I Believe In Sherlock Holmes

Two years, between the fall and the return of the infamous Sherlock Holmes. His "friends" struggle through peril and pain, but none so more changed than Anderson.

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1. I Believe In Sherlock Holmes

"Phillip come to bed, please" Anna begged as the icy wind from window stabbed at her bare legs. Her husband stood at the window for a moment then without a word he climbed in beside her. His body was distant and his eyes stared at the ceiling, he seemed to be working out a case in his mind. His breathing was heavy and forced, as through he was under deep stress. Anna could feel his body gently shake with fear, guilt, regret, sadness, she slid closer beside him "What's on your mind now?" she asked as she rested her head on his chest. It rose and fell as his lungs did. Slowly Anna wrapped her arm around him and hugged his bare chest.

He was silent for a while as his fingers twirled through her long blonde hair. She listened to his heart beat fast and out of rhythm. He sighed and spoke in a heavy voice. "He never jumped, John was just on drugs" their eyes met, he was completely serious with his hypothesis.

"Oh come on now you're not even trying anymore" Anna couldn't help herself from laughing, for days he had been telling her the theories he had, about ways Sherlock Holmes could still be living.

They both laid in silence. His heart beat slowed down at last. Anna began to drift off until he spoke. "The funeral is tomorrow" his voice cracked. The first sign of acceptance she had heard from him.

"Once it's over will you finally accept the fact he's dead?" Anna pushed herself up and gently kissed him, his lips touched her softly, it wasn't a normal kiss. It felt uneasy, afraid. She slowly pulled away in disappointment.

"He's not dead" he nearly growled, focusing his attention back to the ceiling.

"Stop it Philip!" Anna rolled back to her side of the bed, clearly annoyed. "Sherlock Holmes is dead, you, however, are not dead, so stop acting like it!"

"I'm as alive as Sherlock Holmes" his voice rose above his normal level, and hers was about to do the same.

"You got that right!" she turned away from him to hide my tears.

"And what's that supposed to mean?" He sighed in frustration.

"You haven't left the flat!" Anna shouted and turned angrily to face him. "You've been talking nonstop about these stupid nonsense ideas! You haven't been to work! You haven't even shaved!"

"I don't need to shave" he chuckled, and at last showed signs of life in his eyes. Anna had been longing for this moment,a moment where Philip was acting like himself.

"Look at that" Anna calmed down and ran the back of her hand against his cheek and smiled as it brushed his stubble "Shave"

"No" he shook his head gently. "I don't want to" he pouted and laughed.

"Then at least sleep" Anna begged. "You haven't slept in days." Hesitantly she grabbed his hand and to her surprise he squeezed back hard.

"Don't worry about me Anna, I'll be fine" he gently kissed her forehead as they both both closed our eyes. "I love you Anna don't forget that"

"I love you too Philip" he held her hand tighter and ran his thumb along the side of it. Anna drifted off to sleep but Philip Anderson couldn't bring himself to sleep. He stared at the ceiling, wide awake.

He contemplated theories about any possible way Sherlock could've lived. Deep in his mind he felt guilty, all the pressure and stress he had placed on Sherlock, making him out to be a fool. The guilt was nearly too much to face for him. He had made it out to seem as through he hated Sherlock, but in reality he worshiped him, and Anna knew it. He looked up to Sherlock like a teacher, a role model. He would talk for hours on end about the cases, and the numerous clues he missed that Sherlock had found immediately. He even attempted Sherlocks deduction skills but didn't get far. His mind would constantly hear Sherlocks voice "shut up Anderson" he would always secretly smile when he heard it, and when it replayed in his mind he smiled still.

Anderson's mind was whizzing with thoughts, theories, any possible way to kill his guilt. Him and his partner Sally Donavon hadn't been the most supportive of Sherlock, and he accused himself for his untimely, death and false accusation. He had been killing his pain by playing the role of Sherlock. Studying the clues, examining the crime scene over and over again in his mind. Searching for any flaw, any hint, any tiny detail only Sherlock himself would notice. He had began to drive Anna crazy with his obsession so he kept most of it to himself.

Sleep still refused to come to him as he played connect the dots with the plaster bumps on his ceiling. His mind again raced through thoughts of his former hero. Anna was right, the funeral was tomorrow and he wasn't looking forward to it. The last thing he wanted was for his wife and his lover to be together, and he knew Sally would be at the funeral. If Sally had even half the guilt of him she would be at the funeral. Their affair hadn't been much, but it was enough. He knew if Anna found out she would leave him. He needed Anna, she was the only one keeping him sane after all. Without her he would be lost, a victim to his own mind.

As the clock counted down the hours left in the night, he gave up on even trying to get sleep. Slowly and quietly as not to wake up Anna, he climbed out of bed and into the kitchen. He opened up a dull silver laptop and searched through his tabs. "The Science Of Deduction" he clicked it and scanned the page. Sherlock couldn't be dead, it's near impossible, that a man that strange, that unique, that talented, could be defeated that easily. Tears filled his eyes that he didn't bother to wipe away. He wished he could tell Sherlock how he really felt about him, that it wasn't hate it was simple jealousy. He wanted to tell him everything. But it was too late, wether he was dead or not he wasn't roaming freely around London. There was no way for him to express his feeling now, it was too late to ask for friendship, too late to ask for advice.

The sun began to rise in the sky Philip closed the laptop and climbed back into bed with Anna. He closed his eyes and tried desperately for one last shot at sleep. Anna rolled in bed and gently kissed him. He acted asleep as Anna woke up and began getting ready for her long day. Anderson laid with his eyes closed and his body as relaxed as he could get it. Sherlock however did not leave his mind. "Phillip come to bed, please" Anna begged as the icy wind from window stabbed at her bare legs. Her husband stood at the window for a moment then without a word he climbed in beside her. His body was distant and his eyes stared at the ceiling, he seemed to be working out a case in his mind. His breathing was heavy and forced, as through he was under deep stress. Anna could feel his body gently shake with fear, guilt, regret, sadness, she slid closer beside him "What's on your mind now?" she asked as she rested her head on his chest. It rose and fell as his lungs did. Slowly Anna wrapped her arm around him and hugged his bare chest.

He was silent for a while as his fingers twirled through her long blonde hair. She listened to his heart beat fast and out of rhythm. He sighed and spoke in a heavy voice. "He never jumped, John was just on drugs" their eyes met, he was completely serious with his hypothesis.

"Oh come on now you're not even trying anymore" Anna couldn't help herself from laughing, for days he had been telling her the theories he had, about ways Sherlock Holmes could still be living.

They both laid in silence. His heart beat slowed down at last. Anna began to drift off until he spoke. "The funeral is tomorrow" his voice cracked. The first sign of acceptance she had heard from him.

"Once it's over will you finally accept the fact he's dead?" Anna pushed herself up and gently kissed him, his lips touched her softly, it wasn't a normal kiss. It felt uneasy, afraid. She slowly pulled away in disappointment.

"He's not dead" he nearly growled, focusing his attention back to the ceiling.

"Stop it Philip!" Anna rolled back to her side of the bed, clearly annoyed. "Sherlock Holmes is dead, you, however, are not dead, so stop acting like it!"

"I'm as alive as Sherlock Holmes" his voice rose above his normal level, and hers was about to do the same.

"You got that right!" she turned away from him to hide my tears.

"And what's that supposed to mean?" He sighed in frustration.

"You haven't left the flat!" Anna shouted and turned angrily to face him. "You've been talking nonstop about these stupid nonsense ideas! You haven't been to work! You haven't even shaved!"

"I don't need to shave" he chuckled, and at last showed signs of life in his eyes. Anna had been longing for this moment,a moment where Philip was acting like himself.

"Look at that" Anna calmed down and ran the back of her hand against his cheek and smiled as it brushed his stubble "Shave"

"No" he shook his head gently. "I don't want to" he pouted and laughed.

"Then at least sleep" Anna begged. "You haven't slept in days." Hesitantly she grabbed his hand and to her surprise he squeezed back hard.

"Don't worry about me Anna, I'll be fine" he gently kissed her forehead as they both both closed our eyes. "I love you Anna don't forget that"

"I love you too Philip" he held her hand tighter and ran his thumb along the side of it. Anna drifted off to sleep but Philip Anderson couldn't bring himself to sleep. He stared at the ceiling, wide awake.

He contemplated theories about any possible way Sherlock could've lived. Deep in his mind he felt guilty, all the pressure and stress he had placed on Sherlock, making him out to be a fool. The guilt was nearly too much to face for him. He had made it out to seem as through he hated Sherlock, but in reality he worshiped him, and Anna knew it. He looked up to Sherlock like a teacher, a role model. He would talk for hours on end about the cases, and the numerous clues he missed that Sherlock had found immediately. He even attempted Sherlocks deduction skills but didn't get far. His mind would constantly hear Sherlocks voice "shut up Anderson" he would always secretly smile when he heard it, and when it replayed in his mind he smiled still.

Anderson's mind was whizzing with thoughts, theories, any possible way to kill his guilt. Him and his partner Sally Donavon hadn't been the most supportive of Sherlock, and he accused himself for his untimely, death and false accusation. He had been killing his pain by playing the role of Sherlock. Studying the clues, examining the crime scene over and over again in his mind. Searching for any flaw, any hint, any tiny detail only Sherlock himself would notice. He had began to drive Anna crazy with his obsession so he kept most of it to himself.

Sleep still refused to come to him as he played connect the dots with the plaster bumps on his ceiling. His mind again raced through thoughts of his former hero. Anna was right, the funeral was tomorrow and he wasn't looking forward to it. The last thing he wanted was for his wife and his lover to be together, and he knew Sally would be at the funeral. If Sally had even half the guilt of him she would be at the funeral. Their affair hadn't been much, but it was enough. He knew if Anna found out she would leave him. He needed Anna, she was the only one keeping him sane after all. Without her he would be lost, a victim to his own mind.

As the clock counted down the hours left in the night, he gave up on even trying to get sleep. Slowly and quietly as not to wake up Anna, he climbed out of bed and into the kitchen. He opened up a dull silver laptop and searched through his tabs. "The Science Of Deduction" he clicked it and scanned the page. Sherlock couldn't be dead, it's near impossible, that a man that strange, that unique, that talented, could be defeated that easily. Tears filled his eyes that he didn't bother to wipe away. He wished he could tell Sherlock how he really felt about him, that it wasn't hate it was simple jealousy. He wanted to tell him everything. But it was too late, wether he was dead or not he wasn't roaming freely around London. There was no way for him to express his feeling now, it was too late to ask for friendship, too late to ask for advice.

The sun began to rise in the sky Philip closed the laptop and climbed back into bed with Anna. He closed his eyes and tried desperately for one last shot at sleep. Anna rolled in bed and gently kissed him. He acted asleep as Anna woke up and began getting ready for her long day. Anderson laid with his eyes closed and his body as relaxed as he could get it. Sherlock however did not leave his mind.

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