Hello again! I’m back đ
Okay, so everyone knows how I got into BBC Sherlock, right? Okay. Good. We’re all on the same page, then.
Needless to say, Sherlock is the first fandom that I’ve actually written a fanfic for, other than Star Wars. Believe it or not, some of the other fandoms I’m in (BBC Merlin, Redwall and Castaways of the Flying Dutchman, Madeleine L’Engle’s works, Kidnapped and Treasure Island, The Scarlet Pimpernel and sequels, A Tale of Two Cities, Rise of the Guardians, Lord of the Rings, various other books by Tolkien, books by G.A. Henty, the late, great Jonathan Park radio adventure drama, etc., etc.)… they’re not all that conducive to fanfiction. At least, I’m not inspired therein. So Sherlock fanfiction is really a new thing for me–broadening my horizons, so to speak. But, I’m not that good at writing mysteries or crime drama, having a tendency to break the suspense too soon, among other things… Fortunately, Sherlock lends itself well to character studies and character stories. Probably all my Sherlock fanfiction–that is to say, if I ever write any more–will be limited to one-part short stories. But that doesn’t really bother me. After all, the characters are great and fun to work with, and there’s an obnoxious high-functioning sociopath and a jaded ex-military surgeon who is probably also my definition of a good Christian, judging by his actions… what’s not to love? ;-D
Sorry about the long-winded explanation. Please don’t skip this bit.
This story, according to my standards, is a clean story. Knowing the nature of human-kind and the nature of the show itself, there are probably lots of horrible stories out there which involve things that would sicken me. The show itself is a bit dark, as well as sophisticated, definitely not something I would recommend for anyone under twelve. But this is just pure introspection, with no mention of adult themes, except that the good doctor is under the impression that Sherlock really is dead. So I’d rate this one PG, but only because it deals with inferences to suicide. Please bear in mind that I have not seen The Richenbach Fall or the premiere for the third season, so be merciful. ;-P
Oh dear. I didn’t mean to include a whole review of Sherlock in this! Oh well…
This song-fic is written to the marvelous song How to Save a Life, by The Fray. I understand this is a bit of an older song and is often confused with a movie with a similar name (aka the celebrated To Save a Life), but in my opinion it’s a song everyone should hear.
Enjoy!
How to Save A Life
Step one, you say, âWe need to talk.â
He walks, you say, âSit down. Itâs just a talk.â
He smiles politely back at you
You stare politely right on through
Some sort of window to your right
As he goes left and you stay right
Between the lines of fear and blame
You begin to wonder why you came
               âWe need to have a talk.â John said. Sherlock stopped for a moment.
âA talk?â he asked.
âYes, a talk. Itâs where two people sit down and agree to get things plain, clear and straight, for once.â John said, stressing âstraightâ in hopes that Sherlock would actually pay attention. If only it were that easy to get things through his thick headâŚ
âSo?â Sherlock began to walk away again.
âAnd we need to have one,â John said, rising quickly and grabbing Sherlockâs wrist. Sherlock frowned at him in annoyance. Though John was shorter, he was strong, and there was little to be gained by trying to escape his grip.
John could practically see the thoughts going through Sherlockâs mind. Sherlock allowed him to pilot him to the couch, though with a scowl that said he was patently not pleased. He could have gone and jumped in a lake as far as that look went, for all John cared.
âWhy are we having a talk, John?â Sherlock asked. John fixed him with a steely glare.
âAh, now thatâs the right question.â
Where did I go wrong? I lost a friend
Somewhere along in the bitterness
And I would have stayed up with you all night
Had I known how to save a life
               Things were going wrong, badly wrong. Johnâs phone rang. He scarcely comprehended the conversation. One thing was clear. Horribly clear.
Sherlock was going to jump.
Let him know that you know best
âCause after all you do know best
Try to slip past his defense
Without granting innocence
Lay down a list of what is wrong
The things youâve told him all along
Pray to God, he hears you
And I pray to God, he hears you
               âI think we havenât been communicating nearly well enough, Sherlock,â John said as he sat down in the armchair across from his friend. âYouâve been shutting me out.â
âHave I?â Sherlock said, his voice level, but instead of the eyebrow that normally would go up challengingly John saw genuine surpriseâor at least the Sherlock Holmes version of itâon Sherlockâs face. It suddenly occurred to him that maybe Sherlock wasnât aware that he had been shutting him out.
âYouâve been⌠distant,â John continued, somewhat more sympathetically. âAnd I want to know why.â I want to be there for you. Because thatâs what friends do.
And where did I go wrong? I lost a friend
Somewhere along in the bitterness
And I would have stayed up with you all night
Had I known how to save a life
               In amidst the anguish of watching his best friend die, John could not help but wonder why he had never spent more of the nights when Sherlock had been awake with his friend. He thought over all the moments he had lost, wishing that he had been less careless. He remembered something his orderly in the army used to say: No one lives without regret.
It was all too true.
As he begins to raise his voice
You lower yours and grant him one last choice
Drive until you lose the road
Or break with the ones youâve followed
He will do one of two things
He will admit to everything
Or heâll say heâs just not the same
And you’ll begin to wonder why you came
               âDonât worry about it, John,â Sherlock said confidently. âItâs all well in hand.â
âBut I still want to know about it,â John insisted. Sometimes, it felt like he was driving down a dead-end road. Or maybe he should try another tactic? âSherlock, Iâm your friend. Please, tell me. Other people do this sort of thing all the time.â
âIâm not other people,â Sherlock said.
Where did I go wrong? I lost a friend
Somewhere along in the bitterness
And I would have stayed up with you all night
Had I known how to save a life
               Who had Sherlock been kidding? It had never been under control. And now everything was⌠was wrong.
As John ran around the building to his friendâs side, he couldnât help but wonder, why?!
Why, Sherlock?!
Where did I go wrong? I lost a friend
Somewhere along in the bitterness
And I would have stayed up with you all night
Had I known how to save a life
               Pointless.
How to save a life
               So utterly pointless.
How to save a life
               Like his life, after he had been honorably discharged from the army and before Sherlock.
Where did I go wrong? I lost a friend
Somewhere along in the bitterness
And I would have stayed up with you all night
Had I known how to save a life
               As he knelt by Sherlockâs side, searching for a pulse, he couldnât help but wonder why, again.
They took his best friendâhis first friendâhis only true friendâaway in an ambulance, but John knew the bad news already.
It was as good as taking him away in a hearse.
Sherlock Holmes was dead.
Where did I go wrong? I lost a friend
Somewhere along in the bitterness
And I would have stayed up with you all night
Had I known how to save a life
               He left 221b Baker Street for a new place the next day, with a farewell (tearful, on her part) and many thanks to Mrs. Hudson.
He looked at the wall, which was already being repaired and re-papered after Sherlockâs stunt with the smiley face in spray paint and bullet marks. So easy to erase, so quietâŚ
Unlike his memories.
How to save a life
               Sherlock watched John, for the first time in his life, almost shy. It was finally time to come back⌠two years later.
He was strangely afraid, curiously awkward, though he couldnât wait to see John again. He wanted to tell his friend all the things he had never been able to sayâand knew he never could. But John would understand anyway. He always did.
He wanted to tell John how it was the thoughts of him, and Mrs. Hudson, and Molly had kept him going.
He wanted to thank him for getting him off the drugs.
He wanted to tell him thank you for never stopping believing in him, even when times got rough.
He wanted to tell him thank you for saving his life.
Because, in so many ways, John had.
How to save a life
               âHello, John.â