Sherlock fandom.
Warning: there are suicide thoughts included in this. Avoid further reading if this disturbs you.
Finding Him
Why did he always look to the horizon for something else, something new, something…exciting? He’d always done it, even when he fought a war in another country, and danger was an everyday occurrence. And still, it wasn’t enough to keep him satisfied. He felt hollow, yearning for something, anything to get him out of this limbo he found himself in more and more as the years went by.
When he got shot, it was agony, but at least he felt something. Something that was real and tangible. He didn’t expect the dark depression that appeared hours after the surgery, when he suddenly realised that his career was over.
Back in London, he limped around the city to avoid putting his gun in his mouth and blow his brain out. The yearning had subdued and was replaced with hopelessness. Nothing exciting would ever happen to him again. Afghanistan had been his chance. He was sure of it.
“Watson! John Watson.”
Three words, one man. The man in question knew another man. A man, John instantly realised was who he’d waited his whole life for. The moment he offered his phone to Sherlock, and their fingers touched briefly, John felt something loosening in his chest, as if his heart opened to welcome this enigmatic man in. He’d finally reached the horizon line.
“I felt it too,” Sherlock admitted after their first case.
They were having dinner at Angelo’s again, and this time Sherlock ate too.
When they came back to Baker Street, John did what he’d wanted to do after they’d chased the cab through half of London the day after they met. He grabbed the lapels of the Belstaff, pulled Sherlock closer and kissed him.
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