetery.

********************************

Arriving, John paid the taxi, looking around the almost empty expanse of neatly-trimmed grass and headstones of varying age and color. His eyes settled on two men, their backs to him, the taller with his arm around the slightly shorter, both wearing heavy black wool coats, standing in front of a grave.

John walked over slowly, not wanting to intrude on what was, apparently, not a crime scene but a private family moment between the two brothers, Sherlock and Mycroft, whom he identified as he closed the distance between them.

Hearing John’s approach in the gravel pathways between the lines of graves, both brothers turned as one.

“Mummy…this is Dr John Watson. He’s just moved in with Sherlock. It’s a nice place. The landlady’s keeping an eye on them. And Sherlock’s working really hard, solving all kinds of crimes…with Doctor Watson.”

John was a little uncomfortable with Mycroft’s monologue to thin air then he moved close enough to see the name on the headstone. ‘Elizabeth Holmes’. As he read the dates of her birth and death John realized she had died more than twenty-five years earlier, on today’s date.

Sherlock smiled, his eyes red-rimmed. “Mother…John was a doctor in Afghanistan. He was shot. And he saved my life a few weeks ago.”

Sherlock looked down and John saw that the older Holmes’ arm tightened its grip on Sherlock’s shoulders.

John tried not to focus on his own discomfiture, standing in front of a stranger’s gravestone, listening to the two brothers describe him in short sentences.

“He’s tidy, he can cook and he doesn’t mind living with me, I think.” Sherlock offered, looking up at John questioningly.

John smiled. “That’s true. I’m used to coping in all kinds of places. Barracks, Hercules transports, tents. And Sherlock keeps me busy.”

Mycroft caught the eye of the very old man who was clearing dead flowers from the various plinths. The man wandered over. “Morning Mr Holmes…Mr Holmes.” He gave John a strange look – he was a stranger after all - but made no comment. “I’ve got a nice clean vase for your mother. I’ll just get it.”

Mycroft left Sherlock alone with John while he walked back to the car, returning within a short time with a bunch of pretty flowers, short stalks cut to fit the silver bowl the cemetery’s gardener bought over after a short wait. “There you go.”

“Thank you.” Mycroft smiled gratefully at the elderly man. “Sherlock?”  

Sherlock took the flowers and arranged them in a silver mesh covering the bowl’s mouth. As he crouched in front of the black marble headstone, he whispered loudly: “Mycroft chose them this time. If you don’t like them, don’t worry, I’ll choose the ones for your birthday.”

John waited for some sharp comment from Mycroft, but there was only silence.

As Sherlock stood up, Mycroft locked eyes with John. “This was Sherlock’s idea, John. I hope it wasn’t too traumatic for you.” John looked at Mycroft for some hint of sarcasm, but there was only concern.

John shook his head, still a little overwhelmed at the invitation to such a private family occasion. As he turned, he saw a taxi pulling up beside Mycroft’s car.

He kept his voice soft. “Sherlock?”

Sherlock took a couple of shuddering breaths and followed John to the waiting taxi.

Alone, Mycroft buttoned his coat. “Bye Mummy. I know, he’s not what you would have wanted. But Sherlock’s happy with John. And I know you always wanted us to be happy.”

End

Notes:

This orphaned work was originally on Pejas WWOMB posted by author fanficwriter101.
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