Work Text:
Sherlock sat.
He had not moved in hours. Everything was quiet, or as quiet as London by-day could be, and his brain was frozen. Not frozen as in cold weather, but frozen nonetheless. His thoughts was solely on the content of the one, last text he got from her.
Irene Adler.
The Woman.
The one woman who he could not deduce by the first glance in her direction.
A mystery.
But she had just been a distraction.
A fleeting interest and she was gone. An interesting individual in the tedious world of idiots.
But not all people were idiots. John was not an idiot. He was intelligent, quick thinking, loyal, honest, trustworthy and...... John.
And that brought Sherlock back to where he started.
The text.
He had told John that 'Goodbye Mr. Holmes.' was the last words she had sent him, but they were not.
The last words were about John. The kind, comfortable, excruciatingly normal John Watson.
"If I was The Woman, then he is The Man. Do not wait, till he too, is gone! Goodbye Mr. Holmes."
The Man
What did she mean by that? John was... John was just...
His flatmate.
His flatmate John.
Something clicked into place in Sherlock's mind.
His John.