Chapter Text
John stood, holding a small tin in his hands. His jeans were ripped and his coat dusty, his clothes reflecting the man wearing them. The past months had been hard on him, as had the past year. He had taken to searching the web in desperation, looking into every myth and legend he could find, needing some way to see his friend again. He knelt down, scooping dirt up with his hands, hoping that this time would be different, that this one would work. He had followed the instructions on the website to a tee, and this was the last of the long list he had spent the past three months working through. If this didn't work... He didn't want to think about it.
Wiping the sweat from his brow he hesitated before placing the tin in the hole, hoping beyond all hope that it would work. He took a swig from the flask in his pocket before shoving the dirt back into place, the now soothing feel of alcohol sliding down and warming his throat. When the hole was completely covered, he stood. The night was silent.
John shivered, and watched as his breath turned to fog in front of his face. A frown crossed his features; he hadn't felt the cold before. Taking another drink, he waited, growing impatient with the still night.
"Where are you!?" He shouted, his voice hoarse with croak of a desperate man, slightly shaking with anger and slurred with alcohol. "I did what it said! Why aren't you here!?" He sunk back to the ground, feeling tears form wet tracks down his cheeks. A breeze that seemed to have come from nowhere cooled his moist skin. “I tried..." He murmured, taking another swig of scotch from his flask and retracting back into himself. "I tried." His tears came heavier now, the finality of Sherlock's death hitting him like a wave crashing against the rocks. "I'm sorry." Little more than a whisper, the words echoed in his mind, his only thought that he had let himself down, he had let his friend down. He would never see Sherlock again, and with that John Watson just couldn't cope. Now he truly had lost everything.
"What's getting you down old man?" The accented voice of a woman cut through the cold silence, startling John and causing him to turn quickly. At the end of the crossroads stood a woman with dark hair, wearing boots, jeans and a red tank. She advanced on him, no weapons in her hands but a threatening aura about her. He scrambled to his feet, raising his hands defensively, although part of him didn't care about living anymore. "Oh don't worry, I won't bite. Besides, I thought you called me?" John stood for a moment, confused as to what she meant. As he watched her, her eyes flashed red for a second, before fading back to brown. It dawned on him. It had worked. He lowered his shaking hands and stepped closer.
"Can you bring him back?" He asked, a seed of hope sprouting in his heart.
"Of course. But it'll cost you."
"I don't care." He cut in. "Anything. I'll give you anything. Just bring Sherlock back to me." The woman stood, taking in John's ragged appearance, her eyes lingering on the only piece of clean clothing: The navy blue scarf around his neck. She almost pitied him.
"I can give you ten years, John Watson. Ten long, happy years. But only ten." John nodded; he had been expecting that. You could live a lifetime in ten years.
"Ten years, and then you take me. Not him." John watched as the woman nodded, and that was all the encouragement he needed. "Bring him back." He told her.
"Alright. Done. He's all yours." John held his hand out to shake on it but instead she seized his face and kissed him, sealing the deal. John's eyes widened in surprise, his lips breaking into a smile as she pulled away.
"Thankyou." He said, and she nodded before walking down the road and vanishing from his sight. He rubbed his eyes incase he had imagined it, but she was gone. As he headed back to his car, he realized that the night was warm again.