werejohn ficlet

stitchlock:

The occasional client still contacts John. Usually he declines. Sometimes he’ll shepherd them towards a sympathetic police officer he used to know. He doesn’t do The Work anymore. He doesn’t do much of anything. One such worried face arrives at his door step over a year after Sherlock’s death. He only takes a look into things because it’s so reminiscent of the H.O.U.N.D. case. He imagines he could sort things out quickly and clue in Lestrade to the situation. It’s not what he thinks at all. In the horrible aftermath he he begins to wish he was dead too.

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Please write more stitchy!

So it was, my dear Watson, that at two o’clock to-day I found myself in my old armchair in my own old room, and only wishing that I could have seen my old friend Watson in the other chair which he has so often adorned.

Casual reminder that Sherlock staring at John’s chair and missing him is canon. (via frecklestherobot)

The good Watson had at that time deserted me for a wife, the only selfish action which I can recall in our association. I was alone.

(via songofages)