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fan_flashworks2017-02-01 06:30 pm
nanslice) wrote in fan_flashworks2017-02-01 06:30 pm
Entry tags:
BBC Sherlock - Fanfic - Gently Clasped Hands
Title: Gently Clasped Hands
Fandom: BBC Sherlock
Rating: PG
Length: 5093 words
Content notes: Manipulative behavior, possessive behavior.
Author notes: For the prompt "lever". Set post-The Reichenbach Fall, some dialogue lifted straight from The Empty Hearse. This is also a fill for the 'heart on sleeve' square on mygenprompt_bingo card.
Summary: Sherlock returns to London only to find a interloper has appeared.
Sherlock stared down at the photo of John and refrained from stroking it or any other nonsensical sentimentality. “Well. We’ll have to get rid of that.”
Mycroft frowned. “”We”?”
“He looks ancient. I can’t be seen to be wandering around with an old man.” He looks down at the file for a moment longer before closing it and setting it on the desk.
Mycroft’s eyes narrowed. “You really think he’ll just accept you back.”
Sherlock scoffed. “Of course I do, Mycroft. Why wouldn’t he?” He turned and looked at himself in the mirror, straightening his jacket. “I think I’ll surprise him tonight. Pop in at Baker Street. He’ll be delighted!”
“Baker Street? He isn’t there anymore.”
“What?” Sherlock paused and turned back to Mycroft, brow furrowed. “Where else would he be?”
Mycroft heaved a great sigh, leaning against his desk. “He’s moved out. He’s moved on with his life, Sherlock.”
“What life? I’ve been away.” Sherlock cocked his head, eyes narrowing. “Where is he going to be tonight?”
“Sherlock.” For once, Mycroft seemed hesitant. “He’s met someone.”
Sherlock waved a hand in the air. “Oh, a new girlfriend, why should I care?”
“Not just a girlfriend, Sherlock. He’s prepared to ask her to marry him.” Sherlock froze but Mycroft continued. “And from what I’ve seen, she has no reason to say no.”
“Of course not, who would say no to John?” Sherlock pressed his hands together, eyes narrowing. “I need you to find out everything you can about this woman.”
“Sherlock-”
“Everything you can find out about her,” Sherlock stressed. “Which, even considering your associates’ recent failures, shouldn’t too difficult a task.”
Mycroft bristled at the insinuation that his people were anything less that competent. “I’ve already done that. Mary Morstan’s records are….troubling incomplete.”
“Explain.”
“We can only find information about Mary Elizabeth Morstan going back five years. Before that, she’s a complete mystery.”
“Five years ago? Mycroft, that’s absurd, she couldn’t have just sprung up from the eather. Unless…” Sherlock’s eyes narrowed. “How long have you known about this?”
Mycroft paused for a moment. “As soon as I realized she would be...sticking around.”
“Hmmm. And you only just thought to tell me?”
“You’ve been away on a very dangerous mission, Sherlock, one far more important than John Watson.”
“Oh?” Sherlock reigned in the urge to dash his idiot brother’s head against the desk. “Is that so?”
“That is so, Sherlock Holmes, and don’t you dare suggest that John is more important than taking down Moriarty’s web!” Mycroft looked away for a moment, smoothing his hands the front of his jacket. “You’re too preoccupied by John.”
Sherlock looked away, mouth perilously close to pouting. “I’m not.”
“You are,” Mycroft said. “You’re not so blind as to not see this. John has burrowed his way into your brain, into your heart-” Sherlock groaned. “-and it’s going to destroy you, little brother.” Mycroft came closer, a look resembling pity on his face. “People are disappointments, Sherlock. They’ll only let you down.”
Sherlock didn’t respond for a moment, face bowed and turned away. “Aha. That’s why you didn’t warn John about this Mary’s past then?” He turned to Mycroft, eyes narrowed hatefully. “Because if she weren't dangerous, then they could get married and have a bloody good, dull life together. And if she was, well, she’d be doing you a favor in dispatching John.”
“Sherlock, don’t be absurd,” Mycroft said. “No matter what this woman’s past is, she has been nothing but good for John. He was really quite devastated by your death.” Going to his desk, Mycroft sat down, lacing his fingers in front of his face and leveling an intense stare at Sherlock. “I understand why you care so much for John. I truly do. His devotion is quite...unusual.”
“It is and I would very much like to have it back,” Sherlock said. “Give me the woman’s file.”
“Don’t do this, Sherlock,” Mycroft said, even as he reached into his desk and pulled out a manila envelope. “It might just break John.”
Sherlock snatched the envelope from Mycroft. “You underestimate John’s resilience. And the importance of a woman who’s clearly just a standin for me. Now. Where will he be tonight?”
***
The lighting in Marylebone Road was carefully crafted to be flattering and even with the hideous moustache over his lip, John was brilliant as he glared at Sherlock, tears brightening his eyes.
“John? What is it?” The woman, Mary Elizabeth Morstan, the interloper, asked, and Sherlock spared her a glance. Rather plain really, the thing of real interest about her being her mysterious past. Sherlock dismissed her, spearing John with a ravenous gaze. Two year. Two years since he’d seen this face in front of him. He’d missed it so.
“Well, short version….not dead,” Sherlock said, feeling a smile twitch on his lips.
While Sherlock had always appreciated John’s temper, he liked it less when it was turned towards him. He crashed to the floor, John a painful, if welcome weight overtop him, his hands fisted in his lapels as he tried to strangle Sherlock.
They’re thrown out of the restaurant after that and they relocated to a cafe. Sherlock hated, hated, that John and Mary were sitting across from him, as if they were some kind of united force against him. His resentment was nothing on John’s, however, and although Sherlock wasn’t not entirely sure why John was so upset with him, he knew he needed to fix it fast.
“I couldn’t risk you knowing,” Sherlock said, his fingers steepled in front of his face. “It was of paramount importance that everyone believe I was dead. I swear...I swear, John, I swear, if there’d been any way to let you know that I was alive, I would have.”
John snorted. “Just one little letter, just one text-”
“Could have been traced,” Sherlock said, spreading his hands out. “There was nothing to be done. To make sure everyone believed I was dead, and to keep you safe, I had to stay away.”
“Don’t. Don’t, don’t you dare put this on me,” John hissed. Mary stroked her hand across his shoulders and Sherlock thought idly that he would very much like to remove it. “I have...do you realize what I’ve been through, all this time? Do you even care?”
Oh, John. Sherlock refrained from another senseless act of sentimentality, instead clasping his fingers together tightly. “I’ve missed you too,” he murmured.
John stared at him for a moment, before scoffing, turning away. Getting to his feet, he rolled his shoulders and left the cafe. Sherlock watched him leave, frustration roiling through him.
“I’ll talk to him,” Mary said and Sherlock turned to her, eyes narrowed.. “I’ll bring him around.”
“Will you?”
“Oh yeah.” Mary stood, smiling confidently down at him, before following John out to a cab.
Sherlock was quiet for a moment before covering his mouth with one hand, a low chuckling escaping him. How incredibly helpful of Miss Morstan.
***
John came round Baker Street a few days later, and seeing him in the familiar setting filled Sherlock with pleasure. John’s chair was gone, its presence greatly missed, so they sat on the sofa.
“I’m glad you’re here, John,” Sherlock said, handing him a cup of tea. “I confess I didn’t expect you to still be angry with me after I apologized. That’s suppose to make people happy, right? Apologies?”
“Well you have two years to make up for,” John said but his voice was mild enough that Sherlock didn’t think he was too terribly angry at the moment. “I don’t think one or two apologies will cut it, I’m afraid.”
But what would? What would? Sherlock was gripped with the urge to grab John’s hands, to pull him to Sherlock and make him say just what would it take to fix things between them. He didn’t understand why John was still upset, that didn’t matter anymore. The only thing that mattered was seeing John look at him in awe again, with pride again.
But Sherlock didn’t do any of that. Instead, he sipped his tea and watched John with hungry eyes. “So. Why are you here then?”
“Mary.” Such a simple, hateful word. “She really made me think. Now, don’t think you’re off the hook, Sherlock,” John warned, pointing a finger at him. “I’m still bloody angry with you. But…” He sighed. “I suppose I should...try and see things from your point of view. You were doing something important.”
“Hmm.” Sherlock sipped his coffee, hiding his mirth behind the action. “I’m glad you think so.” They sat together in silence for a moment before John cleared his throat.
“So, what is the great Sherlock Holmes going to be doing now? After you’ve taken down a mastermind’s worldwide criminal organization, solving cases in London might be a bit dull, right?”
“Not if they’re the right cases,” Sherlock said with a dark smile. He could think of nothing better than solving crimes with John again. Speaking of which… “What have you been doing while I was away? Other than pining after me, I mean.”
“Ha, ha,” John deadpanned, pinning Sherlock with a wholly unimpressed stare. “Mostly working at the clinic.”
“How dull.”
“Hmmm, yes.” John chuckled for a moment before sobering. “Sherlock, I have to treat my job as top priority. Mary and I...we….”
Sherlock watched him flounder for a moment before putting on his best ‘supportive friend’ smile. It felt odd and uncomfortable on his face. “I understand, John. No matter how boring normal life is, it’s been two years. You have different priorities now. You’ve...moved on.” The words tasted like ash in his mouth.
“Yes, quite. Thank you for understanding.” John glanced at his watch. “Speaking of which, I need to go. Mary and I are meeting up in a few.”
“Of course.” Sherlock didn’t get up but instead watched John finish his tea before setting it on the table. They said their goodbyes and John headed for the door. Before he exited, however, he turned back to Sherlock, one hand on the doorframe.
“Sherlock. I really am very glad you’re not dead.” Not waiting for a reply, John left, closing the door firmly behind him.
A much more sincere smile played on Sherlock’s mouth and he took out his phone and sent a simple text. “Meet me tomorrow at 7.00pm.”
***
The diner was out of the way, darkly lit and cramped. Sherlock had gotten there early, sipping his coffee and waiting for his guest to arrive. When she did, Mary looked around before spotting him, and she smiled and waved at him before coming to sit with him.
“Sherlock,” she said, unwrapping the scarf from her neck and setting it aside. “I had no idea you even had my number!” Up close, Mary didn’t seem nearly as at ease. Her eyes darted around the diner while her lips were pinched together. “Why did you want to meet all the way out here?”
“Well,” Sherlock said, lacing his fingers together. “You’re John’s girlfriend. I’m John’s-” careful, careful. “-best friend. I thought we should...get to know each other.” He hated the words as soon as they fell out of his mouth and he wondered if they sounded as insincere as they felt.
But Mary kept smiling that tight smile. “But all the way out here?” she said, before looking up at the waitress that appeared beside their booth and gesturing at Sherlock’s coffee. “Same for me, thanks.” Turning back to Sherlock she mirrored his pose, lacing her fingers together and leaning forward. “What do you need to know, Sherlock?” she said, cocking her head to one side. “John’s told me about you and from what he’s said, I’m surprised you’re taking an interest.”
“If you’re important to John, you’re important to me,” Sherlock said with a charming smile. “I have only John’s happiness in mind.” Which was true. John’s happiness was of great import to Sherlock. However he wouldn’t find it with this woman. Her past was an unknown, which made it a threat. Threats needed to be dealt with.
Mary leaned back, her smile shifting to something more relaxed. “That’s very sweet,” she said. “But there’s honestly not much to tell about me.”
Sherlock chuckled, reaching to the seat beside him and pulling the manila envelope out. Setting it on the table, he slid it towards Mary. “I know. You see, that’s the problem.”
Mary froze. “What’s that, then?”
Sherlock spread one hand over the envelope. “This is all the information I’ve been able to find pertaining to you. Rather flat, isn’t it? Why is that?”
Clearing her throat, Mary straightened her shoulders. “What do you want?”
Sherlock raised his eyebrows. “Straight to negotiations, are we? You’re not interested in explaining yourself?”
“There’s nothing to explain,” Mary said. “Or rather, I’m not interested in explaining myself to you. What do you want?”
“I want you to leave J-”
“No.”
“No?”
“I’m not leaving John,” she said, taking a sip of her coffee. “Why should I? My past is untraceable. Nothing in that file would make John leave me.”
“Ah, but we both know the lack of information is damning enough. Wouldn't you rather break it off easily and have him mourn you, rather than him know the truth and hating you for it?”
Mary held herself tightly, arms crossed on the table, finger digging into her elbows. “I’m not dangerous to him,” she said after a moment, eyes glistening. “I swear, I don’t want to hurt him.”
“Of course not,” Sherlock said. “If I thought you meant to hurt him, you’d be dead already.”
Mary blinked and nodded. “Of course,” she murmured. “Of course.” She stared at the table before she looked up at Sherlock through her lashes, eyes hard. “If I’m so dangerous - which I am - do you really think it’s the best idea to confront me like this?” She leaned forward, voice low. “I’ve already pulled John out of a depression over your death once. I’m sure I can do it again.”
“If you kill me, John will never forgive you,” Sherlock countered.
“He would never know it was me. He wouldn’t even have to know you died. You could just disappear again.”
“You really think we’re the only two people who know about your past? Do you really think we’re the only two people monitoring this conversation?”
Mary’s eyes shot over him. “A wire?”
Sherlock chuckled. “How pedestrian.” He sobered and stared at her with cold eyes. “There’s no way around this, Miss Morstan. Break it off with John and leave London. I’ll know if you don’t.”
Mary blinked rapidly and chewed on her bottom lip, composure near gone. “Please don’t do this,” she said, voice low. “Don’t do this, Sherlock. John’s lost too much. He can’t possibly lose anything more.”
Sherlock narrowed his eyes, surveying her with cruel, pitiless eyes.“You were nothing more than a distraction,” he said after a moment. “Something to pass the time. But now I’m afraid you’re obsolete. So…” He leaned forward. “Do as I say.”
Mary closed her eyes, tears spilling down her cheeks. “Fine,” she said. “I’ll do it. When...when-”
“Not today,” Sherlock said. It would look suspicious for her to announced her attentions so soon after meeting with Sherlock. “Next week sometime.”
“Should I contact you once I’ve...talked to John?”
“No need,” Sherlock said. “I suspect he’ll tell me himself. After all, I’m his best friend.”
Mary barked out and a laugh and got up. “You’re no friend of John’s, Sherlock Holmes.” She left the cafe without waiting for Sherlock to respond. Sherlock steepled his hands together and stared down at the envelope before a small, pleased smile slid over his mouth. Tucking the envelope into his coat, he stood and left the cafe.
***
In the week that followed, Sherlock prepared the flat for John’s arrival. He managed to retrieve his chair from a local secondhand store and cleared out the dust from the upstairs bedroom. He thought for just a moment that perhaps he was getting ahead of himself before banishing the thought. With Mary gone, why wouldn’t John want to come back to Baker Street? Where else was he to go?
Sherlock was settled in the kitchen, typing an email to a positively imbecilic client, when his mobile chimed with a text that simple said I’m coming over. Sherlock read the text several times, a odd, nervous energy humming through his body. Finally, finally his machinations were coming to fruition. Setting the mobile aside, Sherlock turned back to the email. There was nothing to be done but wait and he needed to get this onerous task out of the way. Despite knowing that, all he could really focus on was how the next conversation would go. When he finally heard footsteps clatter up the stairs, Sherlock forced the smile off his mouth.
John slammed the door open. “She left me,” he said, pacing into the living room. “She left me!”
“Hello, John,” Sherlock said, feigning disinterest. “Could you hand me-”
“Didn’t you hear me? Mary bloody left me. She’s gone.” John threw himself in his chair, running a hand through his hand roughly. “She just...she’s gone.”
Sherlocked got up and walked to the living room, sitting down across from John. “What happened?” he asked, carefully modulating his voice as to not sound as let slip how hungry he was for details.
“She, she just…” John scrubbed his hands through his hair. “She came in from a walk, alright, and she sat me down and she told me she didn’t think we were working out. That we just had...incompatible personalities.” John laughed, the sound painful. “Isn’t that ridiculous? Incompatible personalities! We’ve never argue about anything, never. We’ve always gotten on so well!”
“Maybe she didn’t feel the same way,” Sherlock said carefully. He needed to play the sympathetic friend - which he was, it was very unfortunate the situation had come to this - without inspiring John to chase after Mary. He couldn’t, of course; Mary would certainly already be on her way out of London. Better to nip this in the bud quickly. “People lie, John.”
“I know that, Sherlock, don’t patronize me,” John snapped. “I just.” He leaned forward, elbows braced on his knees, head bowed. “I just thought we would make it. I love her.”
Sherlock reached out and put his hand over John’s, squeezing gently. “What can I do?”
John shook his head, sitting up and scrubbing a hand over his face. “I don’t, I don’t know,” he said. “I just keep going over our fight. She seemed so sad, like she didn’t want it to be happening. Like she didn’t want to go. But if she didn’t, then why was she doing it? “
That was a dangerous line of thought. Sherlock frowned and cleared his throat. “Is there something I can do for you, John? Do you want to stay here tonight?”
John shook his head. “She didn’t want to go, she didn’t…” He threw himself out of the chair and began to pace again. “She looked so damn sad,” he repeated.
Sherlock sat back in his chair, eyes narrowed. Why was John so upset? Mary broke his heart, he should be angry. He should be happy she’s gone. Wasn’t that how it worked? “Maybe it’s for the best.”
John turned to Sherlock, face incredulous. “What?”
Sherlock paused for a moment. “I mean, if she’s willing to leave, there must be a good reason,” he said cautiously, choosing his words very carefully. “And perhaps she was trying to protect you.”
“But if I need protection then surely she needs protection too!” John said, curling his fingers into fists and then shaking them out.
“Maybe it’s protection from her, or something that has to do with her. Something that could not be anticipated or stopped.” Sherlock said and he immediately knew he’d said too much when John’s expression changed from angry to suspicious.
“Sherlock? Do you know something?”
Sherlock was faced suddenly with the very strange and disconcerting feeling from being trapped. “I-”
“Because if you know something, you need to tell me,” John said, sitting back down and gripping the chair’s armrests. He frowned and looked down at them. “Hang on, this chair wasn’t...here…” He looked back at Sherlock. “Sherlock, what did you do?”
Stupid, brilliant John. Sherlock had underestimated him. He realized suddenly that he’d not prepared a lie for this occasion. He had nothing. John was growing more and more angry and while Sherlock was healed enough now to forestall any abuse directed towards his person, he didn’t relish the thought of having a row with John. So he stood and pulled the manila envelope out, handing it to John wordlessly.
“What is this?”
“The reason for my actions,” Sherlock said.
“And what exactly are these actions you’re talking about?” John said but he was already opening the envelope and pulling out the files. He skimmed over the first page before flipping through, his jaw clenching. “What is this?”
“Mary Elizabeth Morstan doesn’t exist,” Sherlock said. “The woman you know is someone else entirely.”
“She lied to me.” John worked his jaw for a moment before shaking his head. “What exactly has she been hiding?”
“I don’t know,” Sherlock admitted. “Mycroft hasn’t been able to find out anything about her. Granted, ineffectuality is practically his middle name these days so-”
“How long have you known?”
“Is that really important-”
“How long, Sherlock?!”
Sherlock clenched his jaw. “Since I got here. A few days before, in fact.”
“Christ.” John shook his head, a disgusted smile on his face. “You can’t help but lie to me, can you?”
“Not telling you isn’t the same as lying, John, really,” Sherlock said, watching John carefully. “It’s obvious that Mary’s past is something dangerous. Why would she be hiding from it if it weren’t? Particularly so well that even Mycroft couldn’t find out more. So it’s only natural that I-”
“That you what?” John stepped closer, head tilted back as he glared up at Sherlock. “What the hell did you do?”
Why hadn’t he planned for this outcome? His time away had apparently made him rusty in dealing with John. “I simply warned her away, that’s all.”
“You...warned her away? You threatened her?! Without speaking to me about it first?!” John turned away and nearly tripped over his chair. Sherlock reached out for him and John pulled back, gesturing rudely. “This chair wasn’t here last time I was here. You...what did you think would happen, Sherlock? That I would just...just come back to Baker Street?!”
Sherlock lifted his gaze skyward for a moment before nodding. “Of course,” he said, frowning. “Of course, John. I only did what was needed to protect you-”
“Without taking my feelings into consideration? Without saying anything-”
“What should I have said, John?” Sherlock said, his dismay at being in this situation rolling over into anger. “I’m gone for two years and you shack up with a woman who could be a mass murderer, a terrorist, anything-”
“Who’s fault is it that happened-”
“Yes, and I handled it!” Sherlock yelled, grabbing John by the shoulders. “I’m well aware that you never would have looked twice at her if I were here-” John made to protest and Sherlock shook him. “-don’t you dare try to deny it. The entire time we were together your girlfriends were dull, meaningless, pastimes! But as soon as I leave, you start looking for a companion.” Sherlock couldn’t help the disdain that curled at his lips at the word.
“What the bloody hell are you implying?”
“I’m implying,” Sherlock said, “That you may very have enjoyed your time with Mary and you may very well have thought you loved her, but we both know she was nothing more than a replacement for me.” He pulled John closer, tilting his head down to murmur the rest of his words against John’s face. “But I’m back now. The replacement needed to leave.”
John shoved away from him, face red. “Sherlock you, you can’t just do this,” he said. “It wasn’t your place to make this decision for me! What gives you the right?”
“I sought to deal with the situation while putting you through the least amount of emotional distress,” Sherlock said. “I’ve obviously failed, John, but I did try.”
John shook his head and walked to the door. “No, you wanted...you wanted to make sure Mary I and I couldn’t talk this out. You wanted to make sure that your schemes worked. You wanted to make sure-”
“Yes, damn it!” Sherlock said. “Yes, I wanted you safe and I wanted her gone and I took steps for both of those things to happen.” Holding his hands out, Sherlock entreated John. “I’m a selfish man, John, and I’ve never known my limits. Although this worked out advantageously for me, I did have your best interests at heart.”
“You really mean that?”
“Of course.” Sherlock didn’t like John’s expression. Incredulity mixed with pity was never a favorable look. “What? Don’t act surprised, John. When we first met I barely ensured your consent before moving you in.”
John blinked rapidly and looked away. When he pulled the door open Sherlock moved closer. “John, please. Don’t go.”
“I need to. I’ve got to get some air.” The door slammed behind him. Sherlock stared at the door for a moment before running his hands through his hair, pulling at the curly locks roughly. He walked back to his chair and slumped down in it, steepling his hands in front of his face. John said he needed some air. That shouldn’t take very long.
***
After the second week passed with no sign from John, Sherlock began to worry that perhaps he’d done something truly unforgivable. He didn’t really see how; ultimately Mary needed to go and what was the matter with taking advantage of a situation for his own betterment? It really only made sense. Or perhaps Sherlock’s entreaties were too much for John’s fragile heterosexuality?
Sherlock stared down his mobile, willing John to reply to his text. It was a simple Hope you are well, which seemed dull and mundane enough as to not send John running. But he’d sent a text similar to that every day since John had left and he had yet to get a reply.
His mobile chimed and Sherlock snatched it up before his brow arched. It was from Lestrade. A case of two murder victims handcuffed together on the tube. Without thinking, Sherlock forwarded the text to John, adding Meet me there. Pulling on his coat, Sherlock left the flat.
John was already there when Sherlock arrived and Sherlock swallowed down his relief. “John,” he said, tilting his head in greeting.
“Sherlock.” They looked at each other for a moment before walking over to the bodies. “Ah yes,” John said, covering his mouth and nose with one hand. “Clearly they were killed elsewhere and placed here.”
“What makes you say that?” Donovan said.
“Because they’ve been dead for quite some time,” Sherlock said, crouching down and squinting at them. “And they certainly couldn’t have been here all that time. Normal people are completely oblivious to their surroundings but this would still be very hard to miss.” He looked up at her. “Although I’m sure you’d give it a good go.”
“Enough of that,” Lestrade said, coming over to John and holding out his hand. “Good to see you again, John. Bit odd seeing this scarecrow around with you. Glad to have you back.”
“Oh! No, no, I’m not-”
“Yeah, you’re the only one who can put up with this one,” Donovan said, casting a hateful glare at Sherlock before walking away.
Standing straight up, Sherlock cast a sidelong glance at John. “I can disabuse them of their misunderstanding if you’d like,” he said tightly.
John looked up at him for a moment before huffing. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s figure out what killed these two poor sods.”
Sherlock blinked before a smile curled on his lips. “Yes, let’s.”
***
The case ended up being more complex than Sherlock had initially thought and late that evening they found themselves in a thai restaurant, hunching over their plates as they ate. Sherlock couldn’t help but steal glances at John, who seemed content to ignore the perusal. Sherlock knew John wasn’t so oblivious as to not realize he was being watched.
“John.” Sherlock paused before clearing his throat. “I feel like I should...apologize.”
John looked up at him, eyebrows raised. “For what?” he asked mildly and Sherlock realized John wanted him to say it.
“For my actions, regarding Mary,” he said slowly. “While I was most definitely in the right, I should have come to you first before forcing her to leave.”
John hummed. “Close,” he said. “Not exactly right but close. I’ll accept it. It’s not that I completely forgive you, Sherlock, do you understand? But I accept your apology.”
Sherlock nodded before lacing his fingers together. “Does this mean, you’ll come back to Baker Street?” he asked. “Your current lodgings are quite awful. I’m not sure how you’ve managed two weeks there.”
“How do you…stupid question.”
“Yes, I’ve had Mycroft keep me abreast of your circumstances,” Sherlock said. “It’s only natural, John, you were in quite a state when you left.”
Shaking his head, John chuckled softly. “I should be far angrier than what I am.”
“But you’re not,” Sherlock said. He gently set his hand over John’s; not gripping, not stroking, just a gently blanketing. “Come back to Baker Street, John Watson. You belong there.” With me.
John stared at their hands for a moment with wide eyes and Sherlock could feel his pulse quicken. Before Sherlock could rethink his actions and pulled away, John blinked and nodded. “Right, yes,” he said, clearing his throat. “I’ll, uhm. Start moving back in right away.”
Something loosened in Sherlock’s chest, something that had been tight for so long he hadn’t even realized it was there. “Good,” he said, contentment a low warmth in his belly. ‘“I’ll assist you.”
They were quiet after that, each tending their food and their own thoughts. Neither of them moved their gently clasped hands.
Fandom: BBC Sherlock
Rating: PG
Length: 5093 words
Content notes: Manipulative behavior, possessive behavior.
Author notes: For the prompt "lever". Set post-The Reichenbach Fall, some dialogue lifted straight from The Empty Hearse. This is also a fill for the 'heart on sleeve' square on my
genprompt_bingo card. Summary: Sherlock returns to London only to find a interloper has appeared.
Sherlock stared down at the photo of John and refrained from stroking it or any other nonsensical sentimentality. “Well. We’ll have to get rid of that.”
Mycroft frowned. “”We”?”
“He looks ancient. I can’t be seen to be wandering around with an old man.” He looks down at the file for a moment longer before closing it and setting it on the desk.
Mycroft’s eyes narrowed. “You really think he’ll just accept you back.”
Sherlock scoffed. “Of course I do, Mycroft. Why wouldn’t he?” He turned and looked at himself in the mirror, straightening his jacket. “I think I’ll surprise him tonight. Pop in at Baker Street. He’ll be delighted!”
“Baker Street? He isn’t there anymore.”
“What?” Sherlock paused and turned back to Mycroft, brow furrowed. “Where else would he be?”
Mycroft heaved a great sigh, leaning against his desk. “He’s moved out. He’s moved on with his life, Sherlock.”
“What life? I’ve been away.” Sherlock cocked his head, eyes narrowing. “Where is he going to be tonight?”
“Sherlock.” For once, Mycroft seemed hesitant. “He’s met someone.”
Sherlock waved a hand in the air. “Oh, a new girlfriend, why should I care?”
“Not just a girlfriend, Sherlock. He’s prepared to ask her to marry him.” Sherlock froze but Mycroft continued. “And from what I’ve seen, she has no reason to say no.”
“Of course not, who would say no to John?” Sherlock pressed his hands together, eyes narrowing. “I need you to find out everything you can about this woman.”
“Sherlock-”
“Everything you can find out about her,” Sherlock stressed. “Which, even considering your associates’ recent failures, shouldn’t too difficult a task.”
Mycroft bristled at the insinuation that his people were anything less that competent. “I’ve already done that. Mary Morstan’s records are….troubling incomplete.”
“Explain.”
“We can only find information about Mary Elizabeth Morstan going back five years. Before that, she’s a complete mystery.”
“Five years ago? Mycroft, that’s absurd, she couldn’t have just sprung up from the eather. Unless…” Sherlock’s eyes narrowed. “How long have you known about this?”
Mycroft paused for a moment. “As soon as I realized she would be...sticking around.”
“Hmmm. And you only just thought to tell me?”
“You’ve been away on a very dangerous mission, Sherlock, one far more important than John Watson.”
“Oh?” Sherlock reigned in the urge to dash his idiot brother’s head against the desk. “Is that so?”
“That is so, Sherlock Holmes, and don’t you dare suggest that John is more important than taking down Moriarty’s web!” Mycroft looked away for a moment, smoothing his hands the front of his jacket. “You’re too preoccupied by John.”
Sherlock looked away, mouth perilously close to pouting. “I’m not.”
“You are,” Mycroft said. “You’re not so blind as to not see this. John has burrowed his way into your brain, into your heart-” Sherlock groaned. “-and it’s going to destroy you, little brother.” Mycroft came closer, a look resembling pity on his face. “People are disappointments, Sherlock. They’ll only let you down.”
Sherlock didn’t respond for a moment, face bowed and turned away. “Aha. That’s why you didn’t warn John about this Mary’s past then?” He turned to Mycroft, eyes narrowed hatefully. “Because if she weren't dangerous, then they could get married and have a bloody good, dull life together. And if she was, well, she’d be doing you a favor in dispatching John.”
“Sherlock, don’t be absurd,” Mycroft said. “No matter what this woman’s past is, she has been nothing but good for John. He was really quite devastated by your death.” Going to his desk, Mycroft sat down, lacing his fingers in front of his face and leveling an intense stare at Sherlock. “I understand why you care so much for John. I truly do. His devotion is quite...unusual.”
“It is and I would very much like to have it back,” Sherlock said. “Give me the woman’s file.”
“Don’t do this, Sherlock,” Mycroft said, even as he reached into his desk and pulled out a manila envelope. “It might just break John.”
Sherlock snatched the envelope from Mycroft. “You underestimate John’s resilience. And the importance of a woman who’s clearly just a standin for me. Now. Where will he be tonight?”
The lighting in Marylebone Road was carefully crafted to be flattering and even with the hideous moustache over his lip, John was brilliant as he glared at Sherlock, tears brightening his eyes.
“John? What is it?” The woman, Mary Elizabeth Morstan, the interloper, asked, and Sherlock spared her a glance. Rather plain really, the thing of real interest about her being her mysterious past. Sherlock dismissed her, spearing John with a ravenous gaze. Two year. Two years since he’d seen this face in front of him. He’d missed it so.
“Well, short version….not dead,” Sherlock said, feeling a smile twitch on his lips.
While Sherlock had always appreciated John’s temper, he liked it less when it was turned towards him. He crashed to the floor, John a painful, if welcome weight overtop him, his hands fisted in his lapels as he tried to strangle Sherlock.
They’re thrown out of the restaurant after that and they relocated to a cafe. Sherlock hated, hated, that John and Mary were sitting across from him, as if they were some kind of united force against him. His resentment was nothing on John’s, however, and although Sherlock wasn’t not entirely sure why John was so upset with him, he knew he needed to fix it fast.
“I couldn’t risk you knowing,” Sherlock said, his fingers steepled in front of his face. “It was of paramount importance that everyone believe I was dead. I swear...I swear, John, I swear, if there’d been any way to let you know that I was alive, I would have.”
John snorted. “Just one little letter, just one text-”
“Could have been traced,” Sherlock said, spreading his hands out. “There was nothing to be done. To make sure everyone believed I was dead, and to keep you safe, I had to stay away.”
“Don’t. Don’t, don’t you dare put this on me,” John hissed. Mary stroked her hand across his shoulders and Sherlock thought idly that he would very much like to remove it. “I have...do you realize what I’ve been through, all this time? Do you even care?”
Oh, John. Sherlock refrained from another senseless act of sentimentality, instead clasping his fingers together tightly. “I’ve missed you too,” he murmured.
John stared at him for a moment, before scoffing, turning away. Getting to his feet, he rolled his shoulders and left the cafe. Sherlock watched him leave, frustration roiling through him.
“I’ll talk to him,” Mary said and Sherlock turned to her, eyes narrowed.. “I’ll bring him around.”
“Will you?”
“Oh yeah.” Mary stood, smiling confidently down at him, before following John out to a cab.
Sherlock was quiet for a moment before covering his mouth with one hand, a low chuckling escaping him. How incredibly helpful of Miss Morstan.
John came round Baker Street a few days later, and seeing him in the familiar setting filled Sherlock with pleasure. John’s chair was gone, its presence greatly missed, so they sat on the sofa.
“I’m glad you’re here, John,” Sherlock said, handing him a cup of tea. “I confess I didn’t expect you to still be angry with me after I apologized. That’s suppose to make people happy, right? Apologies?”
“Well you have two years to make up for,” John said but his voice was mild enough that Sherlock didn’t think he was too terribly angry at the moment. “I don’t think one or two apologies will cut it, I’m afraid.”
But what would? What would? Sherlock was gripped with the urge to grab John’s hands, to pull him to Sherlock and make him say just what would it take to fix things between them. He didn’t understand why John was still upset, that didn’t matter anymore. The only thing that mattered was seeing John look at him in awe again, with pride again.
But Sherlock didn’t do any of that. Instead, he sipped his tea and watched John with hungry eyes. “So. Why are you here then?”
“Mary.” Such a simple, hateful word. “She really made me think. Now, don’t think you’re off the hook, Sherlock,” John warned, pointing a finger at him. “I’m still bloody angry with you. But…” He sighed. “I suppose I should...try and see things from your point of view. You were doing something important.”
“Hmm.” Sherlock sipped his coffee, hiding his mirth behind the action. “I’m glad you think so.” They sat together in silence for a moment before John cleared his throat.
“So, what is the great Sherlock Holmes going to be doing now? After you’ve taken down a mastermind’s worldwide criminal organization, solving cases in London might be a bit dull, right?”
“Not if they’re the right cases,” Sherlock said with a dark smile. He could think of nothing better than solving crimes with John again. Speaking of which… “What have you been doing while I was away? Other than pining after me, I mean.”
“Ha, ha,” John deadpanned, pinning Sherlock with a wholly unimpressed stare. “Mostly working at the clinic.”
“How dull.”
“Hmmm, yes.” John chuckled for a moment before sobering. “Sherlock, I have to treat my job as top priority. Mary and I...we….”
Sherlock watched him flounder for a moment before putting on his best ‘supportive friend’ smile. It felt odd and uncomfortable on his face. “I understand, John. No matter how boring normal life is, it’s been two years. You have different priorities now. You’ve...moved on.” The words tasted like ash in his mouth.
“Yes, quite. Thank you for understanding.” John glanced at his watch. “Speaking of which, I need to go. Mary and I are meeting up in a few.”
“Of course.” Sherlock didn’t get up but instead watched John finish his tea before setting it on the table. They said their goodbyes and John headed for the door. Before he exited, however, he turned back to Sherlock, one hand on the doorframe.
“Sherlock. I really am very glad you’re not dead.” Not waiting for a reply, John left, closing the door firmly behind him.
A much more sincere smile played on Sherlock’s mouth and he took out his phone and sent a simple text. “Meet me tomorrow at 7.00pm.”
The diner was out of the way, darkly lit and cramped. Sherlock had gotten there early, sipping his coffee and waiting for his guest to arrive. When she did, Mary looked around before spotting him, and she smiled and waved at him before coming to sit with him.
“Sherlock,” she said, unwrapping the scarf from her neck and setting it aside. “I had no idea you even had my number!” Up close, Mary didn’t seem nearly as at ease. Her eyes darted around the diner while her lips were pinched together. “Why did you want to meet all the way out here?”
“Well,” Sherlock said, lacing his fingers together. “You’re John’s girlfriend. I’m John’s-” careful, careful. “-best friend. I thought we should...get to know each other.” He hated the words as soon as they fell out of his mouth and he wondered if they sounded as insincere as they felt.
But Mary kept smiling that tight smile. “But all the way out here?” she said, before looking up at the waitress that appeared beside their booth and gesturing at Sherlock’s coffee. “Same for me, thanks.” Turning back to Sherlock she mirrored his pose, lacing her fingers together and leaning forward. “What do you need to know, Sherlock?” she said, cocking her head to one side. “John’s told me about you and from what he’s said, I’m surprised you’re taking an interest.”
“If you’re important to John, you’re important to me,” Sherlock said with a charming smile. “I have only John’s happiness in mind.” Which was true. John’s happiness was of great import to Sherlock. However he wouldn’t find it with this woman. Her past was an unknown, which made it a threat. Threats needed to be dealt with.
Mary leaned back, her smile shifting to something more relaxed. “That’s very sweet,” she said. “But there’s honestly not much to tell about me.”
Sherlock chuckled, reaching to the seat beside him and pulling the manila envelope out. Setting it on the table, he slid it towards Mary. “I know. You see, that’s the problem.”
Mary froze. “What’s that, then?”
Sherlock spread one hand over the envelope. “This is all the information I’ve been able to find pertaining to you. Rather flat, isn’t it? Why is that?”
Clearing her throat, Mary straightened her shoulders. “What do you want?”
Sherlock raised his eyebrows. “Straight to negotiations, are we? You’re not interested in explaining yourself?”
“There’s nothing to explain,” Mary said. “Or rather, I’m not interested in explaining myself to you. What do you want?”
“I want you to leave J-”
“No.”
“No?”
“I’m not leaving John,” she said, taking a sip of her coffee. “Why should I? My past is untraceable. Nothing in that file would make John leave me.”
“Ah, but we both know the lack of information is damning enough. Wouldn't you rather break it off easily and have him mourn you, rather than him know the truth and hating you for it?”
Mary held herself tightly, arms crossed on the table, finger digging into her elbows. “I’m not dangerous to him,” she said after a moment, eyes glistening. “I swear, I don’t want to hurt him.”
“Of course not,” Sherlock said. “If I thought you meant to hurt him, you’d be dead already.”
Mary blinked and nodded. “Of course,” she murmured. “Of course.” She stared at the table before she looked up at Sherlock through her lashes, eyes hard. “If I’m so dangerous - which I am - do you really think it’s the best idea to confront me like this?” She leaned forward, voice low. “I’ve already pulled John out of a depression over your death once. I’m sure I can do it again.”
“If you kill me, John will never forgive you,” Sherlock countered.
“He would never know it was me. He wouldn’t even have to know you died. You could just disappear again.”
“You really think we’re the only two people who know about your past? Do you really think we’re the only two people monitoring this conversation?”
Mary’s eyes shot over him. “A wire?”
Sherlock chuckled. “How pedestrian.” He sobered and stared at her with cold eyes. “There’s no way around this, Miss Morstan. Break it off with John and leave London. I’ll know if you don’t.”
Mary blinked rapidly and chewed on her bottom lip, composure near gone. “Please don’t do this,” she said, voice low. “Don’t do this, Sherlock. John’s lost too much. He can’t possibly lose anything more.”
Sherlock narrowed his eyes, surveying her with cruel, pitiless eyes.“You were nothing more than a distraction,” he said after a moment. “Something to pass the time. But now I’m afraid you’re obsolete. So…” He leaned forward. “Do as I say.”
Mary closed her eyes, tears spilling down her cheeks. “Fine,” she said. “I’ll do it. When...when-”
“Not today,” Sherlock said. It would look suspicious for her to announced her attentions so soon after meeting with Sherlock. “Next week sometime.”
“Should I contact you once I’ve...talked to John?”
“No need,” Sherlock said. “I suspect he’ll tell me himself. After all, I’m his best friend.”
Mary barked out and a laugh and got up. “You’re no friend of John’s, Sherlock Holmes.” She left the cafe without waiting for Sherlock to respond. Sherlock steepled his hands together and stared down at the envelope before a small, pleased smile slid over his mouth. Tucking the envelope into his coat, he stood and left the cafe.
In the week that followed, Sherlock prepared the flat for John’s arrival. He managed to retrieve his chair from a local secondhand store and cleared out the dust from the upstairs bedroom. He thought for just a moment that perhaps he was getting ahead of himself before banishing the thought. With Mary gone, why wouldn’t John want to come back to Baker Street? Where else was he to go?
Sherlock was settled in the kitchen, typing an email to a positively imbecilic client, when his mobile chimed with a text that simple said I’m coming over. Sherlock read the text several times, a odd, nervous energy humming through his body. Finally, finally his machinations were coming to fruition. Setting the mobile aside, Sherlock turned back to the email. There was nothing to be done but wait and he needed to get this onerous task out of the way. Despite knowing that, all he could really focus on was how the next conversation would go. When he finally heard footsteps clatter up the stairs, Sherlock forced the smile off his mouth.
John slammed the door open. “She left me,” he said, pacing into the living room. “She left me!”
“Hello, John,” Sherlock said, feigning disinterest. “Could you hand me-”
“Didn’t you hear me? Mary bloody left me. She’s gone.” John threw himself in his chair, running a hand through his hand roughly. “She just...she’s gone.”
Sherlocked got up and walked to the living room, sitting down across from John. “What happened?” he asked, carefully modulating his voice as to not sound as let slip how hungry he was for details.
“She, she just…” John scrubbed his hands through his hair. “She came in from a walk, alright, and she sat me down and she told me she didn’t think we were working out. That we just had...incompatible personalities.” John laughed, the sound painful. “Isn’t that ridiculous? Incompatible personalities! We’ve never argue about anything, never. We’ve always gotten on so well!”
“Maybe she didn’t feel the same way,” Sherlock said carefully. He needed to play the sympathetic friend - which he was, it was very unfortunate the situation had come to this - without inspiring John to chase after Mary. He couldn’t, of course; Mary would certainly already be on her way out of London. Better to nip this in the bud quickly. “People lie, John.”
“I know that, Sherlock, don’t patronize me,” John snapped. “I just.” He leaned forward, elbows braced on his knees, head bowed. “I just thought we would make it. I love her.”
Sherlock reached out and put his hand over John’s, squeezing gently. “What can I do?”
John shook his head, sitting up and scrubbing a hand over his face. “I don’t, I don’t know,” he said. “I just keep going over our fight. She seemed so sad, like she didn’t want it to be happening. Like she didn’t want to go. But if she didn’t, then why was she doing it? “
That was a dangerous line of thought. Sherlock frowned and cleared his throat. “Is there something I can do for you, John? Do you want to stay here tonight?”
John shook his head. “She didn’t want to go, she didn’t…” He threw himself out of the chair and began to pace again. “She looked so damn sad,” he repeated.
Sherlock sat back in his chair, eyes narrowed. Why was John so upset? Mary broke his heart, he should be angry. He should be happy she’s gone. Wasn’t that how it worked? “Maybe it’s for the best.”
John turned to Sherlock, face incredulous. “What?”
Sherlock paused for a moment. “I mean, if she’s willing to leave, there must be a good reason,” he said cautiously, choosing his words very carefully. “And perhaps she was trying to protect you.”
“But if I need protection then surely she needs protection too!” John said, curling his fingers into fists and then shaking them out.
“Maybe it’s protection from her, or something that has to do with her. Something that could not be anticipated or stopped.” Sherlock said and he immediately knew he’d said too much when John’s expression changed from angry to suspicious.
“Sherlock? Do you know something?”
Sherlock was faced suddenly with the very strange and disconcerting feeling from being trapped. “I-”
“Because if you know something, you need to tell me,” John said, sitting back down and gripping the chair’s armrests. He frowned and looked down at them. “Hang on, this chair wasn’t...here…” He looked back at Sherlock. “Sherlock, what did you do?”
Stupid, brilliant John. Sherlock had underestimated him. He realized suddenly that he’d not prepared a lie for this occasion. He had nothing. John was growing more and more angry and while Sherlock was healed enough now to forestall any abuse directed towards his person, he didn’t relish the thought of having a row with John. So he stood and pulled the manila envelope out, handing it to John wordlessly.
“What is this?”
“The reason for my actions,” Sherlock said.
“And what exactly are these actions you’re talking about?” John said but he was already opening the envelope and pulling out the files. He skimmed over the first page before flipping through, his jaw clenching. “What is this?”
“Mary Elizabeth Morstan doesn’t exist,” Sherlock said. “The woman you know is someone else entirely.”
“She lied to me.” John worked his jaw for a moment before shaking his head. “What exactly has she been hiding?”
“I don’t know,” Sherlock admitted. “Mycroft hasn’t been able to find out anything about her. Granted, ineffectuality is practically his middle name these days so-”
“How long have you known?”
“Is that really important-”
“How long, Sherlock?!”
Sherlock clenched his jaw. “Since I got here. A few days before, in fact.”
“Christ.” John shook his head, a disgusted smile on his face. “You can’t help but lie to me, can you?”
“Not telling you isn’t the same as lying, John, really,” Sherlock said, watching John carefully. “It’s obvious that Mary’s past is something dangerous. Why would she be hiding from it if it weren’t? Particularly so well that even Mycroft couldn’t find out more. So it’s only natural that I-”
“That you what?” John stepped closer, head tilted back as he glared up at Sherlock. “What the hell did you do?”
Why hadn’t he planned for this outcome? His time away had apparently made him rusty in dealing with John. “I simply warned her away, that’s all.”
“You...warned her away? You threatened her?! Without speaking to me about it first?!” John turned away and nearly tripped over his chair. Sherlock reached out for him and John pulled back, gesturing rudely. “This chair wasn’t here last time I was here. You...what did you think would happen, Sherlock? That I would just...just come back to Baker Street?!”
Sherlock lifted his gaze skyward for a moment before nodding. “Of course,” he said, frowning. “Of course, John. I only did what was needed to protect you-”
“Without taking my feelings into consideration? Without saying anything-”
“What should I have said, John?” Sherlock said, his dismay at being in this situation rolling over into anger. “I’m gone for two years and you shack up with a woman who could be a mass murderer, a terrorist, anything-”
“Who’s fault is it that happened-”
“Yes, and I handled it!” Sherlock yelled, grabbing John by the shoulders. “I’m well aware that you never would have looked twice at her if I were here-” John made to protest and Sherlock shook him. “-don’t you dare try to deny it. The entire time we were together your girlfriends were dull, meaningless, pastimes! But as soon as I leave, you start looking for a companion.” Sherlock couldn’t help the disdain that curled at his lips at the word.
“What the bloody hell are you implying?”
“I’m implying,” Sherlock said, “That you may very have enjoyed your time with Mary and you may very well have thought you loved her, but we both know she was nothing more than a replacement for me.” He pulled John closer, tilting his head down to murmur the rest of his words against John’s face. “But I’m back now. The replacement needed to leave.”
John shoved away from him, face red. “Sherlock you, you can’t just do this,” he said. “It wasn’t your place to make this decision for me! What gives you the right?”
“I sought to deal with the situation while putting you through the least amount of emotional distress,” Sherlock said. “I’ve obviously failed, John, but I did try.”
John shook his head and walked to the door. “No, you wanted...you wanted to make sure Mary I and I couldn’t talk this out. You wanted to make sure that your schemes worked. You wanted to make sure-”
“Yes, damn it!” Sherlock said. “Yes, I wanted you safe and I wanted her gone and I took steps for both of those things to happen.” Holding his hands out, Sherlock entreated John. “I’m a selfish man, John, and I’ve never known my limits. Although this worked out advantageously for me, I did have your best interests at heart.”
“You really mean that?”
“Of course.” Sherlock didn’t like John’s expression. Incredulity mixed with pity was never a favorable look. “What? Don’t act surprised, John. When we first met I barely ensured your consent before moving you in.”
John blinked rapidly and looked away. When he pulled the door open Sherlock moved closer. “John, please. Don’t go.”
“I need to. I’ve got to get some air.” The door slammed behind him. Sherlock stared at the door for a moment before running his hands through his hair, pulling at the curly locks roughly. He walked back to his chair and slumped down in it, steepling his hands in front of his face. John said he needed some air. That shouldn’t take very long.
After the second week passed with no sign from John, Sherlock began to worry that perhaps he’d done something truly unforgivable. He didn’t really see how; ultimately Mary needed to go and what was the matter with taking advantage of a situation for his own betterment? It really only made sense. Or perhaps Sherlock’s entreaties were too much for John’s fragile heterosexuality?
Sherlock stared down his mobile, willing John to reply to his text. It was a simple Hope you are well, which seemed dull and mundane enough as to not send John running. But he’d sent a text similar to that every day since John had left and he had yet to get a reply.
His mobile chimed and Sherlock snatched it up before his brow arched. It was from Lestrade. A case of two murder victims handcuffed together on the tube. Without thinking, Sherlock forwarded the text to John, adding Meet me there. Pulling on his coat, Sherlock left the flat.
John was already there when Sherlock arrived and Sherlock swallowed down his relief. “John,” he said, tilting his head in greeting.
“Sherlock.” They looked at each other for a moment before walking over to the bodies. “Ah yes,” John said, covering his mouth and nose with one hand. “Clearly they were killed elsewhere and placed here.”
“What makes you say that?” Donovan said.
“Because they’ve been dead for quite some time,” Sherlock said, crouching down and squinting at them. “And they certainly couldn’t have been here all that time. Normal people are completely oblivious to their surroundings but this would still be very hard to miss.” He looked up at her. “Although I’m sure you’d give it a good go.”
“Enough of that,” Lestrade said, coming over to John and holding out his hand. “Good to see you again, John. Bit odd seeing this scarecrow around with you. Glad to have you back.”
“Oh! No, no, I’m not-”
“Yeah, you’re the only one who can put up with this one,” Donovan said, casting a hateful glare at Sherlock before walking away.
Standing straight up, Sherlock cast a sidelong glance at John. “I can disabuse them of their misunderstanding if you’d like,” he said tightly.
John looked up at him for a moment before huffing. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s figure out what killed these two poor sods.”
Sherlock blinked before a smile curled on his lips. “Yes, let’s.”
The case ended up being more complex than Sherlock had initially thought and late that evening they found themselves in a thai restaurant, hunching over their plates as they ate. Sherlock couldn’t help but steal glances at John, who seemed content to ignore the perusal. Sherlock knew John wasn’t so oblivious as to not realize he was being watched.
“John.” Sherlock paused before clearing his throat. “I feel like I should...apologize.”
John looked up at him, eyebrows raised. “For what?” he asked mildly and Sherlock realized John wanted him to say it.
“For my actions, regarding Mary,” he said slowly. “While I was most definitely in the right, I should have come to you first before forcing her to leave.”
John hummed. “Close,” he said. “Not exactly right but close. I’ll accept it. It’s not that I completely forgive you, Sherlock, do you understand? But I accept your apology.”
Sherlock nodded before lacing his fingers together. “Does this mean, you’ll come back to Baker Street?” he asked. “Your current lodgings are quite awful. I’m not sure how you’ve managed two weeks there.”
“How do you…stupid question.”
“Yes, I’ve had Mycroft keep me abreast of your circumstances,” Sherlock said. “It’s only natural, John, you were in quite a state when you left.”
Shaking his head, John chuckled softly. “I should be far angrier than what I am.”
“But you’re not,” Sherlock said. He gently set his hand over John’s; not gripping, not stroking, just a gently blanketing. “Come back to Baker Street, John Watson. You belong there.” With me.
John stared at their hands for a moment with wide eyes and Sherlock could feel his pulse quicken. Before Sherlock could rethink his actions and pulled away, John blinked and nodded. “Right, yes,” he said, clearing his throat. “I’ll, uhm. Start moving back in right away.”
Something loosened in Sherlock’s chest, something that had been tight for so long he hadn’t even realized it was there. “Good,” he said, contentment a low warmth in his belly. ‘“I’ll assist you.”
They were quiet after that, each tending their food and their own thoughts. Neither of them moved their gently clasped hands.
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I've also gone back and tagged your previous entries.
Congratulations!
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