Sherlock didn’t open the note that day…

Or the next day.

Or the day after that.

‘When it’s time. I will read when it’s time.’

Sherlock did not hesitate for a moment before he read the  A.G.R.A flash drive.

But he could not gather the courage to read a note written on a paper. He could not touch it. It felt like everything he did in his life, every person he met,  every decision he made was going to stare back and mock him, if he decided to read the note. He imagined that John’s angry voice will speak through the lines, reminding Sherlock of John’s face that day.

So Sherlock didn’t know when it would be the time, the right time to face his fears.

“You made a vow.”

The first thing that came to mind after he woke up every morning…

“Anyone but you.”

The only thing that was in his head the whole day. The only thing ringing in his nerves. The only thing flowing through his blood. The only thing eating up his brain.

He looked at the ceiling at night. The ceiling mocked him, the walls mocked him. The unread note  in his table mocked him.

‘You are so weak, you are so pathetic, you don’t even have the courage to read a note.’

He woke up at night screaming.

A recurring nightmare.

A bullet coming from a darkened corner of a room and this time it’s John who jumps in front of him to take the bullet. And the blood starts to gush so fast. The whole room fills up with blood, rising up to his waist. And he cried in his dream, clutching John’s lifeless body to his chest.

He decided to go to a therapist. He didn’t tell her about the note.

She asked him to give John some space for some time.

And he gave John the space.

Like he had any other option after the rejection.

Idle hands went for the phone  a hundred times, sometimes he made the call. Obviously no response. Maybe John has him blocked? Sometimes he just looked at the name on the screen, a knot in his chest growing bigger and bigger each day.

He couldn’t resist. He went to the front of the house to see if he could catch a glimpse of him. He couldn’t.

Mrs. Hudson found him one day just standing in the middle of the living room. Looking lost.

“Sherlock.”

It took Sherlock some time to understand from where the sound was coming.

“Did you say something Mrs. Hudson?” He asked softly.

“Do you want a cuppa, Sherlock?”

“No.”

Mrs. Hudson paused for a moment and then asked in a lowered voice,

“Has John called?”

“No.”

“Sherlock are you going to be okay?”

Sherlock looked in front of himself, his own reflection staring back at him. You cannot lie in front of your own reflection.

“No.”

That night he opened the note.

Before you even read the note, what might we deduce about the person who wrote this note?

He put so much pressure on the paper that it almost tore.  He is currently in a dangerous state of mind because his wife died and his best friend did nothing to prevent that. Has a little child. The paper smells so much like baby products.

This man is angry, furious, hateful and miserable.

And this man holding the note in his hand is responsible for that misery.

Sherlock opened the note.

John was furious at him when he came back because he didn’t tell him he was alive.

“One word was what I needed Sherlock, one word.” John had told him.

John has wrote just one line for him.

“Sherlock Holmes, I regret ever meeting you.”

(I don’t know why I wrote this,I am angry at everything right now. That note better not contain any hateful words to Sherlock. )

@weeesi (I saw that you were asking for ficlet about the note) Also for @addignisherlock @johnnlocked @a-candle-for-sherlock @salve-regina-mills @predictably-unpredictable @totheverybestoftimes @the-sign-of-johnlock @fuckwitjulite @bakerstreet-irregular @loveinthemindpalace @currently-in-my-mind-palace @inevitably-johnlocked @kimbiablue @slow-burn-bromance @shag-me-senseless-watson  @the-blue-carbuncle (you are gonna block me I am sure)

Someone fucking come and kill me because this episode hurts.