Sherlock BBC Prompting Meme

"we get all sorts around here."



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alone at the end of the world | TW: suicide attempts

(Anonymous)
“I’d expected more, here at the end,” Sherlock says, tilting his head back towards the stars. There are still so many. They’ve changed, of course, in the millions of years he’s waited for this moment. He can remember all the old constellations, generation after generation of them, all of the shapes traced on old star-maps. Now he is the only one left to name them.

He names the first stars visible on the horizon after sunset for John, because John is always the first thing Sherlock remembers when he wakes. There’s a star that doesn’t move much. Not the Northern Star; that one’s moved, relative to Earth, spinning into the rest of the bright points above him, or maybe it’s gone, now, faded. It’s called Lestrade. There’s an enormous cluster that only comes out during summer (well, summer on the land that used to be England) and he’s named it after Mycroft, a little bit out of spite.

There are other names for other stars, for other people he’s known. He writes them down and charts their movements. Now that all life besides him is dust, he uses charcoal on metal. There is no wind, no rain anymore to blur his words.

Mycroft should have been able to fix him. He tried, of course, but he couldn’t. There was nothing that could do it. Poisons didn’t work, he never bled dry, decapitations always failed, left him in agony and feeling his flesh knitting itself back together. He no longer needs food or water or even air. He’d stopped aging such a very long time ago, before his flesh had even wrinkled.

God used to talk back to him. Now he just hears God’s breathing, a grating, cosmic whine. God’s trying so hard to keep it all together. Sherlock knows he’s failing. He can’t even spare the attention to talk to Sherlock anymore – strong force will fail, eventually. Sherlock finds himself looking forward to it. He can almost imagine the feeling of the subatomic particles that make him up falling apart, contracting into one point as the universe crunches up upon itself.

He breathes in, just for the hell of it. His body aches and he doesn’t know why. He’s long given up the luxury of despair and self-pity. He used to think himself unfeeling, millions of years ago. If only the man he was then could see him now. This is unfeeling. The only thing that really stirs him anymore is wondering what the end will be like.

God has been silent for a very long time.

Perhaps God is already effectively dead, a thing now unthinking. Perhaps the universe will decay slowly. Perhaps Sherlock has a long time left until he dies.

The clothes have long since rotted off his body so he lies down naked in the ash. There are meteors and he busies himself with estimating how long it will take each to fade. He’s getting very good at that. He sleeps for awhile and when he wakes up there are still meteors, brighter than the reddish sky.

“I don’t know why You’ve done this,” Sherlock says, as all of existence rattles with God’s next exhale. “But I hope you’ve got a damn good reason.”

He closes his eyes and waits.

Re: alone at the end of the world | TW: suicide attempts

Oh my god. What- How- That is way less cracky than anything I was expecting to descend from that prompt! That's gorgeous!

Re: alone at the end of the world | TW: suicide attempts

(Anonymous)
Wow, that was fast!

“But I hope you’ve got a damn good reason.”

Sounds Sherlock would've bored himself to death... if he could just die. And he never had any interest in the stars until that's all he was left with. It's funny and sad. Thanks, this was really interesting and entertaining!

- OP

Re: alone at the end of the world | TW: suicide attempts

(Anonymous)
Oh my. Oh my. This is marvelous. Sherlock naming the stars after everybody is perfect. This entire thing is perfect. Just wow.

Re: alone at the end of the world | TW: suicide attempts

You are the weirdest and yet somehow most beautiful person I know. I've read so much fucking fanfiction in the past few weeks that it's really hard to connect this to your name--not that, uh, there's a name listed, but...

Anyway.

It's bizarre to connect this to you, and I'm still noticing things I think I wouldn't otherwise--as all of existence rattles with God’s next exhale/the feeling of the subatomic particles that make him up falling apart, contracting into one point as the universe crunches up upon itself/no wind, no rain anymore to blur his words--phrases and images I wouldn't give you credit for if I were reading this over your shoulder.

I'm glad I wasn't there to see you write this, because this way I get the pleasure of reading something unexpectedly good instead of anticipating your normal brilliance.

Sorry for what I imagine was a convoluted comment. It is quite late, you know.

Re: alone at the end of the world | TW: suicide attempts

(Anonymous)
Oh, wow. That's amazing - powerful, silent, and so very very sad. *is misty eyed*

Re: alone at the end of the world | TW: suicide attempts

Wow. Just... wow!

Re: alone at the end of the world | TW: suicide attempts

This was a precious thing, a very precious thing indeed, one of those fills that apparently say so little but give so much to picture and think about well after I'm done reading. Wonderful. Absolutely, utterly, scarily wonderful :)

Re: alone at the end of the world | TW: suicide attempts

(Anonymous)
This is marvellous. Very weird, very true to Sherlock. I love the detail that he makes up his own star names.

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