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    Summary

    Just because Sherlock stopped, doesn't mean the Work has to. London is John's city now and he will keep it together with stitching, string, his healing, the food off his table, and sometimes the clothes off his back. John Watson keeps going. He's good at that.

    Language:
    English
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    Chapters:
    13/13
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  2. 19 Feb 2018

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  3. 13 Feb 2018

    Rec

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  4. 12 Feb 2018

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  5. 11 Feb 2018

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  6. 08 Feb 2018

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  7. 28 Jan 2018

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  8. 27 Jan 2018

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  9. 26 Jan 2018

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  10. 26 Jan 2018

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  11. 21 Jan 2018

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  12. 19 Jan 2018

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  13. 18 Jan 2018

    Rec

  14. 17 Jan 2018

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  15. 14 Jan 2018

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  16. 11 Jan 2018

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    Bookmark Notes:

    Beautifully sad and perfectly honest.

  17. 04 Jan 2018

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  18. 03 Jan 2018

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  19. 30 Dec 2017

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  20. 28 Dec 2017

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    Bookmark Notes:

    ' "I'm sorry." John can't see Sherlock's face but he knows it is screwing up in the expression he makes when he's doing something he doesn't want to do. It's a bit like someone has cast Sherlock in wax and then purposefully made his eyebrows twisted and his nose wrinkled and his chin sideways.

    "I never asked you to apologise, Sherlock." And John never would, because he knows Sherlock's rule for apologies and it's this: never apologise if you're going to do it again. That doesn't mean anything. It sounds like something John's grandmother had tried to drill into him during the trips to Northumberland in his childhood.

    "Not for... that." Sherlock takes John's hand where it is on his shoulder and pulls John round so he is sitting in the chair Greg has vacated. It seems for a second like a slow motion, rather ridiculous version of musical chairs. Sherlock doesn't let go of John's hand, turning it over back to palm, back to palm. John doesn't take it away. Sherlock's fingers are light on his palm, along the lines where the fist forms and it reminds John of last night, of washing his own blood off Sherlock's hands. "I was wrong," Sherlock continues, taking a breath and not looking up to meet John's eyes, looking at their hands, to the side, to John's collar to avoid looking. Then he does look up and it is electric.

    John thinks that the entirety of their lives together can be charted in two types of moments: The roaring adrenaline ones and the ones like now, quietly confessional. "About heroes, John. And you." John stays quiet. Sherlock is rubbish at talking. Not talking, he does that all the time, can, if necessary, chatter for hours, but actual proper talking, not often. Neither of them does, actually. "You..." Sherlock stops and shakes his head; raising John's hand, pressing it to his cheek hard and leaning into it with eyes closed for a long second before letting him go. Nothing more needs to be said. '

    I wish I can have this

  21. 12 Dec 2017

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