The Aftermath of it All

This is a fanfiction for the show, "Sherlock" on BBC. Takes place after season 2, episode 3, aka the final released episode. Includes bits of my theory for Sherlock's death.

Rating may change later on.

Enjoy xx

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2. Chapter I, part II

     He literally threw the cup back down on the table, and sighed. He would cry, but all the tears have been emptied out of him. Angry and depressed, he rested his head on the top part of the sofa behind him. Suddenly, an obnoxious vibration came from his pocket. He jumped, the noise scaring him half to death. His shaky hands reached into his pocket, then exposed his phone. John was puzzled, wondering who’d contact him this early, and why now; no one has phoned him for at least the two weeks. He squinted, and saw what the phone read:

 

    Outside, now.

    MH

 

    It took him a moment, but John realized who it was: Mycroft Holmes. It buzzed again:

   

And make sure you look decent.

    MH

   

    “Finally, you phone me...” Sighing, John got up. Whatever it was, it must’ve been important; Mycroft doesn’t text. He probably was being respectful of the mourning man, not wanting to scare or disturb him too much. Of course, like his late brother, he was a smart man. He has seen these types of people before, depressed and such. He’d know that John would be silent somewhere; which he was right. John, sluggish although trying to move swiftly, grabbed his coat and shoved his phone in the pocket. He walked over to a window, positioning himself to see his reflection, and flattened down his hair the best he could. He was interrupted by his phone buzzing a third time.

 

    HURRY UP.

    MH

 

    “Oh shut up, I’m hurrying.” He muttered to himself, quietly. John then rushed out the door, nearly tripping over the forgotten step by the door. He was welcomed outside by a fancy limo-like cab, and an attractive woman whom held the door open for him. He climbed in; not that he wanted to, but because he had nothing better to do. Once in the car, he just sat there. His arm was propping his head up, and he just watched the scenery race by outside his window.

 

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