It has been over a year since the fall. John has counted 426 days since the fall. Specifically, he has been counting the days that Sherlock has remained dead, and not the days since Sherlock had died. Dr. John Watson was a man of hope. A man who had fought in Afghanistan and had seen the worst. And yet, he held a tiny sliver of hope in his heart that spoke only words he found to be true. "Sherlock is not dead." He simply couldn't be. He was not allowed to be. John would not allow it.
It has been 426 days since the fall. 403 days since the media stopped reporting on it. 397 days since he met Mary. 92 days since they decided to wed. And here it was. 1 day until the ceremony. John went over the numbers again in his head. It kept him up all night, lying in that bed of his, waiting. Waiting for what, exactly? John had no idea. 426 days that Sherlock has remained dead. And only 1 day until John would be married. That little bit of his heart that ached for Sherlock to be alive also hoped that Sherlock would show up in time to see his wedding.
It has been 970 days since he first met him. John could still remember every moment of that meeting as if it had been yesterday. The way that he could tell John everything about his life from his look and his mobile. The way that he showed off in a way that was very nonchalant but still begged to be admired. It was everything that John missed and everything he would never see or hear again. Sherlock just simply could not be a fake. There was just no one like him. He could not have learned it from anywhere else. Sherlock made the website on it, for Christ's sake.
John looks at the clock. 5:37 AM. It is exactly 11 hours and 23 minutes until the wedding. John sighs and looks up at the ceiling. The sun would rise soon and the birds would start. He closes his eyes and thinks about sleep. Sleep that will no longer be interrupted by texts from Sherlock or gunshots fired at the wall. Mrs. Hudson would no doubt be checking in on him soon to see that he gets ready for the big day. The main living area is still covered in books and folders of previous cases. It is still cluttered from the man known as Sherlock Holmes. John couldn't bring himself to touch a single bit of it. Not even to tidy up.
John opens his eyes once again. 6: 24 AM. John groans as he rolls over onto his stomach and places his face in his pillow. Maybe the next time he looked at the clock it would be a decent hour. Maybe he will have actually slept.
"John! I've made you some tea. Are you awake?"
John opens his eyes and looks at the clock. 11:48 AM.
"Mrs. Hudson?" he asks.
"Yes, come down for lunch, dear."
John gets up and out of bed slowly as his body starts to reawaken. He gets dressed and walks into the kitchen. The air smells of tea and breakfast.
"I'm only making you tea and breakfast today, John. I'm not your housekeeper," Mrs. Hudson pauses. "Or your mother."
"You say that every time, Mrs. Hudson," John remarks.
Mrs. Hudson walks over to the table where John is seated and places a plate in front of him. Bacon, eggs, and toast. She walks over to the counter and then back to the table to place John's tea before him.
"Are you nervous?" Mrs. Hudson asks in a manner more well suited for a relative rather than a landlady.
"It would be silly not to be, I suppose," John replied.
"I suppose it would be," Mrs. Hudson whispers a little disappointed.
There is a moment of silence as John sips his tea and Mrs. Hudson tidies the kitchen. John sighs and places his teacup back on the saucer.
"Is something wrong, dear?" Mrs. Hudson asks John.
"It's nothing." John says. "It's just that... I expected Sherlock to be there."
Mrs. Hudson shakes her head and walks over to John. She places a hand on his shoulder for reassuring comfort.
"None of us expected to lose Sherlock so soon, John."
John can hear the sadness in her voice and an unspoken "especially not me." Mrs. Hudson likely thought that she would go before Sherlock. A mother should not outlive her children.
John finishes his meal and goes back to his room. He opens his closet door and pulls out his brand new suit. Black with white shirt and red tie. John's stomach lurches and he begins to think that he should not have eaten. He trades his clothes for his suit and ties up his shoes. He sits down on his bed and folds his hands in his lap. The clock reads 4:28 PM. It is time to leave. Time to get married.
It has been 426 days. Tomorrow will be 427. And all that number means to John anymore is the number of days that Sherlock chose to be away from him, dead or not. John takes a taxi to the church and waits 12 minutes at the alter for his bride. When she arrives, everyone in the pews turn to look in awe. Mary Morstan, blushing bride and fiancee of Dr. John H. Watson. An ivory dress of lace with a train 5 feet long. John holds his left arm in his right hand and taps his toes impatiently as the two stand before the priest who is speaking select passages from the Bible.
Finally, the priest is getting somewhere and speaks a line that could actually render an actual response.
"If anyone has reason why these two should not be wed, speak now or forever hold your peace."
A few seconds pass with no words spoken and the priest opens his mouth to continue.
"I object."
The priest closes his mouth and looks over his spectacles to see the man who had just spoken. Everyone in the pews turns to look towards the doors that close behind the man who objected. John dares not turn around but hears the footsteps come closer towards him.
"I object," the voice speaks again, softer, and this time closer to John.
John is paralyzed in the worst thing imaginable- hope. That part of his heart that usually aches, has risen to the occasion and has started to beat faster as if to keep up with his racing mind. John dares himself to look and knows at the same time he will not be able to believe what he sees.
"Sherlock?" John hears himself question but does not remember speaking the word. His internal monologue questions the sound. Did I just say that? Or did someone else?
The priest clears his throat and looks directly at the dead man. John figures from the expression on the priest's face, he does not realize the miracle that is before him. John looks over at the front row of people in the left pews to make sure he is not seeing things. Lestrade is wide-eyed and gaping mouthed while Mrs. Hudson is beside herself with obvious joy. 'Yes, it must be true,' John thinks to himself. He wonders what the expression on his own face must be. More like Lestrade or Mrs. Hudson?
"The reason for your objection?" the priest asks Sherlock very matter-of-factly.
"John," Sherlock speaks and Watson turns towards him as he does, "This woman is impulsive, vain, prefers cats over dogs, actually enjoys crap telly, doesn't read books and when she does she reads Fifty Shades of Grey, she actually likes Twilight and sides with Team Jacob as if there were a choice in the first place, and you belong with me."
There is a moment of silence as John lets everything Sherlock has just said sit in.
"I belong with you? In what way? Like, as an assistant or..." John pauses and gestures around him. "Wedding?"
Sherlock narrows his eyes and cocks his head to the side.
"Was it not obvious?"
John looks at Sherlock very intently deciding what to do next and then deciding that it doesn't matter because Sherlock is alive and that is the only thing that matters. John places his hands on either side of Sherlock's face and smashes his lips against Sherlock's. With his eyes closed, John cannot see Sherlock's reaction but, boy, can he feel it. Sherlock leans into the kiss and places his left hand on John's back, just under the right shoulder blade. He feels Sherlock's soft skin under his fingertips and the light pressure of his hand on John's back. He feels the chapped lips against his own and swears he has never felt such a sensation with a woman. Such a firm hold and strong limbs. John decides in that moment, he will never be with another woman. A woman just could not make him feel the way that Sherlock has made him feel.
John pulls away and opens his eyes to look at who he, just yesterday, thought was a dead man. The dead man, very alive and well, has a flushed face and opens his eyes very slowly to look back at John.
"Does this mean the wedding's off?"
John looks over at his bride. She is clearly upset, red with anger, tears welling up in her eyes.
"I mean, I should've known you were gay." Mary continues. "The way you always spoke about that Sherlock one."
"Mary-" John starts.
"No," she interrupts. "I don't want to hear it. You and your boyfriend can get married, then. ON MY WEDDING DAY."
She storms off down the aisle and out the door. Everyone in the pews just watches after her. Mary's parents get up and chase after her. Everyone else stays seated, rather shocked. Lestrade looks back at Sherlock in amazement.
"How did you..?" he began.
"Sherlock!" Mrs. Hudson shrieks in excitement and clasps her hands together. "It is so good to see you! Please, come back to the flat and I'll make you some tea."
"But..." Lestrade mutters. "But he..."
"Oh, quiet, Greg. You knew he couldn't be gone," Mrs. Hudson reassures him.
All Lestrade could do was nod in agreement.
The priest clears his throat once again. "Well, if there's no wedding, I'll be off now."
He closes his Bible and gathers his things. The guests in the pews rise and get ready to leave. The wedding is over. John breathes a sigh of relief as he watches them go. Sherlock stands beside him and John reaches over and grabs his hand. Sherlock does not resist and reciprocates the touch. Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade walk over to the alter where John and Sherlock now stand as everyone leaves the church.
"A Twilight fan. Did you know that, John?" Lestrade inquires.
"Of course I did. She made me watch the entire series."
"Were you insane?" Sherlock asks.
Yes, John had his Sherlock back. The same Sherlock he met 970 days ago. The very same that would keep him up at night shooting at the wall. The same crazy man who he would run around with solving mysteries as if they were Scooby and the Gang. And he was not anyone else's Sherlock. He was John's Sherlock.
"426 days."
"What?" Sherlock looks over to John perplexed.
"It has been 426 days."
"Ah," Sherlock realizes. "Since I jumped."
"No," John speaks quietly. "Since you left me."
Sherlock turns to John and places his hands on John's shoulders. He looks him directly in the eyes, very sternly.
"John, listen to me," Sherlock says very seriously. "I couldn't risk one of Moriarty's people getting to you. Jim Moriarty wanted me dead. I had to be dead, so that he wouldn't harm you. And I had to stay dead until I took them all out. Every last spider on his web."
"What are you saying?" John asks.
"I didn't choose to spend 426 days away from you. I chose to spend every single day, all the days it would take, to keep you alive. If I had to stay away from you forever, I would have, if it meant you would be alive and happy."
"I could never be happy without you, Sherlock."
John and Sherlock looks into each other's eyes with understanding. They lean in towards each other and kiss once more this time more tenderly and with meaning, unlike the first impulsive kiss that John had imposed on Sherlock. John stands up on his tiptoes and deepens the kiss even further. Sherlock is surprised by the sudden movement but responds by putting his arms around John's waist, keeping him up. John places his arms around Sherlock's neck and continue to kiss uninterrupted. A few moments later, their lips part and they look each other in the eyes.
"426 days," John repeats.
"1 day," Sherlock says. "1 day that I've been back. Start counting those days. Please."
John nods.
"Okay, Sherlock. 1 day."
John and Sherlock release each other and Mrs. Hudson ushers them out of the church. Lestrade is talking on his mobile, stuttering away, to his colleagues about the miracle of Sherlock Holmes being alive.
"Now," Mrs. Hudson says, "let's go have some tea."