Just one more text, he tells himself. One more foolish, desperate attempt to ease the pain. One more miracle. It is blind and it is hopeless, but he sends it nonetheless.
Just come home. - JW
In a year and a half, John has never truly expected a reply; nor has he received one. He is surprised to feel his phone vibrate. When he sees who it’s from, he is stunned breathless. When he reads the message, he is absolutely paralyzed, and time stands still.
I already have. Now, it’s your turn. - SH
He thinks of the ways he could be losing his mind. He ponders the probability of it being a lie; a cruel trick. Disbelief nearly sinks his short-lived hope.
His phone screen lights up again, and John reads the new message.
Be at 221B in fifteen minutes; no exceptions. I’ll be waiting. - SH
He thinks of the ways Sherlock is extraordinary. He ponders the probability of him being alive; an impossible truth.
He closes his eyes with a shaky sigh and remembers every word Sherlock ever said, and everything he ever did, and every moment they had; and John remembers that he will always believe in him.
The answer comes to him so swiftly that he nearly stumbles as he stands. He throws off his white work coat with wild abandon and deliberately leaves his cane leaned against his desk. His heart pounds and his mind races and he knows, somehow, that this is real, and Sherlock is alive, and he is waiting at home; finally giving him one more miracle.
John has never run faster in his life.
