Nimi: Post-Reichenbach stress disorder
Kirjoittaja: Ewixi
Fandom: BBC!Sherlock
Ikäraja: K-11
Genre: Angst, drama
Paritus: tulkinnanvarainen John/Sherlock
Vastuunvapaus: Hahmot kuuluu BBC:lle ja Arthur Conan Doylelle, minä vain lainaan.
Varoitukset: Spoilaa kakkoskauden viimeistä jaksoa!
Yhteenveto: Every morning he wakes up with a momentary relief,
it was all just a dream, but then the reality strikes him, even harder than the day before.
A/N:Ensimmäinen englanninkielinen, ja ensimmäinen tämän fandomin ficci mitä oon ikinä kirjottanu. Tiedän että mun englanti ei oo mitään loistavaa, ja virheitä varmasti on, joten sanokaa vaan jos joku kohta häiritsee, ens kerralla sitten paremmin
Halusin kirjottaa tän englanniks, koska sain idean tuosta tekstiviestistä jonka Sherlock lähetti Johnille ekassa jaksossa, ja se ois kuulostanu huonolta suomennettuna.
Alun kursivoitu keskustelu on melkein suora lainaus 2. kauden vikan jakson alusta.
---
A former army doctor is sitting on his bed, staring into nothing. On the bedside table there is a half-empty cup of tea which has already gone cold. His cane is next to him, leaning on his bed. He hasn’t been out of his flat for days now.
He remembers things being like this before. It’s been several years now, but he remembers it like it was yesterday. It was after he had returned from Afghanistan, limping, wounded and feeling empty, like his life no more had purpose.
Post-traumatic stress disorder, his therapist had then diagnosed. She made the same conclusion after John appeared on her clinic again three years ago.
''Tell me why you’re here, John.''
''I’m here because…Sherlock…''
''You need to get it out.''
''My best friend, Sherlock Holmes…is dead.''John refuses to think about it. He had wiped it out of his head, the day when he lost everything that had mattered to him.
The first weeks were like torture when the incident was all over the news.
''SUICIDE OF THE FAKE GENIOUS'' the headlines said.
John knows Sherlock wasn’t a fraud; he refuses to believe that Sherlock had ever told him a lie.
The walls he has built around him tumble down every night. In his dreams, John sees his best friend falling off from the hospital roof over and over again. Every morning he wakes up with a momentary relief,
it was all just a dream, but then the reality strikes him, even harder than the day before.
One day he gets a text from an unknown number.
Baker Street.
Come at once, if convenient.
SHJohn can’t believe what his eyes are seeing.
His first thought is that someone is messing with him.
It’s just a joke, he says to himself. But he can’t help but wonder;
what if.
He knows he is just fooling himself, but he gets up, takes his cane and coat and heads for the door. A little glint of hope has ignited inside him, and there’s nothing he can do to make it disappear.
John hasn’t been to Baker Street for three years now, and knows he’s playing with fire by going back there now. Notwithstanding he takes a cab, tells the driver the address and sits back down thinking about what he’s about to do, for the sake of one text message.
Quicker that he had imagined, the cab arrives to his destination. He pays the driver, takes a deep breath and gets off.
He is now standing in front of his old front door first time in years.
It still looks exactly the same; black wooden door with the numbers 221b on it.
As John stands there, he feels overwhelming sadness taking over him, and tears start running down his face.
''What the hell was I thinking?'' he says out loud, for no one is there to hear him. ''I really am an idiot.''
He turns his back to the door and takes a couple of steps away from it.
Then he feels a hand on his shoulder and hears an incredibly familiar voice behind him say:
''No, don’t be like that. Practically everyone is. ''
John feels like a lightning has gone through his body. He freezes for a moment, and then slowly turns around.
In front of him stands a man he would never believed to see again in this life, with his dark curly hair, smooth pale skin and blue scarf wrapped tight around his neck.
A tiny whisper escapes from John’s lips.
''Sherlock...''
