Watch out for intellect, because it knows so much it knows nothing and leaves you hanging upside down, mouthing knowledge as your heart falls out of your mouth. - Anne Sexton
"I'm fine."
That was the first lie he told John.
"I'm just busy."
That was the second.
Those were in fact the two things he is not. He hasn't been able to concentrate on a case in weeks. Lestrade had finally gotten so fed up that he forced him to take some time off to get his head on straight. He would have argued but the truth is that he is too distracted to really care.
A constant throbbing headache is making him irritable and liable to lash out at anyone who happens to speak to him. The paracetamol given by Mrs. Hudson sits on the table untouched. Trying to relieve the pain feels like he is turning his back on her. It serves as a reminder of what he's given up.
He can't stay in the flat. It reminds him of her. He can't go to Bart's because he would have to face her and it is too late for that. So he spends most of his time wandering the streets of London, walking for hours only to look up and realize he was halfway across the city with no memory of getting there.
Of course John could tell that everything is not fine, he just doesn't know the why. The new baby is taking up most of the Watson's time now and he's secretly relieved that Mary and John never found out about the two of them being together. Especially now that they are no longer and the reasons why.
He is used to his brain always running, but this time it's like a television that is stuck on a channel with the same scene playing over and over. If only he could delete it. But no matter how hard he tries he can't forget that look of hurt on her face and it's torture.
The truth is that he's made a mistake, an extremely costly one. He knows that now, too late of course.
His brain, the one thing that he had always trusted implicitly, has failed him. It spit out things he'd always told himself and others. Don't let your heart rule. Don't give in to sentiment. Don't get attached to others. Don't. Don't. Don't.
So he had listened to it. He had gritted his teeth and told her couldn't be with her anymore. He had to end it. It was the best for both of them.
Right? He had asked himself, but the question went unanswered. Now it was silent.
The constant nagging feeling in his chest tells him he'd been wrong. Time doesn't help and only makes it worse. The longer he goes without her, the more he misses her, and the more he knows he's messed it all up.
Sometimes he spends his nights in his boltholes, except for the one that he wants to visit the most. Other nights he spends at Baker Street tossing and turning in his bed before giving up and moving to his chair where he stares into the glowing fire until it turns to embers.
One night his eyes catch something hidden under his chair. His hand reaches down and grabs onto something soft. He instantly knows what it is before he pulls it out. It's her scarf. The long striped one that took her four weeks to knit. It was identical to her other one that she'd accidentally left on the Underground and tried desperately for weeks to get back. She was sentimental that way and he'd secretly loved that about her.
He draws it to his face and breathes in her scent. Collapsing back into the chair, he lets the memory wash over him.
She had come home from work and wrapped the scarf around his neck as he sat at the computer researching a case. Funny he can't remember the case now, but he can recall each and every movement she'd made. The tossing of her keys on the table, the kiss she placed on the back of his head, the gentle murmur of her voice. She was a creature of habit and always headed to the kitchen after a long day for a snack. "The dead won't let me rest," she always said.
With an apple in hand, she'd fallen with a sigh into his chair and pulled her feet up as she asked him about his day.
They could chat for hours or spend their time together in silence working on their own projects. Both were equally pleasing. Any moment spent in her presence had given him a sense of contentment, a domestic happiness, that he'd never experienced before.
He jerks back to the present and stares at the empty chair in front of him. He has to fix it.
The next day he waits until she gets off work. It's a Thursday and she get off at six. He still has her schedule memorized. The whole day he spends pacing around the flat planning what to say. Nothing sounds right. When he ventures out with her scarf tucked safely in his pocket, he still has no clue what to say.
How could one take back the pain, the hurt they had inflicted on the person they loved the most? It was impossible.
Heart weeps.
Head tries to help heart.
Head tells heart how it is, again:
You will lose the ones you love. They will all go, someday. But even the earth will go, someday.
Heart feels better, then.
But the words of head do not remain long in the ears of heart.
Heart is so new to this.
I want them back, says heart.
Head is all heart has.
Help, head. Help heart.
-Lydia Davis
The cold night air feels like ice on his exposed skin as he paces outside of her flat. Oscillation on the pavement always means a love affair.Never would he have thought his own words would ever apply to himself.
Finally he presses the buzzer and holds his breath.
Yes? There is a hesitation in her voice at receiving an unexpected visitor at this hour.
It's me. Can I come up?
He barely recognizes his own voice. There's a pause and for a minute he thinks she's going to leave him out in the cold. He wouldn't blame her, but she doesn't and the door buzzes open.
He makes his way up the stairs slowly. For some strange reason he thinks of his mother and the fury she would unleash upon him if she'd found out what he'd done. She'd loved her instantly as had his father and they had both welcomed her into the family with open arms. She had cried and said she was so happy to feel like part of a family again.
She's standing at the door waiting for him with crossed arms and an icy stare.
"What are you doing here?"
He opens and closes his mouth. What is he doing here?
With a long sigh, she steps backwards and motions for him to come inside.
She waits for an explanation with her hands planted on her hips. He can see the hurt and the anger in her eyes. He longs to reach out and touch her, comfort her.
"I'm sorry."
I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry.In his head, he repeats it as a mantra.
"You hurt me." She's biting the inside of her cheek to control her anger, but she can't fight back the tears forming in her eyes.
"I would do anything to change the past, but since I cannot I can only tell you how sorry I am and how wrong I was."
"I don't understand what happened. Everything was perfect and you had to ruin it."
"I panicked, because I'd never felt that way before about anyone. I pushed you away because I didn't feel worthy of you."
The look on her face softens ever so slightly.
"I miss you," his voice breaks and he has to swallow to control his emotions. "I don't expect you to take me back, but I just needed you to know how I'm sorry I am."
He turns to leave, but a hand on his back stops him. He turns around and the hand moves to his face. She runs her thumb across his cheek. He aches to grab onto it and kiss it.
"I need time to think about this."
He nods. Days, Weeks, Years. He will wait as long as necessary.
That night he sleeps soundly for the first time in ages.
In the months following they begin to start seeing each other again gradually. She keeps him at an arm's length and he patiently waits until she's ready. He didn't think it was possible but he falls more in love with her than ever before.
This time he tells John everything. Though he waits until he is holding the baby so that John cannot punch him. John shakes his head and calls him a complete arse. Mary agrees. The baby coos in his arms.
They both make him promise never to do that to her again, but they don't have to worry. Never again he says meaning it fully.
One night when he's leaving her flat, she takes him by surprise and kisses him. He returns it and clasps his arms around her middle drawing her as close to him as possible. He could weep at the sensation of holding her once again. Her moans tell him she feels the same. In a matter of seconds, they are stumbling towards her bedroom with clothes being removed hastily and strewn along the way. They are holding onto each other so tightly barely able to separate long enough for him to remove his shirt. They crash onto the bed and make love with such an urgency and passionate fury that he feels as though he might spontaneously combust.
They hold onto each other long after and drift off to sleep. At some point during the night they wake up and repeat their lovemaking, taking it slower and making it last as long as possible.
I love you, I love you, I love you, he whispers into the crook of her neck as he holds her against his chest. She snuggles closer and kisses him on his shoulder. I know, she whispers back, I love you too. It is bliss to be with her and he can't wipe the smile off his face.
Shortly after, she moves into Baker Street and with Toby in hand makes a passionate argument to Mrs. Hudson to change her policy on pets. Mrs. Hudson is confused. She has no such rule. He laughs guiltily at his feeble attempt at a joke. Toby hissed at him once and since then they'd been at odds with each other. She is not amused.
"Just for that we are getting another cat."
He agrees instantly.
They go to the shelter and she falls in love with two of them. They are told the two kittens were rescued together and cannot be separated.
So they become a three-cat household. Gradually Toby warms up to him and he grows quite attached to his new furry group of roommates and their mysterious feline habits. One afternoon he falls asleep on the couch and wakes up to find them all curled up on top of him. She walks into the room, laughs until her cheeks are pink, and takes a photo that now resides in a frame by the door. My intimidating detective, she calls him. Sometimes clients look at him funny when they see it.
Their relationship becomes stronger than ever. His life has changed but now he knows that it's not a bad thing. He knows now what happiness truly is. His brain is sharper, clearer. He becomes a better detective and solves cases faster allowing him more time to be with her.
He used to think he knew what love was and the problems it caused. Now he knows those were things he told himself as protection against getting hurt. After experiencing that hurt, he never wants to go back there, but the love he shares with her is worth everything.
Sometimes you need to listen to your head to live and survive, but other times you also have to listen to your heart. Life requires balance. Work, life, family, friends, love.
And sometime later as he watches her walk down the aisle holding onto Mycroft's arm, he is thankful that he listened to his heart.