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John couldn't really remember when his 'friend' had first shown up. His mother once told him that when he had been young enough to crawl, he had always liked to spend his time under furniture. John would crawl to the nearest desk or table and after that he wouldn't leave for hours at a time.
Sometimes she would hear him laugh and she would have no idea why. John never brought any toys with him. When she would try and drag him out from whatever piece of furniture he was under, John would always throw a fit.
His mother had been sure it was just a phase.
It wasn't.
John's earliest memories were of the blackness that hid in the shadows under tables, beds and desks. It was never in corners or in the darkness of an unlit room. It only existed where there was also light. John learned to love the shadows that his dearest friend lived in.
At first, his friend had only been in his house. It never followed him. In kindergarden it changed. John had felt a tickle go up his leg and he had looked under his table. Seeing nothing, he sat back up again. Then it happened again. The feeling of a centipede or a caterpillar crawling up his trousers and along his skin left goosebumps.
John leaned down again and peered under the round table. This time he saw a flicker in the shadows and John smiled. His friend had followed him.
After that it was a constant battle between John and his teachers. When they were turned to the blackboard, John would be lower his head just to stare into the blackness and try and catch a glimpse, a ripple of movement that might disrupted the still air.
At home he would spend hours at his desk...yet nothing would get done. John smiled when he felt a tickle up his leg and he would giggle at how ridiculous it all was when he thought about it.
By the time he was eight, John knew that he was the only one with a friend that lived in the shadows. His mother told him it was 'all in his head' but John just couldn't believe it. To appease her, he pretended that his friend had simply vanished. That he was now ready to put away childish notions and be an adult. Now he did his homework while sitting at his small desk and she never questioned why he would giggle a bit too much at his math sheets.
Even if he had wanted to, John didn't think his friend would just vanish. There couldn't be a world were John put his legs under a table and not feel the comforting tingle of his shadow friend.
Finally, John asked it what it was called.
Why do I need a name?
John had never heard it speak a full sentence before but then again he had never asked it such a question before. For some reason, he just had to know.
Call me what you like.
John wiggled his leg and he felt a pressure on his knee. Whether he was making up the voice or it actually ringed in his ears, John didn't know. Even at the young age of ten, it was possible that he was already losing his grip on reality. It seemed like a small price to pay.
John didn't know why it was so important that the friend who had just been 'here' now needed a formal name so urgently. It would change the dimensions of their friendship. How, John wasn't sure, but he needed it suddenly like air in his lungs or his heartbeat.
I can't tell you.
After that that the tingling sensation and the voice that was too deep to be his faded into nothingness. He was depressed for days but he couldn't put his finger on the reason. John's mother was relieved. Harry knew that something had changed with her big brother but she didn't care enough to ask what had happened. Finally John had no idea why he was sad and why it was linked to his need to glance under tables. It was an odd habit to break and one day he just stopped- the urge gone.
Days turned into years and by the time John Watson graduated medical school he had forgotten the mysterious friend who had once lived in the shadows. Still, even though the memories were far from fresh, John would still bounce his leg up under his table and expect to feel a pressure that would never come. It was a curious sort of feeling.
Then the war came. Well it had already come, but John finally went to it. There were no longer any desks or tables and only the sound of bullets. John didn't know why, but he had just never expected to go home again. What was there waiting for him in London? Nothing.
As John lay on the desert sand, bleeding out of his shoulder, he was reminded of the emptiness that was awaiting him. Although now he supposed it was more of a permanent location. Despite the burn in his shoulder, John laughed. No matter the destination, the same result.
Where were his friends when he needed them most? He was the medic though and whatever friend did show up, they could do little but cradle his head and feed him the lie that he had told many other wounded soldier.
Everything's going to be all right.
The voice wasn't his own and John was barely conscious enough to realize that it matched no one in his unit. In fact, it was an oddly nostalgic and calming voice. Deep and reassuring; John was sure he had heard it once before.
Do you still want to know?
John didn't have the energy to nod so he just allowed his mind to concentrate on the voice and only it.
You know it now. Say it, please.
It wasn't that the voice was begging, more it was being polite. John wondered why the darkness under his eyelids had final summoned back his friend after so many years. It didn't seem fair, dying when the mystery had finally reintroduced itself.
He wanted to insist that he didn't know it. If he hadn't know it twenty years ago, how could be possibly know it now? John twitched as fresh blood continued to pour out of the bullet hole in his shoulder.
I was never suppose to come back. Ask this of you.
John knew why. The shadows were suppose to be just that- shadows. Never to be seen in the light of day and examined under a microscope. Shadows hid and covered, they never exposed. How could a shadow expose itself?
Gripping with the very deepest parts of his mind, John struggled to find the word, the name that he needed to say. If anything, it would bring closure. Closure to a thought that had been nagging at him, even when he hadn't been aware of it.
The tension started to flow from John's body and he knew it wasn't much longer until the end. He had always been sure that he would die alone, but now, now he wasn't. His faceless, nameless friend was there to keep him company in the darkness that resided under his closed eyes.
I can't help you once you're gone. Please.
Although his eyes were closed, the desert sun that had been filtering in began to fade. The light turned hazy and there was no weight to his body. John could no longer feel his limbs and even the pain in his shoulder had disappeared. It was actually quite pleasant.
Despite the contentment, there was something pulling at him, wanting him to not embrace another type of darkness. A darkness that he had never been friends with even though it wanted to greet him like an old friend.
His throat was constricted and dry. No word would ever cross his cracked lips again. However there was still enough of a spark left in his brain to send the final signal that needed to be sent to his conscious mind.
Sherlock.
The darkness was surprisingly warm and there was a tingle somewhere in the region where his leg had once been. There were no longer any muscles there to lift his mouth into a smile but he did nonetheless.
Sherlock smiled back and enveloped him.