fear_the_squee

Title: "Believe"
Rating: G
Word Count: 500
Warnings: Spoilers for Season 2. Also, Tumblr memes.
Summary: The first time he saw it, John Watson thought he was losing his mind. Just four little words, spray-painted on the side of St. Barts: I believe in Sherlock.

The days since the funeral had passed in one long grey blur. The London press ran article after article about the fake internet detective, Sherlock Holmes. The Sun went so far as to describe him as the “greatest criminal mastermind London [had] ever seen”. The judicial system was in an uproar. Half of Scotland Yard—including Lestrade—were on administrative leave.

John kept to himself. After two days, he couldn't bear living in 221B. The lab equipment everywhere, the body parts in the refrigerator, and worst of all, the silent violin in the corner... it was too much. Sherlock's presence was crowding him out of Baker Street. He went back to the bedsit where he'd been staying before Sherlock and 221B. The bedsit was nondescript. It was easier to be numb when you were surrounded by numbness.

He went walking everyday. Nowhere in particular, just walking. At least, that's what he told himself. If he didn't choose his route carefully though, he always wound up at St. Barts.

The first time he saw it, John Watson thought he was losing his mind. Just four little words, spray-painted on the side of St. Barts:

I believe in Sherlock

He wanted to walk closer, but that would take him over the spot, and he couldn't do it. In his mind's eye, there was still blood on the concrete.

The next day, walking through Piccadilly Circus, he saw it again:

I believe in Sherlock. And added beside it, Moriarty was REAL.

It was like a hand slamming into his chest. He took deep breaths until it passed, staring at the words.

Every day he'd walk farther afield until he came home each night exhausted. It became a ritual. How many times would he see it? It was spreading across London like a wave. Once on the Tube: Deduce the truth . Once, heartstoppingly, on the door of 221B as he came by to check on Mrs. Hudson: Richard Brook was a fraud. We believe in Sherlock.

The walls of St. Barts had to be scrubbed and repainted so many times that Molly said the custodial staff was threatening to go on strike. Finally they just left it where Sherlock had fallen: I believe in Sherlock.

When they stopped washing it away, other things began to show up. John would walk by and see that someone had left a deerstalker. A stuffed dog—a hound, he supposed. Drawings, scarves, even flowers... the wall at St. Barts was turning into a shrine.

The more he visited, the more something loosened in his chest. For the first time in weeks, he was able to breathe without imagining stabbing pain. For the first time in weeks, he felt like he wasn't alone.

After another week, he began to think that maybe he could survive this after all. One night, he took his laptop out of the desk drawer and went to his old blog. One entry, short and to the point:

22^nd July

Thank you

All of you, whoever you are. I believe in him too.