cypress_fic: (Wheat Field with Cypresses - Van Gogh)
[personal profile] cypress_fic

Title: Everlasting (5/5)
Pairing: Sherlock/John
Rating: Mature
Word Count: 17,000 total
Genre: AU/fusion, magical realism, angsty fluff...or fluffy angst?

Summary: A Tuck Everlasting fusion, in which the Holmes brothers have lived for a very, very long time.

A/N: Chinese translation available here.  Thank you, [livejournal.com profile] rosemarry102!


8 August, 2022
age 47

“You're still as beautiful as the day I met you.”

"I look exactly the same as the day you met me."

“Our age difference is getting to be a bit much, don’t you think?”

“Oh, it always was.”

“How long can you stay?”

“One week.  And Mycroft won’t let me leave the house.  I can’t be seen.”

“That’s alright.  I won’t give you a chance to leave the bedroom.”

“What about the sofa?  The kitchen table?”

“...You’re still wearing my tags.”

“Of course I am.”



---


14 August, 2035
age 60

“How long can you stay?”

“Not long.  Just three days.”

“...”

“John, I want you to marry her.”

“I...”

“It’s alright.  I don’t want you to be alone.”

“...She’s dying.”

“I know.  Keep her company.  You care for her.”

“I love you.”

“You love both of us.  Marry her.”




---



14 August, 2050
age 75

“Please...please don’t forget me.”

“Never.  I won’t.  Never, never.”



---



The soil in the cemetery was bone dry.  Not unusual, for August.  Sherlock looked down at the simple granite stone in front of him.

In Loving Memory
John H. Watson
Doctor, Soldier, Husband
1975-2058

Sherlock heard Mycroft's footsteps behind him.

"I spoke to someone at the library," Mycroft said, gently.  "There was a storm last year.  A tree caught fire, and caused extensive damage to the woods.  They had to bulldoze the area.  The stream is gone."

Sherlock's shoulders felt lighter.  He kept his eyes fixed on John's stone.

"He's been gone for two years."

Mycroft cleared his throat.  "You knew this would happen," he said.  "You knew he wasn't staying."

Sherlock didn't turn around.  He walked past the stone, brushing his hand over the top as he passed.  He headed toward a familiar dirt road.  Mycroft didn't follow.



---


The meadow had only slightly changed.  Others had discovered the spot, as evidenced by the tire marks in the dirt.  There was a pair of children's shoes forgotten by the side of the road, and a plastic water bottle lay in a nearby blueberry bush.

Sherlock walked up to the tree, resting his palm against it as he looked down over London.  The city was bigger, taller, and more colourful.  Probably brighter at night.  He could still see the Eye.

Sherlock loosened his scarf and pulled a chain out from underneath his shirt.  He took off one of John's tags and slid the other back under his collar, letting it hang where it had for almost fifty years, against his chest.  He gripped the loose tag tightly in his hand, then reached high up in the tree and placed it inside a hollow in the trunk, where it could overlook the city.

The sky was a clear solid blue.  The sun hung heavy among whips of cloud.

It wasn't right.  It should have been raining.




---



"I believe I've developed an antidote."

"Are you certain?"

"Animal testing was successful."

"Well...Together, then?"



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