Think back to our last hiatus, to how it felt for us between seasons 2 and 3. That was two hellishly long years. Real life went on (and on and on) and as real people we grew and changed and moved on from the various traumatic events in our lives.
Now consider this: (breaking into the fictional world just a bit), we knew that whole time we were waiting that Sherlock was alive. We didn’t know how he did it, but we did at least have the assurance he had survived his fall from the rooftop.
Poor John Watson was not privy to such assurances. He honestly thought Sherlock was DEAD. Gone forever, ended in a pool of blood on the pavement at his very feet. If any of us had seen what he saw that day, and then lived out those two hellishly long years without any hope of the nightmare ending, we might have given Sherlock a whole lot more than a split lip and a bloody nose upon his return. Speaking for myself, I would have found forgiveness for such a stunt almost impossible – and I consider myself a very forgiving person.
There would not be enough days left in eternity for Sherlock to apologize to John for what he put him through, and he has yet to even get started!
Reblogging this from 3 years ago. Still holds true, despite what came after.
Two Years
Published
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