You're now chatting with a random stranger. Say hi!
You and the stranger both like Sherlock.
Stranger: "John, would you come here for a moment?" Sherlock asks from the kitchen doorway.
You: "Just a moment, I've got a blog entry to finish." John calls back from the couch, where he is set up with his laptop computer, accomplishing not much besides staring blankly at the end of the previous paragraph.
Stranger: "You're not even typing. It will only take a moment." He frowns and crosses his arms, tapping his fingers on his arm impatiently.
You: He rolled his eyes, set it down on the coffee table, and rose, a hand on his hip, turning to face his flatmate. "Well? What is it?"
Stranger: Sherlock walks over and hesitantly puts his arms around John, resting his chin on the top of his head.
You: John is stiff only for a moment, though his surprise quickly wanes and he awkwardly encircles Sherlock in his own embrace, closing his eyes.
Stranger: After a few moments, Sherlock pulls away and walks back into the kitchen. "Thank you. I felt the need for some contact." He sits down at the kitchen table and looks down his microscope.
You: John stands there, his arms still outstretched, watching Sherlock curiously. "Is everything all right?" He asks, lowering them.
Stranger: He sighs and tries to concentrate on what he could see through the microscope. "Not really."
You: "Is there anything I can do to help?"
Stranger: "There is nothing anyone could do to help. Don't worry yourself about it."
You: "Do I at least get to know any details?" John is, of course, worried anyways.
Stranger: "All you need to know is that there is something wrong with me." Sherlock pauses, only for a second. "It's terminal."
You: As this sinks in, John seemingly forgets to breathe. And choke a bit. "I haven't seen you around the hospital."
Stranger: "Mycroft made me go to a private one." He says as calmly as he can, shaking his head a little with a sniff. The bacteria down the microscope were becoming harder to see as his vision blurred from the tears he was fighting back.
You: "Oh, God, I.." He steps into the kitchen, and swallows. "How long?"
Stranger: "About 2-3 weeks. My health should deteriorate rapidly during that t-time." Sherlocks voice cracks a bit and he shakes his head more. "I'm fine."
You: John moves forward again, stopping about a half meter away from Sherlock, and hesitantly rests his hand on the back of the dark-haired man's, over the focus knob. "It's going to be a-all right. You're fine."
Stranger: Sherlock glances over at John's hand on his and frowns, biting his lower lip. "Mmhm." He couldn't hold the tears back anymore and a few roll down his cheeks.
You: He is joined quickly in the physical evidence of sadness, and John attempts to rub comforting circles into the side of his thumb, but was probably not very effective in actually calming anyone.
Stranger: Sherlock stands suddenly and grabs John, wrapping his arms tightly around him as he buries his face in his shoulder. "I-I don't want to die, John." He whispers.
You: "I don't want you to die." He returns, breathing quick and deep.
Stranger: "I'm sorry about everything." He lifts his head and looks down at John. "I mean it. My experiments, my moods, my rudeness, my incapability to fully understand what's right and wrong. I'm sorry that I've put your life in danger too." Sherlock holds John tighter and pushes his face back into John's shoulder as he sobbed quietly.
You: "I don't.. I don't care about any of that." He responds somewhat weakly. "I've put up with it willingly. God knows I would do it again." And then he just stands there, crying quietly and holding Sherlock's head against him, as if he's a small child.
Stranger: "I'm...just..oh god, John. Don't go anywhere. Please. Stay...here with me."
You: "I'm here. I won't leave you." He murmurs, moving so Sherlock can lean against him properly, and more comfortably.
Stranger: "Thanks." He whispers and nuzzles into John's shoulder more. "I need my blogger."
You: "He'd have nothing to blog about without you."
Stranger: "Don't be ridiculous. It's the blog of John Watson. There'd still be plenty to blog about."
You: "Though nobody would read it, Sherlock. It would be awfully dull."
Stranger: "It's not there for people to read. The original aim of it was to help you. It can do that again. Nothing you could write would be dull."
You: "And it wasn't the blog that helped me in the first place, idiot." He almost chortled, despite the distinct stinging dampness of his eyes.
Stranger: "I'm not an idiot, John. But...what did?" He frowns into John's shoulder.
You: "You did, Sherlock." He pinched his eyes shut, then directed them to the floor. "It was you."
Stranger: Sherlock lifts his head and looks down at John with a raised eyebrow, tears still running down his face. "I...helped? I never knew that."
You: "Of course you bloody well did!" He told him, somewhat exasperated. "You helped more than anything else ever could have."
Stranger: "Oh." Sherlock smiles weakly and let's go of John to walk over to his violin, picking it up. "John?"
You: "Yes, Sherlock?" He tugs on the sleeves of his sweater, pulling them down fully.
Stranger: "I would like to give you this." He goes back to John and places it in his hands. "I won't really be needing it and I want you to have it. Please."
You: "I can't play. I couldn't ever, not as good as you." He however could not refuse it. If nothing else, it would come with him when he moved out. God, moving out, that was not an option in the slightest, he wouldn't do that anyways.
Stranger: "I can use the time I have to teach you." Sherlock smiles and nods to himself. "I'm going to sound incredibly sentimental but...if I helped you before then let me try to again before I go."
You: He closed his eyes again, and nodded, a fresh wave of tears seeping out. "Thank you. For all of it. Everything."
Stranger: "It's you who I need to thank. You changed me, in a good way. Thank you, John Hamish Watson." Sherlock wipes his eyes and takes a deep breath, tears still fall. "You're the only person that means anything to me, okay?"
You: "And you. In the same respects. I... you mean a lot to me." He didn't bother wiping his face, instead taking to looking alternately between the violin and Sherlock.
Stranger: "I know." He smiles. "You're my best friend, my /only/ friend. Ever. I'm sorry that I have to do this to you." Sherlock looks down at the floor and talks quietly. "We were going to spend the rest of our lives together, in my head anyway. Chasing criminals, solving crimes, laughing. There's another thing...no one has made me laugh before."
You: "Nobody at all?" He asked, a bit taken aback, as usual.
Stranger: Sherlock looks back up at him and shakes his head. "No one. They weren't funny so I didn't laugh. You're the only one."
You: He shook his head, and grinned mirthfully. "Sherlock Holmes, you are the strangest, stupidest, and most extraordinary man I have ever met."
Stranger: He chuckles quietly. "You are just...well, you're the perfect person." He frowns. "More sentiment..."
You: "And you're far more clever." John plowed right through the end of his statement. "And interesting, and determined, and brave."
Stranger: "Oh, John, I'm everything but brave. That's your job."
You: "All I do is save your arse." He disagreed.
Stranger: "You do so much more than that. You're the brave soldier who gets up and carries on no matter what. You're brilliant, John."
You: "And I love you." He concluded in the sentimental weeping of the moment. He wasn't about to go back on that, especially not just then.
Stranger: "And...what?" Sherlocks eyes widen and he staggers back a little. "You love /me/?"
You: He sort of laughed nervously at that. Okay, shit, probably a bad idea. Nonetheless, "Er, well... yeah, of course I do though. You're fantastic."
Stranger: "Right. John Watson loves me." He says to himself. "I love you too, John. But this...this isn't /fair/." Sherlocks eyes water again and he looks up at John.
You: "Wait, you.." He took a deep breath, remembering why this conversation was happening in the first place. "You're right. It's not."
Stranger: "Oh god...this...you love a dying man. I'm so, /so/ sorry." He wraps his arms around John again.
You: "I loved you quite a while ago. Before I knew... I should have told you. Sooner." He locked his arms back around him tight, clutching a fistful of his button-up.
Stranger: "So did I." He rests his chin on the top of John's head and closes his eyes. "So we both loved eachother and neither of us said. It's too late."
You: "No, it's not." He told him, his lower lip trembling. "You're still alive, Sherlock. We're both still here."
Stranger: "21 days at the most, John. We have a few weeks. I want longer." Sherlock pulls John closer and kisses the top of John's head.
You: "So we make the most of the time we've got. We have a lifetime and a fortnight to live it all." He looks directly up at Sherlock, in those strange eyes that change color, above the sharp, heavy-set cheekbones already gaunt, no he was just upset, he couldn't be, he couldn't leave so quickly.
Stranger: Sherlock nods and leans down to hesitantly press his lips to John's, squeezing his eyes shut as more tears ran down his face.
You: John doesn't hesitate, and he lets every ounce, everything that had built upon itself in his time living with Sherlock, go directly into this. His thin lips were soft, and by God he seemed even taller than usual, the way John had to stretch up. He didn't care. It was exactly like he had imagined, apart from the terminal illness and all he tasted being saltwater.
Stranger: Sherlock feels himself break during the kiss. This. He only has a limited amount of time to do /this/. That was the worst feeling that he had ever experienced, being this close just to know that you will be ripped away in just a few weeks time. Sherlock pulls back and rests his forehead against Johns and looks into his eyes. "I love you."
You: "I love you, too." He breathes back. "Sherlock." And then he's tripping backwards, into the large stuffed chair that of course matched none of the other furniture, landing with the larger man ending up almost completely on top of him. The kiss didn't break.
Stranger: ((I'm sorry but I can't do this anymore :( just broke my own heart with this rp xD sorry))
You: ((I have been crying. This is possibly worse than Reichenbach. Just
reoigjklserghkWHY MUST HE DIE WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS))
Stranger: ((oh god, so have I. IM SO SO SORRY! this was an awful idea! Skciebsjxisbsksh))
You: ((It's okay
I mean this is a wonderful roleplay but
Stranger: ((I've got to go and hide in a corner until all these feels go away))