God I really LOVE your prompts!! Would you write one about the "I Love you" scene in TFP but where John hast to say/ admit it? It would make me soooo happy. :-))
John wakes, head throbbing, and breathes in the pungent smell of chlorine. His eyes open at the awful familiarity of it. The Pool.
He looks around frantically, and sees Sherlock slumped against the wall, groaning and rubbing the back of his head.
Sherlock starts, his eyes widening as he takes in John. “Are you al-”
A dialing tone. Five pips. And then, a ghostly voice echoing off the tiles:
“Hello. My name is Jim Moriarty. Welcome to The Final Problem.”
Sherlock looks very pale, and John wants nothing more than to run to him.
“That’s… that’s not possible,” Sherlock says. His eyes scan the place, searching.
And John’s blood turns cold. “Sherlock-”
Sherlock stops, and his eyes follow John’s. The red light dances on his chest.
And then, the voice of Jim Moriarty again, distorted and filled with static, the words sounding wrong and edited, spliced together: “Fill in the blanks, Johnny boy!”
A new voice: “You need to get it out.”
John must make some sort of noise, because Sherlock is staring at him, stricken. He prays and prays that the recording won’t continue but-
“My- my best friend. Sh-Sherlock Holmes. Is Dead.”
Sherlock’s eyes are beginning to fill up, and John wants to scream; he doesn’t want- Sherlock can’t hear him like this- this isn’t-
The tape jumps. And John knows each word off by heart.
“The stuff that you wanted to say… but didn’t say it.”
“Stop it,” Sherlock says, abruptly. “Would you just- this is cruel. Stop it.”
The tape continues: “Say it now.”
And Sherlock’s reaction breaks John’s heart. His face is still showing his fury, but he’s undeniably holding his breath, as if hoping against hope, waiting to hear-
But John already knows he has let him down. His past wrecked voice fills the pool. “No. Sorry, I can’t.”
John is shaking his head. “Sherlock, I…” But he doesn’t know, has never known how to finish that sentence.
Sherlock blinks and some tears fall, and John feels sick.
Suddenly, they are plunged into red light. Moriarty’s voice returns. A count down.
Sherlock is shaking. The aim of the sniper is still on him. “John, I- I’m sorry.”
“What are you apologising for, you idiot? We need to think, we can-”
“John. It’s okay.”
“What? Of course, it’s not okay, how can you just sit there and think that, that- tell me what to do.”
“I- I think- I think there must be a- a release code. Some…”
“Some what? A word, a number? Think, Sherlock.”
But, oh John Watson, he berates himself. You already know.
Fill in the blanks, Johnny boy.
The stuff you wanted to say.
But didn’t say it.
Say it now.
“I loved him!”
The words are wrenched out, as if something has been scooped out of his very chest. They echo and rebound off the walls, and once they’re out, John can’t stop himself, like something has finally been freed: “Alright? Is that what you needed to hear? That’s what I was going to say. I loved him. I loved him.”
Sherlock is still shaking. “Why- why would they want you to say that?” he whispers. As if it’s a lie. As if he can’t quite believe what he’s hearing.
John’s throat closes up. “Because it’s- it’s true, Sherlock.” He pushes past the tears. “It’s- it’s always been true.”
John swallows and looks Sherlock right in the eye. “I love you,” he says, and it feels like the only sure thing in the universe.
The lights flicker to normal. Sherlock is staring at him. Staring and crying, his lip trembling, desperately trying to speak but he can’t quite get the words out.
A new voice, sharp and crystal clear.
“I applaud the spectacle,” says the woman known as Mary Morstan.
I took a bit of creative licence with this scene, so I hope it still fits the bill for you! ;) <3