Thursday, 17 May 2012
08:19:26 PM (GMT)
Sherlock, for once, was stuck for words.
"Who are you? If you don't mind me asking..."
"You don't know who I am?"
John shook his head, "N-no, I'm sorry..."
Sherlock's mouth hung uncharacteristically open as he looked from the doctor to Harry
"Are you alright, sir?"
"SIR?! You really don't know who I am..." He breathed.
"I don't.... who are you?"
"Sherlock Holmes. I'm your friend... You're my friend."
"John, that's fairly big..." Harry interrupted, "He doesn't have many friends."
He sat down in the armchair next to the bed, tucking his legs up in front of him, his
fingers steepled against his lips as John slept. Another droplet of water hit his
scarf, and his hand flicked away to wipe his cheek dry. How curious, the fact that
laughing and crying use identical muscles, and yet, the actions are nothing alike.
He'd not cried in longer than he could remember, and he never assumed that he would
because his only friend forgot him. 'Heartbreak', as stereotypical teenage girls
called it, hurt an awful lot more than they made it out to.