Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Nov 30, 11pm

I don’t know why I’m doing this.

You’re dead.

You’re dead, and I know this.

I checked your pulse, I saw the blood.

I saw you. After. 

I can’t even type it.

You could have come to me, you know?

You didn’t have to do that.

Nov 31, 8am

Shit, I’m so sorry.

Somebody else probably has this number now, since the messages have been delivered.

Just let me know, alright?

Dec 5, 1am

Nobody responded, so I’m just going to assume Mycroft left your number active.

Out of- Sentimentality, I guess.

I think he misses you, too. 

God knows I do.

Chapter Text

Dec 7, 8pm

You could have talked to me.

I know it was hard, with the news, and Moriarty, and everything.

But it would have gotten better. I know it would have.

We would've gotten through it. 

Dec 8, 9pm

Today was exhausting. It was my first day back at the surgery, and this nurse, Mary, I think she said, asked me to dinner.

I said no.

It would’ve felt like a betrayal to you.

As in, allowing myself to go out, to function, as if I could still come home to you. Why should I allow myself to be happy when you’re gone?

Dec 9, 5pm

I miss you. 

The milk is full.

Dec 10, 8am

This probably isn’t healthy. Not at all.

Did you know, Sherlock, that I talk to you more than any living soul?

Sitting here, on my phone, as if you’re alive.

As if you might reply.

You won’t though.

Never again.

Dec 10, 11pm

I’ve got mysel f hammered on scotch.

Why di you do this?
I needed you

I’ll never hear your voice aagain

Or clean out t he frige drawrers of organs.

Youre gone.

Dec 11, 11 am

God, sorry about that.

Sorry.

Dec 12, 2 am

I don’t know why I still text you as if you’re alive.

I don’t really know why I do anything, anymore.

Dec 12, 6 pm

Anderson came into the surgery today.

Broken wrist.

You’d be happy to hear about that.

He fell off of a building.

Dec 13, 11pm

He thinks you’re still alive.

If you were, you’d tell me.

Right?

Dec 14, 2am

I don’t know why I’m letting myself hope.

Just- If you are

Send something

Anything.

Please.

Dec 15, 10 am

I can’t do this anymore.

Texting you, as if you’re alive.

I’m just giving myself false hope.

Dec 19, 8pm

Hi.

I’m back, I guess.

I miss you.

I keep hearing all these Christmas songs.

Everybody is so happy, so cheery.

The flat feels empty.

I should probably move out.

Dec 23, 5pm

I don’t think I can bear to go through Christmas without you.

You became my whole life, you know?

Well, you don’t know. You won’t.

Dec 23, 9pm

I keep my gun in my bedside drawer. 

I’m holding it right now. I can feel the barrel against my lips.

I think I understand a little better, now, why you jumped.

I don’t want to live, Sherlock.

I don’t want to live in a world without you in it.

This is MY note.

I love you.

Chapter Text

Don’t you fucking dare!

Don’t do it, John.

I didn’t want to jump.

It was only so you could survive.

Please.

JOHN!

Sherlock?

Yes, Yeah.

It’s me.

You’re alive.

Yeah, I am.

What do you mean?

How?

How do I know this is you?

Moriarty had a sniper on you.

He would’ve killed you, If I hadn’t jumped.

My homeless network set out a mat, and the gunman saw my body past the window.

I wanted to come back.

I’ve wanted to every single day.

But his network still exists. If they learn I’m still alive, they’ll kill you.

Is it really you?

The first deduction you saw was ‘Afghanistan or Iraq’

Multiple people saw that.

The main thing we fight about is the state of the organ drawer in the refrigerator.

You couldn’t have told me?

One word.

One word would have been enough.

I know. I’m sorry.

They know me well enough to worry.

They have eyes on you. If you knew I was alive, they would notice.

I wanted to respond, please believe me.

And now?

I was trying to keep you safe, by jumping.

Trying to keep you from getting killed.

But there’s no point to that, is there?

Not if you’re going to kill yourself first.

Thank you. 

God,

I just.

I know.

I’m sorry, I should’ve figured something else out.

But I couldn’t.

This was supposed to be the safest.

It’s alright.

I’m probably processing everything wrong right now.

But I think I understand.

Thank you.

We can’t keep texting, though.

It’s not safe.

Alright.

As long as you’re alive.

You’re gonna have to keep acting as if I’m dead.

They’ll notice otherwise. 

I can do that. 

I’ll come back as soon as it’s safe.

I love you.

Can I keep texting you, just, like, as I had been?

…

I’m gonna take that as a yes.

I love you too, by the way.

Chapter Text

Dec 24, 8 am

Morning.

Christmas Eve!

When you were a kid, did you open presents on Christmas or the eve?

I always opened them on Christmas morning.

Dec 24, 7pm

Molly dropped off a rum cake for me. 

It was very difficult to pretend I wasn’t ecstatic.

I’ve practically been skipping about the flat all day.

I’m still mad at you, mind you. 

But yeah.

You’re alive.

Dec 24, 11pm

My dear Sherlock,

I have a very difficult decision to make.

Where shall I spend my Christmas?

I have a fair number of pending offers, 

But not too long ago I was fairly intent to sulk around the flat

As a dead body, mind you.

Probably a bit too soon for that, but it should be my decision anyway.

Back to Christmas plans!

Option 1: Pints with Lestrade

Pros: I haven’t done much with him for a while.

Cons: It will be depressing and most pubs will be closed.

Option 2: Whatever Mycroft wanted me to do

Pros: He’s probably going to feed me something abhorrently expensive and also give me alcohol so I won’t get mad at him for being annoying.

Cons: He’ll realize I know about you almost immediately and he also scares me.

Option 3: Spent it with Harry and Clara

Pros: She’s my sister and she’s rich

Cons: She and Clara are either going to fight or make out in front of me.

Option 4: Learn to knit with Ms. Hudson

Pros: I can stay here and I’ve been wanting a new jumper.

Cons: I don’t have a gift for her.

I think there’s a clear choice here, yeah?
I better be quick finding a gift.

Dec 25, 6am

I found something!

I was in a right panic about a present, you know.

It’s a book about how to best pull off a kidnapping that I found under the couch.

It’s brand new, and I just have some sort of feeling that it’ll come useful to her.

If it will, though, maybe I shouldn’t be encouraging those habits.

Dec 25, 8am

Merry Christmas!!

I nearly forgot to wish you!

Remember to eat something.

Dec 25, 11am

I forgot that you were supposed to be dead, in a way.

To pretend that you are makes it all come back.

How desperate I felt. 

Just remembering the jump does that.

In my memories it’s real, and only now do I know that it wasn’t.

Dec 25, 5pm

Hudders is teaching me how to knit. 

It’s a bit slow going. 

She gave me some yarn, and I’ve got a tube going.

It’s supposed to be the torso of my new jumper.

Purple, to match that damn button down of yours.

Dec 25, 6pm

The tube is now five inches long and my hands hurt.

Very much. 

I am in pain.

It feels odd to be dramatic.

That’s your job.

Anyway, Ms. Hudson is now force feeding me pie and trying to subtly offer condolences.

I’m trying not to talk about it; I don’t really want to think about it.

Dec 25, 9pm

You’re ‘dead’, but now that I know you’re alive, I can’t really help but worry.

What must you be doing without me?

Probably all sorts of things.

Skipping meals, cocaine, murder.

Heaven knows I spent half my time keeping you alive.

Without Ms. Hudson, you probably would’ve drowned looking for a pirate ship a decade before I met you.

Dec 25, 11pm

Goodnight.

Let me know when you’re coming home, and I’ll get you a late Christmas present.

Chapter Text

Dec 26, 12pm

Ms. Hudson got me drunk while we were knitting and now I feel as if I may perish.

Woe am I, Sherlock.

Woe am I.

Dec 26, 3pm

My hangover should not still be here.

And yet, as has already been made clear on many occasions, the universe is inexplicably at odds with the tolerability of my very existence.

It is England, here. It is rainy and miserable.

 So, of course, every light seems blinding and I feel like my skull has been split by an axe.

Dec 26, 9pm

I ate some Indian food, and now feel considerably better.

Remember to eat something yourself, alright?

Dec 27, 12pm

That nurse, Mary, asked me out again.

I think I’ll say yes.

Dec 27, 8pm

I miss you so much.

I ended up going on the date, and the whole time I was waiting for you to burst in in a jealous huff about someone other than you taking up my time. 

I never minded as much as I put on.

You were right, most of the time.

You’re undoubtedly more interesting than most of those girls were, and heaven knows I’d rather be in some insane gun fight with you than sipping a bad coffee that cost half a fortune.

Dec 28, 10am

Doubling down, I miss you.

I have nothing, I and I mean nothing, to do.

I was never bored, before, and then you came along, and I got addicted.

And after, just after, the grief kept me occupied. I was stuck in it, unable to want for activity.

Now, though, I am bored.

I’m going to make a deduction.

Dec 29, 12 pm

I should have tried to do this sooner. I'm really bad at it.

You know this.

I’m in a cafe right now, since people are usually there, sitting still, for a fair while.

I’ve deduced one person so far. 

He went to college in America.

(College hoodie but he looks old, meaning graduate, Backwards cap, meaning American.)

Recently divorced from his husband of five years, who he relied on for money.

Pale skin around ring finger: Divorce

 Flirted with male barista: Not straight

Changed last name on Resume: He probably wouldn’t have changed his last name in the first place unless he had a husband.

Five year gap on resume: He didn’t have to work

That took me half an hour, but I’m pretty happy with myself.

Dec 29, 1pm

Damn, this is fun.

I definitely should have tried this sooner.

New Subject: Jessica

Name found by a “My Name is’ Sticker

Finished an unpleasant interview at a paleontology museum, which included either some sort of sexism or sexual harassment. She decided not to take the job

Found by observing her throwing papers onto her table, which included fossil diagrams. The museum is a block away, so she’d obviously been there. The interview probably involved talking to

museum goers, given her name tag sticker. She keeps muttering about ‘Damn men,’, ‘Think I’m stupid, not just a damn secretary.’ and ‘A doctorate, Doctorate! Unlike the ‘professor’ who was

hiring.’

I’m beginning to believe most of my deductions involve rather impolite eavesdropping.

Then again, why deduce when they’ll tell you themselves.

Dec 29, 2pm

Make sure to drink water.

Come home soon.

Chapter Text

Dec 30,  10am

I miss you shouting at the telly. My tube is now two feet long, and I’m going to crochet my jumper instead of knitting it.

When you come back, I’ll give it to you-

It will be at least  six feet long by then, obviously.

I’ll put a hole at the top, to poke your head through, but sew shut the bottom so you'll walk around like an inchworm.

You always liked to wrap yourself up in things.

Anyway! You can wear it to Buckingham palace and steal me another ashtray.

It’s not a bedsheet, but I think you’d prefer it to a tuxedo.

Dec 30, 4pm

Ms.  Hudson has taught me to crochet. I made a sphere.

Do you like bees?

Yes.

Of course that’s what gets you to respond. 

I thought so.

I assume that was a great risk you took just then?

…

Of  course it was.

I’ll turn my sphere into a bee for you.

You can have it when you get back.

It will be named Albert.

He is your son.

I’ll write up a birth certificate.

Dec 30, 5pm

Image: [Grainy photo of a piece of paper, which reads, “Runaway Mother: Sir Sher Lock, Devastatingly Handsome Father: Captain John Hamish Watson,

Grandmother acquired by Knitting Advice: Ms. Hudson, Godmother: Molly Hooper, Godfather: GREG Lestrade, Person who Pays Child Support: Mycroft Holmes,

Baby’s Name: Albert        ]

Sherlock, I know you can’t be bothered to be here to support your son, but he needs a last name. 

These are my suggestions:

The Butler

Blablert

Smith

Is A Bee

There’s a couple of others too.

Dec 31, 9am

Now you can’t be bothered to reply.

Jan 1, 6am

Sherlock?

Why is Mycroft at my door?

I’m being bodily shoved into a car by Anthea-

She’s strong. Surprisingly so.

And she’s back on her phone again.

What’s going on?

Chapter Text

Jan1, 9am: New Contact [Idiot Flatmate ]

Mycroft told me this number is secure?

Yeah. He had a bit of a fit when I replied to your bee question.

Apparently I can’t be trusted with my own life.

Oh. Wow. I never would have guessed. Like ever.

Ha, Ha. 

Anyway, I’ve got a couple of things to tell you.

I open presents on Christmas Eve; I’m impatient.

Molly knows, she helped me fake it, so you don’t have to pretend I’m dead near her.

You made the right decision staying with Ms. Hudson for Christmas, but I had been meaning to give her that book as a present. You’re a heathen and a thief.

Good going on your tube, by the way. I will gladly take that as a late Christmas present.

And, since you’re worried: Yes, I have been skipping meals, but your reminders have been helpful. I haven’t been doing cocaine without you here, and all murder I have committed was  justified.

By the way, hangovers really bring out your poetic side.

More importantly, I’m very glad to finally see you admit that your favorite part of those absurd dates you go on is me interrupting them.

Not to forget your deductions though. Very impressive, especially your first one, though you are absolutely right about the eavesdropping aspect. 

And lastly, I am beyond excited to meet my son. What about Walmes for a last name?

How’d you write that all so fast?

I had it in advance and pasted it in.

Ahh. Good on you.

By the way, ‘Walmes’ is an awful name.
Utterly atrocious.

Holson?

…Better

If only by comparison.

What about Watson-Holmes?

No… Too much of a mouthful

Ooh! 

Blasphemous Cockroach!

Say what now?

His initials will be ABC

Albert the Blasphemous Cockroach

He’s a bee.

It’s a false title, so he can go undercover in the dangerous Cockroach Court.

What’s so awful about them?

They didn’t arrest his meddling brother for treason against the crown.

Is this a little bit of self insert?
It must be; Albert is our first child.

…

No.

Ok, ok, fine.

Totally not a self insert.

But back to last names.

What about Blablert?
It starts with a B, so the initials will be in alphabetical order.

And the final third name?

It has to start with a C, obviously.

Uhmm.

Cyanide?

I love it.

You have had a stroke of genius.

Thanks!

Albert Blablert Cyanide.

Chapter Text

Jan 2, 10 am

Morning.

How’s it going with taking down the network?

Censored truth or no?

Uh.

No?

I killed an American Senator who was responsible for encouraging Moriarty to do what he did at the pool.

Oh.

You mean strapping the bombs to me specifically?

Or something else?

Strapping it to you.

Of course it was about you, John.

Oh. Thank you, Sherlock.

That means quite a bit.

Well.

I probably wouldn’t have bothered if it wasn’t for him threatening you.

It’s not like I have some moral compass, or something.

What did Mycroft say?

When you wanted to fake your death, I mean.

He told me that affection was a weakness and gave me more resources than I thought I’d ever have.

Wow. 

I expected a bit more disdain, to be honest.

As did I.

He likes you, though.

Jan 3, 2am.

Hi, Sherlock.

Earlier, today, I didn’t properly say thank you.

Because you have been putting yourself in danger,

Putting your own life on the line to save mine.

And I can’t say I’m entirely comfortable with that.

I can’t bear the thought of you in danger, 

Especially if it’s partially because of me.

I want to protect you too, y’know?

But I know that you know what you’re doing,

And that it’s your decision.

So I just want you to know how much this means to me.

Because I would choose you over anything.

And to see that you would choose me-

Yeah.

Thank you.

Thank you so much.

Chapter Text

Jan 3, 4pm

Sherlock?

Jan 3, 7pm

What I said– 

Was it too much?

Jan 4, 4am

Are you okay?

I’m going to call Mycroft.

Jan 4, 4:15 pm

Sorry

Was captured

Oh my god!

Are you okay?

What happened?

Are you safe now?

Safe, yes

Injured hand

Oh my gosh.

Don’t text me back if your hand is hurt, then.

To answer later, though–

What happened, has your identity been uncovered, are you actually safe?

Do you know how long it’s going to take for it to heal?

Call?

I’d love to, but is it safe?

[Incoming Call from: Sherlock xx]

“Oh- um. Hi!”

“Hullo, John.”

“Are you okay?”

“Yes.”

“You sure?”

“Yes, I am sure.”

“If- If you’re fine talking about it- What happened?”

“Was infiltrating a religion based political organization related to that American diplomat. Really, it’s a cult at this point. Anyway, the leader accused me of homosexuality, and they attempted to break some of my fingers for my ‘sins’. They failed, but it still hurts.”

“Oh- Oh my god. That’s awful! I couldn’t imagine- You’re really okay, like, apart from the injuries?

“Yeah, yes, John. I’m perfectly alright. Promise.

“Okay. Okay, alright. Why did they think that you were gay?”

“There was a woman there. Her husband - Devin, or something- He’s been having ‘impure thoughts’.”

“About you?”

“Yeah, about me. According to him, I’ve got a voice like velvet and legs like lucifer.”

“Like lucifer?”

“Yup. You know, lust this, temptation that. If you consider the specific alteration of Christian theology that this cult adapted, it doesn’t even take a moron to realize that Lucifer is meant to be temptation embodied, in all forms of the word.”

“You have got nice legs.”

“...Thank you.”

“Course. The story?”

“Oh, yes! The wife was infuriated, wanted me kicked out, and went through my phone- By force, mind you, I wouldn’t have a guessable password.”

“Of course not.”

“Anyway! She snatched it while I was using it and saw our texts. It doesn’t help that I also told her what her husband was actually doing with the priest.”

“The priest? Damn!”

“I know!”

“Wait- Our texts? What about how we text?”

“I love you, John.”

“Love you too, Sher. Our texts?”

“... John, you cannot be serious.”

“Wha- Oh. Ohhhhhhhh.”

“Sure took you a minute.”

“Wouldn’t she have seen the stuff about murdering the diplomat?”

“Well. See- I was reading through our old messages. I also deleted all the information about murder's I've committed, just in case, you know. But mostly, I just missed you. ”

“It was probably a good idea, deleting that. Why didn’t you just text me?”

“I didn’t really know how to respond to the last messages you’d sent me. I wanted to- It really means a lot- but. I didn't know what- I’m bad with this type of thing, you know that.”

“Oh. Well, that’s alright, you replied just now. How’d you get your phone back?”

“Snatched it. Nobody ever bothered to check if she was actually telling the truth, so I kept it .”

“That’s nice, then.”

“Mm.”

“You’re not still staying there, are you?”

“No. Devin leads a minor part of Moriarty’s network and he was my target. He’s no longer accepted at the Church, and so I won’t need to go back. I don’t suspect any trouble surrounding him.”

“Where are you?”

“Camping.”

“Camping?! You’re hurt! There’s no way that’s safe!”

“Well, camping adjacent. I’m staying at one of Mycroft’s safe houses hidden in Utah. It’s basically carved into a hunk of rock, and is so bare that I might as well be camping.”

“What’s it like there?”

“Fairly nice actually. I’m sitting by the entrance right now, and I can see so many stars. London’s always cloudy, and the cities are so bright in the States. But the safe house is in the middle of nowhere, and the only lights I can see are the stars and a car every couple hours or so on a backroad three or four miles from here.”

“That sounds really beautiful.”

“It is. Yeah, it is.”

[Yawn]

“Tired?”

“Yeah, a bit. Was very worried. It’s nearly morning here.”

“Mm.”

“You want me to hang up?”

“No.”

“I’ll probably fall asleep.”

“That’s alright. Do you want me to tell you more about Utah?”

“Ye- Yeah. That would be nice.”

“Well, there’s a pack of coyotes about a mile off. I can hear them howling every so often. Their territory stretches a bit more than most packs. They last caught prey…”

[Call Duration: 4:45:32]

Chapter Text

Jan 5, 11am

Thanks for letting me stay on the call yesterday.

 It was really nice to hear your voice again. I’ve missed you, obviously.

I missed being able to talk to you like that, as well. Did you sleep well?

Yes, quite a bit better than usual, actually.

How is Albert doing?

He’s doing well. 

Ms. Hudson made him a hat.

Has Mycroft been paying his child support?

Not at all :(

He’s such a horrible uncle. 

I’m glad you agree. 

I’ll send him a sternly worded message at my earliest convenience.

Do you think there’s any actual chance he’ll actually pay up?

No. 

Either way, how much should we ask for?

Well, we can’t sum this as we might if Albert was a typical child. He’s mine, and therefore automatically extraordinary. 

I'm the one who MADE him.  You are an absent parent as well, only speaking with him once a week.

It’s because I’m busy texting you. 

Anyway, he doesn’t have a phone, so I speak with him less than that.

Either way, that’s how the patriarchy works. The one who made the child is OBVIOUSLY less important.

Yeah, yeah. How much money for child support?

Well, what does he need?

So far? A playpen, a backpack for school, some new outfits, and a hexagon.

A hexagon?

Yeah, for his bedroom.

You can’t be telling me you’re not going to let him have his own bedroom?

That’s not how bees work.

That’s incorrect.

I can’t be bothered.

Glad to hear it.

Anything else?

Well, Cyanide, obviously.

He has to learn his namesake.

Well thought, well thought.

How much would that total to?

Well, a small sample of potassium cyanide should be about fifty quid.

The outfits should be around ten.

And the backpack for school…

The backpack?

You can’t be thinking of sending him to public school, can you?

Well, yes, that is what I had been thinking of.

Unacceptable. The backpack will cost forty, and school is probably around four hundred a month.

That’s quite an expense. 

Mycroft is rich, that’s why he’s paying child support.

Why don’t we just ask him for five thousand a month and keep the extra?

Again, my dear John, a stroke of genius. 

Why don’t you do this when I’m there?

I’m trying to convince you to come home. Once you’re home, you can do the thinking.

 I will sit around with a cup of tea and take a break from worrying about your state of being alive.

Fair, fair.

I’ll message Mycroft.

Go do that.

I will try to come home soon.

Thank you.

Yeah.

Be safe.

Love you too, John.

Chapter Text

Jan 5, 2pm

Holy shit, holy shit!

Are you okay?

Yeah, yeah, more than.

Guess what?

I have no idea what you’re going on about, Sherlock.

What happened?

You will NEVER believe this!

Sherlock.

MYCROFT AGREED TO PAY CHILD SUPPORT!

You’re lying to me.

That isn’t true.

It is, I promise.

Not in full, obviously.

How much, then?

Three thousand, monthly.

For a crochet plushie I made for you on a whim?

Well…

What did you tell him, Sherlock?

I told him it was for your state of emotional distress-

It was he who insisted that you would be put in more danger if you were told about the plan.

Just know that I’m sighing at you.

What else did you tell him?

I know that’s not all.

…

That I would quit listening to his intel regarding Moriarty's network if he didn’t.

The intel that keeps you alive?

I’m fairly sure that’s what solidified his decision.

Irrelevant.

What are we even gonna do with that much money?

I have pretty much everything I want, except you being here.

It’s your money too, though, of course.

We could get a second fridge.

One for food, another for experiments?

You’re a genius and I love you.

Thank you, and I know. 

…

I’m waiting.

Love you too.

You have acceptable levels of intelligence. 

That’s the best I’m gonna get, I guess.