Title: Inscrutable to the LastAuthor: DiscordantWordsPairings: John/Mary; John/Sherlock (ultimately)
Length: 48,843
Rating: Mature/R
Verse: BBC Sherlock
Author's Summary: He wasn't Sherlock, he couldn't work miracles. All he'd ever been able to do was write about them.
Reccer's Comments: Let us suppose, gentle readers, that Sherlock Holmes is dead and has never returned, and that John is married to a nurse named Mary, who is not now and never has been pregnant. Let us suppose that John has made a life for himself. Really. He has. And as part of that life, he is writing a sort of novel that he keeps on his laptop and whose events, to a startling degree, resemble the events of S3.
You may go into this expecting a supernatural story in which John's novel comes true. It isn't. It's much more clever and surprising than that. And you will notice that I have not included a "character death" warning, okay?
It is beyond me why this fic hasn't had more readers. Also, I have checked the spreadsheet of past recs about half a dozen times, because how has this not been recced before?
Here's an excerpt from the opening."John?"
Mary's voice had gone strange. The tone made something lurch in his chest.
He looked up from his newspaper, from where he sat on the sofa. She was sitting at the little desk in the corner, staring down at her laptop—except—no, no, it wasn't her laptop at all. It was his.
"What's this?" she asked, and her voice was definitely strange, high and strained.
It set his heart pounding, thudding a steady beat of no no no, each jump of his pulse flooding him with a sickening dread. He wanted to throw his newspaper down, bolt for the door, flee into the damp evening air. He wanted to stand up and snap his laptop shut, like he'd done to Sherlock all those years ago—except, no, best not think of that.
He did none of those things. Instead, he rustled his newspaper, folded it neatly and set it down on the coffee table, and met her eyes. He sat very still.
"Hm?" he said. "What's that, then?" He feigned casual, did a crap job of it, and why did he even bother, she'd always been adept at seeing right through him, right from the very start. That's why he'd—
Read on the AO3.