Challenge: Diamonds and Pearls
Title: Hear the Angels
Fandom: Sherlock
Rating: G
Length: 565 words
Content notes: warning for depressing themes
Summary: John Watson celebrates New Year's.



John Watson leaned back against the tree and swirled the remains of the bottle he'd brought to toast the new year.

"Don't even know why I brought it," he said, taking a long swig, the alcohol burning as he swallowed. "I was never one for celebrating and lord knows you never were. Never have been and never can be. Not now." It was probably a good thing he'd bought a small bottle, it was two thirds gone already and likely to be finished soon. "Not that there's a reason for celebrating anymore. It's January first, the start of another year. Whoop-dee-do." He laughed bitterly, harshly and shivered as the wind picked up. "Wonder if it's going to snow. It's too late for a white Christmas, of course, but a lot of people like snow; they find it cleansing or some such rot." But a look through the branches showed a sparklingly clear winter sky. "Ah, well, too much to hope for, I suppose. It's still cold enough for you to be swanning about with your scarf and your coat and that's all that matters. That's all that would matter."

Examining the bottle carefully, John realized there were only amber dregs left. He briefly thought about offering them to Sherlock, but decided that wasting alcohol, even of such questionable vintage, on someone who wouldn't enjoy it was practically criminal and downed the remainder instead. Attempting to stay warm, but too loose limbed and exhausted to move, John pulled his jacket tighter around himself. He sighed and shut his eyes, not quite ready to leave.

"John?" A warm hand grabbed his shoulder and shook him out of a light doze. "Damn it, John, what the hell are you doing?"

John opened his eyes to see Greg leaning over him, a worried scowl on his face. "Happy New Year, Greg. I'd offer you a drink but," he said, shrugging and nudged the empty bottle in Greg's general direction.

"Come on, let's get you up." Greg grabbed John under the armpits and with a groan, pulled him to his feet. "I'll take you home, this is no place to spend the night."

"Why are you here?" John asked, his voice soft and wobbly in ways he'd never let it be if he were sober and fully awake.

Greg gave him a long look. "I'm not going to let you do this to yourself, John. You're not to drink yourself to death or die of exposure, not while I'm around to stop it."

"Oh," John said slowly. "I didn't mean to. I mean, I wasn't going to. I just." He steadied himself before pushing away from Greg and walked a few steps under his own power. "It's New Year's. I just wanted to spend it with him."

"Oh, John." Greg ran a hand over his face. "Why don't you come over to mine, all right? I'll make tea and get you warmed up. Some tea would be nice, yeah?"

"Tea'd be great, thanks." John reached out, touching two fingers to the tombstone. "Happy New Year Sherlock," he said quietly before nodding to himself and following Greg out of the graveyard. And if his eyes were a bit watery, well, between the wind and the alcohol, that was to be expected.


We shall find peace. We shall hear the angels, we shall see the sky sparkling with diamonds. (Anton Chekhov)