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Uneasy, A Sherlock BBC Songfic	By : dancingflames22 Category: S through Z > Sherlock (BBC) > Sherlock (BBC) Views: 886 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: Implied Johnlock, suicide, depression; I don't own Sherlock BBC, and I make no money from this.

Chapter List
- 1-Uneasy, A Sherlock BBC Songfic
- 1
A/N: This is my FIRST EVER Johnlock fanfic, and my first posting to this site. I'm not entirely sure if I'll continue it, but I might. The song is: Uneasy by One Less Reason. Please, please, please leave reviews! I don't own Sherlock BBC characters or the song. If I did, there would be no plot in the show. just smut.
I apologize in advance for any mistakes, they're entirely my own and yeah. Enjoy!
TRIGGER WARNINGS: We've got some suicide and cutting ahead, folks, Hold on for a bumpy ride.

“Say it, John, you need to get it out”
“My best friend... Sher-Sherlock Holmes.... is dead.”
In time and time you said you're leaving
In a million years, I never thought you'd go
I climbed out of the cab,as my phone rang. It was Sherlock.
“Sherlock, what's going on? Where are you?”

“Go back! Stay exactly where you are!”
I froze as I heard the panic in his voice.

“Can you do this for me?”
“Do what?”
“This phone call... it's my... note. That's what people do, leave a note?”

“N...no, Sh-Sherlock!”
He jumped.
I put out your fire for life,
replaced it with the cold
I took his pulse. He was really gone. I sunk back down into myself. Oh my god. He was gone.
With the winning hand, sometimes we fold
The hardest part is getting started
~X~ Three months later
Lestrade stopped knocking on my door after I stopped responding to him.
Mrs. Hudson would come by periodically to 'clean' but she was really just checking on me.
I learned to hide the razors and the pills after Lestrade found them once while using the loo.
I put a year aside to be my last
It was so hard to see you, when I was focused on the past
somehow this life went by so fast
~X~ One year later
I decided today was the day. I cleaned the apartment, and left what I estimated would be the cleaning cost, plus the rent for the next year. Sherlock's will had left me with all of the money he and I ever made, plus what he had from his family, and sent his equipment to the local school. I walked slowly to my bedroom and took off my too-big shirt, glancing in the mirror at my scars running up and down my midsection and my arms; I took out my dog tags, and wrapped them around my right wrist tightly, and turned on point to the bathroom. I heard knocking at the door, but ignored it.
The bath water was already cooling as I slid in, leaving my pants on. I never wore shoes anymore – why would I? I don't go out ever anymore. I reached over to the floor and picked up my razor blades, and I drew it across my left arm once, twice, losing count. My mind was fading fast as I heard the door being slammed in, someone coming into the bathroom.
The person grabbing towels, wrapping them around my arm. Being lifted into someone's arms. Then, nothing.
I've got an uneasy kind of feeling
its so hard to say goodbye and let you go
~X~ Change of view: Mycroft Holmes (with some ghost Sherlock)
Something wasn't right. Something ticked me off that something terrible was going to happen. Irene was fine, she was in a meeting with me. I looked up and my eyes met Irene's. I stood up from my chair and I followed the sudden cold feeling that enveloped my body, tugging at my hand like a small child leading me somewhere.
It led me to 221B Baker Street.
John.
and if you need me to be deceiving
and tell you there's a heaven for us that sold our souls,
that just ain't so
that just ain't so
I opened the flat's door with the master key Mrs. Hudson had given me years ago. Irene and I raced upstairs and I banged on the door; the key didn't work. John must have changed the lock without telling Mrs. Hudson. No answer.
“Mycroft, this isn't okay. You have to get that door open.” Irene sounded panicked even more than I was. I backed up and slammed my shoulder into the door, breaking the frame and opening the door. Irene led the way into John's bathroom, and we saw him in the tub.
He was cold. And bloody. Irene grabbed towels and wrapped his arm with a tourniquet. I picked him up and he was way too light to be healthy. “Irene. Take my phone from my pocket and speed dial number 5.”
The cold presence lessened its grip on me, staying close by, as if it was watching intently over John.
We waited for the ambulance to come, Irene on the couch with John's head in her lap, me pacing impatiently.
“Mycroft. Look.” Irene pointed towards Sherlock's violin, its strings shaking, as if someone was plucking at them. The strings stopped moving, and Irene shivered as she felt the cold presence. For the first time I could see an outline.
Sherlock.
I traced your name for the last time
is this when you came and when you left?
~X~Flashback: 2 months after the Fall: 3^rd person POV
Mycroft walked silently through the gravestones to under the tree where Sherlock's gravestone rested. John was already there.
“Why did he jump, Mycroft?”
“I told you before,” Mycroft began in a placating tone “Snipers hired by Moriarty would have killed you, Lestrade, and Mrs. Hudson.” John knelt down in front of Sherlock's tombstone, tracing the gold lettered name again and again. Mycroft leaned in to hear what John was whispering to the headstone. John whispered “I miss you, I miss you” repeatedly, his shoulders shaking, tears streaming down his face silently. Mycroft opened his umbrella as the first thunder crack sounded, rain down pouring.
It doesn't speak of your eyes, you were loved more than the rest
you were prone to innocence
~X~ Present day, St. Bart's Hospital: John POV
Hell looked decidedly like St. Bart's. It had the beeping machines and everything. Irene and Mycroft were sitting across the room, talking quietly, glancing over once in a while at me. Irene glanced at me, and stood up as she saw that I was awake. “John? Are you...” I shook my head. I wasn't okay, and she already knew it.
I've got an uneasy kind of feeling
its so hard to say goodbye and let you go
I visited Sherlock's grave again, and I felt the same gut wrenching sadness that I felt every time I went. I stood silently over his tombstone, wishing he would come back or I could join him. I turned back the way I came and I walked to the road, hailing a cab.
but if you need me to be deceiving
and tell you there's a heaven for us that sold our souls,
and no one was keeping track of lies we told
Am I really going to go through with this?
What's to stop Mycroft and Irene from stopping me? How did they even know I was dying?
that just ain't so
that just ain't so
No matter. It's simply a matter of time. I know I'm going to die soon, regardless if it's my own doing or not. That's what the doctor said. Lung cancer. Nasty thing, that is. It's my own fault. I started smoking after Sherlock died. My time will be up soon enough.
I just can't live like this no more,
I can't recall what I started for
I can't ask you to wait,
when it feels like you've been waiting so long
I know I've kept Sherlock waiting long enough. I'm just going through the motions now, after all, I'm about to die anyway. Climb up the 14 stairs to our flat. Take out a piece of paper and a pen. What should I write? Do I need to have a reason? I guess not. Everyone knows why I'm doing this anyway. Sleeping pills. That's a nice way to go. No mess. Mrs. Hudson can clean up the flat easily. Rent it out. Whoever gets the flat will enjoy it. Hopefully as much as we did. My will is laid out and placed on the table, the lights dimmed, the pantry full from Mrs. Hudson's last visit. She'll find me tomorrow in my bed.
I touched your face for the last time
you said, broken hearts and bruises heal
I walk into the bathroom, and I open my cabinet. There they are. Excellent. Full bottle still, too. I shake out about two dozen into my palm. I'm holding death in the palm of my hand. Talk about an accidental god complex.
your name is my love gave me a smile they couldn't steal
just know I miss you
just know I miss you
I cock my head back, and toss the pills into my mouth, eight at a time, the pills starting to melt in my mouth, leaving a tangy after taste that I wash down with water. I lie back on my made bed, and close my eyes.
just know I miss you
just know I miss you
I miss you, and I always will
I feel light as a feather and heavy as a brick, all at once. Finally getting drowsy. I can't move my hands from my chest, my heartbeat getting faint.
I've got an uneasy kind of feeling
it's so hard to say goodbye and let you know
that I need you to be deceiving
My eyes open, and I'm bathed in light. A tall, curly haired figure in a trench coat is sitting next to my bed. “Sherlock?” I ask, incredulous. I must be dreaming.
“John...” Sherlock responds solemnly “We appear to be stuck in heaven. Which looks suspiciously like our flat.” Sherlock clips in his observatory tone.
I jump out of the soft bed I had been in, and leap around Sherlock's neck, and I can feel the tears running down my cheeks
tell me there's a heaven for us that sold our souls
someone was keeping track of truths we told.
“I've missed you. So, so much Sherlock.”
“I know. I've been watching you, John. You're safe now. You're with me. Forever.”
“I love you, Sherlock Holmes.”
“And I love you, John Watson.”

A/N: I hope I didn't depress anyone too much. This is what happens when my friends ask me to listen to a sad song and I've been thinking about the show.
Now, not to start a comment war or anything: I have a belief that the afterlife is different for each person. They leave a mark on the world (the strings moving from Sherlock bit), and that affects the world of the living. The afterlife shows differently for each person, which would be the place they held dear in their living days, so for John and Sherlock, it was their apartment.
Just a bit of preaching: Suicide by any way is not a good answer to anything. If you think you need or help, or you know someone who might, call the authorities, okay? good.
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Uneasy, A Sherlock BBC Songfic