BBC Sherlock Howard, Misplaced - Survive

"Don't you think this joke is going too far?" Yes, no matter how good-tempered the doctor is, he cannot bear such an accusation.

"Dr. Watson, this is not nonsense."

"Okay, it's all my fault, very good!" John clenched his fists.Why?Why can they spout blood? If Sherlock really had something wrong, why did it have anything to do with him?

"So? What's their hypothesis?" the doctor asked slowly, sighing.

"...It's not your fault. Even if his death is really related to you, you don't have to blame yourself, because it's beyond your control."

"Why is it about me? I just want to know this."

Molly put down the reagent in her hand, raised her eyes to look at him for the first time, and said in a dissatisfied tone:

"Dr. Watson, please, stop lying to yourself, okay?"

"Cheating?" John twitched the corners of his lips: "Very good, very good. Is this also Moriarty's trick? Lestrade, the rest of Scotland Yard, and even the landlady have a consensus - Molly, you must know it too —Sherlock is addicted to drugs, Mycroft asks you not to mention it, right?

If it turns out his death was drug-related, you'll all be accomplices.You missed the best time to save him. "

It seemed bloody too, but John didn't care anymore.

Molly's expression hardened for a moment.Before she could respond, John left the lab.

"You're going to ruin me, I'm happy to accept that. But it's not about John, why are you doing it?"

"This is 'Eliminate the enemy'." Irene said confidently.

"Even if you do, I can't—"

——It is also impossible for me to project my feelings for John onto you.

"How do you know if you don't try? Well, smart detective, tell me your answer."

Sherlock was silent for a long time, and finally whispered a few words:

"Tell him I'm dead."

"You think so highly of yourself? Are you so sure that you are so important to him? What if he doesn't care at all?"

It hurts. Sherlock murmured inwardly, but he believed it would at least hit John a little bit without really "ruining" him, as the woman said.

"My answer is over."

"Okay. Unfortunately—that's exactly our strategy."

"What the hell did you do to him!"

"Calm down, little boy. No torture, no torture, he's still intact."

"No matter what you have done or will do to him, I will not allow it."

"Is this possessive? Oh, Sherl... Is it hopeless for me to have you?"

"It's impossible," Sherlock said, biting his lip.When he caught himself making this gesture of panic, he knew something was wrong.

"I'm going to have a conversation with him. We went to great lengths to fake your death and even left gifts in your apartment. You've seen it before, just a few envelopes with your fingerprints all over them. Some people leave messages after they die, or have someone forward them for them. We're in that latter mode. We've tricked Scotland Yard, it's just that lovely medic... I guess I'll have to do it myself."

"Don't touch him." Sherlock seemed to be struggling in the mud, and all resistance was in vain.

"It's not your turn to talk, honey."

John has every reason to leave the apartment now - but he finds he has no intention of moving at all.

He looks forward to the day when he comes home.All he wanted was to grab Sherlock—John was going to grab him, first he squeezed his shoulders hard, and asked him, "Where have you been dying these days?"

Then he rolled up his sleeves, checked his condition, and finally looked into Sherlock's eyes - just like the scene of the two of them looking at each other on the night of illness - and he would ask him in the softest voice of his life: "Tell me ,what happened?"

He believed that Sherlock must have his own reasons.

It was night when John got off work.It started to rain halfway, and he ran back to 221B in a state of embarrassment.

The lights were on on the second floor.

The doors upstairs were half-closed, and the lights were folded flat, illuminating the patterns on the floor mats.The wet shoe prints went all the way up from the gate, looking calm and unhurried, completely different from his situation.

Such a time—who could it be? John flicked through his drenched hair, stamping his own after the man's shoe prints, and the carpet was stepped in different shades.

Sherlock.

Please, let him show up.

John went up the stairs and opened the door with the toe of his shoe.There are only two results - ecstasy, or repeated disappointment.

When he sees the understated but eye-catching black umbrella, he knows it.

"Dr. Watson." came and nodded to him.

"Mycroft," John greeted, no longer trying to hide his frustration at the long wait and so little he could do.

"If you try to get anything out of those people, I can only say, it's ridiculous."

"I have no other way. I can't mobilize the human resources of the entire Scotland Yard to monitor your brother like you. However, even if you have done so, he is still missing. This is an indisputable fact." John said The tone is full of condemnation and ridicule.

But Mycroft remained unmoved: "Dr. Watson, what exactly do you want to know?"

"All Sherlocks."

"You already knew him."

"No. If his background is really that simple, why do you need to monitor him?"

"I was always worried about him."

"I think you have some kind of controlling desire. There's something sick about it!"

Mycroft sat in Sherlock's place, fingers interlaced.It was the same habit as detectives, perhaps a Holmes tradition.

He said sullenly, "No, doctor, you don't know anything. This is a lot more serious than you think. Don't use that stupid word to describe what I did."

"It doesn't convince me. Why don't you let me help him? You don't know that drugs are bad for your health, and I'm a damn doctor—do you want to watch your brother get murdered? I know able to help him!"

"Very good. Doctor, you finally hit the point."

"You ask everyone to keep it secret, why?"

"It's an agreement between me and Sherlock."

"What the hell agreement? This is ridiculous—"

"He doesn't want you to go. He just doesn't want you to move out."

Mycroft realized for a moment that he seemed to have said the wrong thing, but it was too late.He closed his mouth vigilantly.

"You should tell me everything, Mycroft." John said almost commandingly, "tell me."

"John, I actually tried everything I could to get you to move out, including revealing Sherlock's bad habits to you—you know, it wouldn't be a problem if I had my heart set on it."

"Why?" The doctor clenched his fist, then let go: "Where did I make you dislike me?"

"His past is a bit complicated, which is why I—"

"Could you please stop talking nonsense! Mycroft, can you stop trying to hide something from me so damn hard?"

The man looked at the doctor for a long time, as if analyzing what to do next.

"He almost killed a man once," Mycroft said.The tone was light and fast, but John heard every word clearly.

"He used to smoke too hard. One night he went out into the street and cut passers-by.

If you don't think this is serious enough, it must be your problem.

Later, I discussed a solution with him-find a roommate, distraction, and supervision. "

"It's me," John said flatly.

"According to what he said, you were not deliberately arranged by him. It can be seen from this that everything that happened afterwards was 'purely accidental'."

"I don't remember what happened."

"Of course you don't. Well, I've said enough.

They were going to hold a funeral for Sherlock.It's next week, will you be there? "

"What will you put in his coffin?"

"I don't know, maybe find a black coat."

Mycroft leaned on his black umbrella, got up from the chair, and was about to leave, but was stopped by John:

"If my presence was a means of detoxifying Sherlock, then why—he still—"

Mycroft closed his eyes, initially unwilling to answer, but finally changed his mind.

"Something else happened to him. Compared to me, he's always been an emotional man—he's out of control, he's out of control, because of you, Dr. Watson."

"So I'm an incompetent roommate? Is it my fault again?"

"Doctor, you did a good job at first. But then everything got out of hand."

""out of control?""

"Sherlock's self-control has always been good, both psychologically and physically. But at some point, he found that he couldn't do it anymore.

At first he just likes your company too, but then he realizes he wants more than that... yes, he's out of control. "

"Then drug abuse? I can't believe it. It's been so long and I don't even know—"

"I said, I want you to move out of 221B. But Sherlock won't do anything, so he promised me to quit drugs completely, and I just let it go.

He actually did and I couldn't believe it.

However, as you can see, he did it again. "

"When did he do these... things that hurt himself?"

"When you go out with those women, medic."

"One last question," John's lips began to quiver, "why did he do that?"

"God, can you think about it with that poor goldfish head of yours?"

"I don't know," replied the medic, "Should I know?"

Mycroft sighed heavily and finally glared at him.

"Why haven't you thought about it—he loves you?"

"He stained your hands with blood. Do you think Moriarty committed suicide? No, he killed him. He spared no expense to keep you from being implicated, and he almost died--Speaking of which, Dr. Watson, you can only complain about him What have you done for him other than grinding the beans for you? I even think that you don't deserve everything he has.

You better start thinking about what to do now. "

John saw Mycroft leave in agony for the first time.

"John, this is just an if, just a hypothesis - will one day, you also become an ordinary person...those, trapped by love...ordinary people."

He remembered what he had said on the street.He also remembered what Mycroft had said.

—he loves him.

No. John hadn't thought it would be like this.

That night, he dreamed of Sherlock.

"John, listen to me," he said sadly seeing him, "listen to—"

I'm listening, Sherlock, I'm really listening.The detective in the dream looks extremely vulnerable.

He wanted to say something to comfort him, but he couldn't.

He woke up in tears.

"John, I'm really glad you came today, really."

Mary did seem to be in a good mood, and she pulled out two glasses of whiskey from the kitchen, "Would you mind a little bar? Are you driving here?"

"No, I'm taking a taxi."

"That's good. I don't drink very well, so please forgive me if I lose my composure then."

Today is Mary's birthday, and John bought a mid-priced pen as a gift.In fact, the two of them hadn't known each other very long, so choosing a present bothered John for a while, but Mary seemed satisfied. John smiled. "I don't drink much better either."

"What if you passed out here drunk?"

"Then let me sleep on the sofa."

John admitted that he came here to escape, escape from that place full of Sherlock's shadow, escape from that place loaded with too many attachments.

But what are you doing now?

He suddenly felt sorry for Sherlock.

"Why is your expression so serious? Are you okay?"

"fine."

John felt that his answer made the atmosphere extremely awkward, but Mary quickly picked up another topic:

"What do you usually do? Actually, I've always been curious about your life."

"You know, seeing a doctor during the day, and sometimes you can't rest after get off work at night." John unconsciously talked about the days when he and Sherlock lived together: "Having a consulting detective roommate is really not a dream."

"I'm very interested, can you tell me?"

"Indeed, it's unimaginable to ordinary people—like a pile of organs inexplicably appearing in the refrigerator, or finding him heating food on an alcohol lamp, and of course, there are many visitors. They may be discouraged, they may be dressed in strange clothes, and they may be crazy. We’ve even had people who started smashing things as soon as they walked in the door.”

"Isn't that sabotage?"

"No," John took a sip of his drink, "he's really a client."

"Have you ever encountered any particularly difficult cases?" Mary asked with undiminished interest.

The medic blurted out, "Moriarty."

"Moriarty? Who is he?"

"Dangerous, criminal consultant. He creates crime, and Sherlock is the one to fight him."

"Then where is he now?"

John swirled the liquid in the glass.He regretted talking about this topic, but at that moment, that was all he had in mind.

"Dead." He didn't say how Moriarty died.

"Oh..." Mary stopped asking, he saw John's eyes dim again, she didn't want her curiosity to make him uncomfortable.

"So, how's it going...well?" She felt a bit like his therapist.But if there is a chance, she also hopes that John can open his heart and tell her everything about himself, even if he vomits bitterness, she is willing to listen.

"It's not very good." John's honesty surprised even himself. At this time, he should lie, at least a three-word lie: "I'm fine."

"Do you want to talk?"

"Mary, it's your birthday, leave me alone, really."

"I don't want to see you like this, trapped in your own emotions."

The room suddenly fell silent.The military doctor stared at the empty wine glass in his hand, clenched his hands so hard that he trembled, as if he wanted to crush the glass.

"It's all about me," John said softly, "It's all about me..."

"what is the problem?"

"I..." he said, "I'm sorry for him...I'm sorry for Sherlock..."

John Watson, calm down, now is not a good time for you to cry.He cursed himself: Damn it!How decent is it to cry in front of a woman?

Mary put her hand on his shoulder, a silent reassurance - please!Don't touch him!This will make him lose control of himself even more.

"I'm here, John."

John blinked, tears running down his cheeks.

Damn it.He felt ashamed.

Fortunately, Mary just sat quietly, keeping her hands in the same position.She waited quietly until John calmed down.

"I'm sorry," said the medic, "I think I should go."

Mary nodded. "You really need to do that."

She sent him downstairs, and was about to say goodbye at the door, when Mary suddenly looked at him—gazing into his eyes, which made John bewildered:

"What's wrong?"

"John," she said cautiously, and seemed to have some burning desire, "will you let me kiss you?"

"what?"

Mary approached him, with an elegant scent of perfume, blowing towards him like a breeze.There is a kind of courage in her indigo eyes, without the slightest timidity.

He saw her close her eyes. John pushed Mary away in the last few centimeters, and John knew it: he couldn't do it.

He knew what was wrong, so he ran away, from the affection Mary gave him.

Like so many times, he dodges Sherlock's tender fingertips, he avoids his almost fiery gaze, he keeps misinterpreting all of Sherlock's actions towards him - even though it's just a simple word.

He knew that he couldn't love the woman in front of him, let alone give her happiness.

He knows what the problem is.

"I thought there was really a little possibility between us."

Mary backed away unhurriedly, with a bit of disappointment in her eyes.

"No, I didn't mean that..."

"Stop talking, I guess I may have drunk too much." The woman smiled and waved goodbye to the military doctor at the door: "Good night. I hope we can meet again later."

"……Good night."

He watched in amazement as she closed the door.

"...Happy Birthday." John whispered.

You are such a piece of shit. John said to himself.

You just broke a woman's heart, how many more people do you want to hurt?

And Sherlock. John felt like he'd be ashamed of him for the rest of his life.

He always thought that those actions were just one of his many tricks, just a whim.Just to see how flustered he looks occasionally, and to tease him again.

He didn't think about it.He didn't dare to think about it either.

So he asked himself now: John Watson, what is Sherlock to you?

He knew the answer, and he knew it in a split second when Mary was about to press his lips to his.

That's why he pushed her away.

John clutched Sherlock's phone tightly, the only way he could miss him now.Mimicking Sherlock holding it, he pressed the power button.

Still locked screen.

He wants to unlock the code.He had to do it even if it took him all night.

He had to figure out what made him believe that Sherlock was alive, he had to figure out what to verify Mycroft's story.

He had to let Sherlock know how he felt about it all.He wanted him to know that he wasn't going to leave him—no matter what happened, he wasn't going to leave him.

He wondered what to type—not a name, not a birthday?

do not care. John didn't care anymore.

If the password was set for Mycroft to guess, then the possibility of the name could be ruled out.The military doctor anxiously entered his birthday, then pressed his lips tightly.Just take a gamble, he thought.

Unlocked.

Sherlock lied to him again!But John didn't blame him, he didn't have the time to settle accounts.He didn't know what he wanted - the message box was full of information about the case, the call log was blank, nothing!

John had hoped to get a few clues from his cell phone, and even regarded it as his last hope—maybe wishful thinking, but what could he do? Sherlock loved the unexpected, and John had no choice but to do so.

John checked every app and finally found ten recording files.

——A recording file?

He opened them one by one and listened.

Those files are mostly noise, or they end up with one name: John.

Only the last file is a complete sentence.

"I love you, John."

The military doctor was a little dizzy.Suddenly, he saw Sherlock sitting on the sofa, repeating those words.

He saw him.At least he was sure he saw him.

Sherlock.I know the answer.

I know the reason why I can no longer have strong feelings for others, I know the reason why I stay in 221B, and I know the reason why I am so devoted to you.

But I am running, I am running away.My cowardice and ignorance make you heartbroken and cause you pain. You think that you won't get my response, and you think that I will only deal with women in my life.

Sorry, I'm such a total mess.

Sherlock, listen to me.I'm going to tell you now:

"I love you, Sherlock."

John recorded it on his phone, and the trembling end of it melted into broken whimpers on his lips.

You must come back.

"If you die, I will never spare you."

I will not spare myself.

Sherlock found himself suffering from headaches, accompanied by chills.

He shivered on the bed, holding his head.The occasional sharp pain made him bite his lips tightly, and his knuckles were so hard that they turned white.

"Poor detective, what's the matter?" The woman looked at him with false concern.

"What did you do to me?"

"You probably just caught a cold, I didn't do anything."

"I've never...been so seriously ill."

"I think you have another kind of illness—the illness is in your heart, and I can use it to make you miserable."

"oh……"

Sherlock leaned his head against the wall, the pain unabated.He took a sip from the water glass on the table.

"I really want to talk to your doctor," Irene said, walking towards the door, "as for the content—I want to keep it a secret."

There was cold sweat on Sherlock's forehead, and he slumped on the bed, watching the woman leave.

Sherlock's phone rang, just before eight in the morning.

John walked to the table and looked at the number on it—unknown.

Should he take it?Who would call Sherlock in this situation?

This is so anomalous.

Just as he was thinking, the ringing stopped.

Then John's phone vibrated.

"Who are you?" This tone is really rude. John has an ominous premonition. It is still uncertain whether the opponent is an enemy or a friend, but the enemy has a higher chance.

"I think you know that."

It's a woman. "I don't like to play this kind of game. Are you here to cheat?"

A contemptuous laugh came from the other end of the microphone, "Irene Adler."

—Irene Adler?The name was somewhat familiar, but John couldn't remember it.

"What are you going to do?"

"Dr. Watson, there is a car waiting for you downstairs. I hope you can accept my invitation. Don't worry, I won't hurt you.

Also, I have something here that you must be interested in. "

The black car took him directly to the abandoned power plant, and a woman in a white two-piece suit led John up the three-story iron ladder.In the process of stepping on it, the mottled rust shattered into crumbs and fell at John's feet, and the ladder kept making harsh friction sounds, as if it was about to collapse at any time.

"Go straight to the end, then turn right." The woman following him simply said something, then turned around and left.

John followed the man's instructions and moved along a water-logged corridor.At the end is a wide room with windows on all sides. The wooden window frames have decayed, and water stains extend from the ceiling. It is almost a scene that can only be seen in horror movies. John thought sarcastically.

"You want me to come, but there's no one here," said the medic, looking into the empty room. "Why do you think I'd be interested in information—or anything else—that you have?"

No one answered.

John suddenly felt like an idiot, "Fine, I'm leaving. It doesn't make any sense."

"You're not in a hurry at all, why don't you stay a little longer?"

—It's the woman, Irene Adler.She walked unhurriedly to the center of the room.

"Tell me what you have to say, and let me go."

"Funny," Irene smiled amusedly. "You're just as hostile to me as that detective."

Sherlock?

"Why do you mention him?"

"You look surprised, why?"

She looked at him like she knew everything already.This is knowingly asking.This is her trick.

"You know it." John gestured to leave, "I said, I don't want to play this boring game with you."

"So what happened to him?"

"He's missing."

"Or, he died?"

"That's the official story of Scotland Yard. They haven't even found a body. I don't care where you heard it, anyway—"

"Would you believe me if I said I killed him?"

John's breath faltered.His sight drifted around, unable to find a fixed point.In the end, he still looked at her.

"Is this a confession?"

"Yes."

"You're lying. No one would—"

"Honest? Stupid? They usually go together."

"So, you asked me to come just to tell me that Sherlock died at your hands?"

"You can think in this direction. But not necessarily, you have no evidence."

"Before I saw the body, I didn't intend to tell anyone—and no one will arrest you. Enough, you're lying," John concluded with his rich experience in the world, "You are He's lying. He didn't die, and if he died, he wouldn't die with you."

"Why do you feel that way?"

"Because he's Sherlock Holmes!"

Irene stood with her legs crossed, her slender figure showing through the tight dress, the most voluptuous posture John had ever seen.

But at the moment he felt nothing but uneasiness.

"You guys really look like a couple."

"If nothing else, I'm leaving."

"you love him."

"You talk as much nonsense as Mycroft."

"Are you guilty?"

"..."

"Dr. Watson, I suggest you stay at home often. Soon, you will receive a generous gift."

John shuffled away wearily. Irene seemed to be talking behind her back, but he had no intention of listening.

"Investigate Irene Adler and find out her latest whereabouts, the more detailed the better."

"Are you trying to take Sherlock's place? You're going to be a consulting detective? Dr. Watson—"

"Mycroft! Can you have some backbone? Listen, if you believe Sherlock's alive, do what I say. Also, I'm not going to that fucking funeral, you stand by the coffin with that crowd Cry over his coat. You have two choices now, will you help me?"

The headaches became more and more severe, and the frequency continued unabated. Sherlock had been so tormented by this symptom that he had almost lost the will to live.The only thing that supported his sobriety was the thought of going home.

——He doesn't have to go back to 221B, as long as there is John, anywhere can be home.

His vision began to blur.Sometimes, Sherlock couldn't see clearly what was on the table.In severe cases, even the face of the visitor cannot be recognized clearly.

His hands were shaking.He didn't know why his hands were shaking.

This is definitely not a cold.Absolutely not.

The situation is serious.

At this point, Sherlock finally knew what the problem was.

He grabbed the water glass and smashed it against the door, and the glass shattered.

"You get it. It took a lot of your time, didn't it?"

"This method is not very bright. Relatively, it is extremely despicable."

Irene seemed to have expected Sherlock's behavior, and she entered the room the moment the debris fell to the ground.

"Your reasoning ability has regressed. Didn't realize it until now?"

"If I hadn't chosen not to die of thirst, it would have only taken about 30 seconds."

"So confident. I told your lovely medic—I said I'd kill you."

"Big lie."

"Indeed. I also said I would give him a present."

"What is it?"

"you."

Sherlock rested his head in one hand.He couldn't think anymore, he could only ask again and again like an idiot: "What did you say?"

"You will be a gift. A great gift." The woman almost grinned. "It's the end, Sherlock. We're going to part."

"I can't wait to get the hell out of here, ma'am."

"Well, it looks like I'll have to start wrapping the presents first—actually, I'm having a pretty good time thanks to you."

"That was not my intention."

"Who cares? I decided to make life a little more colorful.

You may be impatient with being locked up and need a little stimulation.

- My sniper, no, the sniper left by Moriarty is already outside your apartment.You must want to ask me: Why shoot and hurt people?Nothing else, just fun.Don't you think it's funny, detective? "

"You can't—" Sherlock panicked.Of course he knows what women are up to, like all villains do, they are always so uninventive, but they can use this old-fashioned trick to force you into submission.

"Why not? Aim at the medic's little head."

Adler turned his mobile phone to speakerphone mode, and on the other side was the busy street, and the noise of car horns was endless.It was the noise coming into the room from outside when John occasionally forgot to close the window.It was also a way to remind them both of their connection to the world.Sometimes, 221B is isolated from the rest of the world, belonging only to Sherlock Holmes and John Watson.Just the two of them.

"Waiting for your order." On the other end was a stern, almost rigid male voice, sounding like a puppet.

"Paul, go ahead. Don't let me down."

"Yes."

Then there was a loud gunshot.

"John!"

Sherlock realized immediately that his actions were not helping, but he couldn't help it.

—No, Sherlock Holmes, you must calm down!Take control of yourself!

"You're completely out of control, Brothermine."

Maybe he should trust Mycroft.Maybe he shouldn't have chosen John as his roommate.Maybe he can take the initiative to alienate him.perhaps--

He can choose not to love him.

"Tell me, who do you love? This is my purpose. If I hear the answer I like, I may choose to let you go."

"Do you think I'll fall in love with you if you do this? Do you think—"

"Say you love me, which is equivalent to surrendering to me. You can continue to be proud, but——you may change your mind for everything that follows."

It started, and her prediction came true. Sherlock's vision blurred, and this time he couldn't even see the palm of his hand.All the scenery became points of light shaking wildly, making him dizzy.

He felt a sharp buzzing in his ears, sharply slashing his remaining sanity.

But he knew what he was going to say.

"I love him!" he said, "I love John Watson! There will be no one else!" He roared, roaring with all his strength.Usually he will in order to achieve a