A/N: With both Christmas and the series 3 premier of "Sherlock" just around the corner (We're almost there!) I was inspired to write a Christmas short to celebrate both occasions. This story takes place in a scenario in which Sherlock has told John about his faked death.
John walked silently into his quiet empty flat. It was dark and lonely except for a small fire that burned in the fire place. He walked straight to the window and looked out over the street where Christmas lights hung here and there, evidence that it was Christmas time. You would never know that it was Christmas Eve by the looks of John's flat; there were no decorations at all. But Christmas was not what was on his mind tonight.
He had just come from Mrs. Hudson's Christmas party. Focusing on the holiday was the last thing that he wanted to do and he had gone out of obligation only. It wasn't that John was against Christmas. He wasn't as into it as some but he enjoyed it. But Christmas was special and special occasions were centered around special people. When someone special was missing from your life the special occasions only accentuated that fact, reminding you of their absence at every opportunity.
Mrs. Hudson had not had a Christmas party the year before; that was the first year that Sherlock had been gone. No one had felt like celebrating that year and though John still didn't feel like celebrating this year either he had gone for her sake. Mrs. Hudson and everyone else thought Sherlock was dead and were now trying to move on; they did not know what John knew. To him it just didn't seem right to celebrate much of anything when he knew that his best friend was away from home and everything he knew and was in constant danger.
It had been a year and half, 18 long months, since John had seen Sherlock. It was at that time that Sherlock had to fake his death and leave London. He had explained to John that day at Bart's that he was in trouble and that whatever happened that day for John to go along with it and he would explain things later. Though John was confused at the time he trusted Sherlock. Sherlock confessed that he almost didn't confide in John about what was going on and it was imperative that his acting be convincing in the next few hours.
What a day that had been. The next time John had seen Sherlock he had watched Sherlock jump to his supposed death. Though John had known at the time that all was not as it appeared and he trusted that Sherlock was not dead, it had been a terrible thing to watch. He hadn't had to do much acting on his part to appear devastated. Later, Sherlock had come to him and explained what happened between him and Moriarty, of the threats against John, Lestrade, and Mrs. Hudson and of Sherlock's need to leave London.
John had not seen or heard from Sherlock since that day. He knew it was necessary but it was hard. He received updates from Mycroft who heard from Sherlock from time to tome and he informed John that Sherlock was alive. John lived for those updates. They only came once every few months and even then they weren't enough. He wanted to see Sherlock with his own eyes, to hear him with his own ears, to know without a doubt that he was alive and well. He knew that what Mycroft was telling him could be a lie, that he could be telling him anything, though that was a fact he tried not to dwell on too long or he would undoubtedly lose his mind with worry.
John was trying his best to move on with his life. He continued to remind himself that this was temporary, that Sherlock would return and things would go back to normal. He had gotten a job at the surgery and everything was fine on the surface. But the truth was that he was so lonely and bored to death. He couldn't wait until this time was behind them both and he would not even allow himself to consider the possibility that it would become permanent.
And he wasn't just lonely and bored; he was worried. He was constantly thinking about Sherlock and worrying about where he might be or what might be happening to him. He tried not to but it was hard. From the day he had met Sherlock he had silently pledged himself to be Sherlock's protector. Even now it didn't even make sense to him why he had done so but it became undeniable that he had done just that when he had shot a man to save Sherlock's life within a day of meeting him. John did not feel like himself, here stuck at home where he was not a part of the action, not a part of helping and protecting Sherlock.
It was all made harder by having to pretend that Sherlock was dead. It was hard to not worry for Sherlock's safety when he had to play the part every day that he was already dead. It was John's greatest fear that this act would one day become a reality. His sleep was haunted by nightmares that illustrated the possibilities of how Sherlock could meet his death before he made it back home.
He now tried to shake the lonely feeling he felt. He'd had his share of lonely Christmases spent over seas. But this Christmas felt different. Those Christmases he was the one that was in danger, he was the one that was away from home and familiarity. Now it was his best friend who was and that felt worse. He knew how terrible those feelings could be and he did not want to have to think about Sherlock being in that position.
John turned on the radio to drown out the sound of the silence. He should have thought it through because of course on this night only Christmas music would be playing. He reached to switch it off but stopped when he heard that "Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas," was playing. He had always favored the song especially in his military days. The song spoke of hope, of being reunited with the ones that you love, of your troubles being far behind you. He had always wanted and needed that assurance when he spent those lonely Christmases overseas in a foreign country, separated from home and family and familiarity.
But right now the song left him with the opposite feeling. It did not make him feel hopeful like it always had. At the moment all it made him feel was sad. He related a little too well to the song, wishing that the words he heard were ones that he could speak to his best friend, a person who he did not even know was alive or dead at this moment. Of course, Sherlock didn't like Christmas and scoffed at any of the celebrating of it but that wasn't that point. The point was that this song talked about your friends coming home once again and your problems being over. That was everything that Christmas should be. That was everything that Christmas wasn't this year.
John reached for the radio and shut it off. He grabbed his coat and threw it on. He burst outside into the cold and stared walking. He knew that taking a walk this night would probably only make him feel worse. Everywhere he looked would be covered in Christmas cheer. Places would be decorated, people would be together, songs would be sung. Even the weather was trying to participate as snowflakes began to fall. But he just needed to get out of his flat.
He buried his hands in his pockets and walked at a steady pace, not knowing or really caring where he was going. He had only been walking for a few minutes when a black car pulled up beside him and slowed down to his pace. He didn't even have to look to know who would be there.
He rolled his eyes and turned and faced the car. The window rolled down and Mycroft stared back at him.
"John," he greeted calmly.
"Mycroft," he said and turned and started to walk again.
"John," Mycroft called again.
John stopped but did not turn around. "Mycroft, I'm not really in the mood for exchanging Christmas pleasantries. Or a kidnapping…whatever it is you want with me."
He knew that Mycroft was sure to be monitoring him at all times for his safety since Sherlock left and he tried not to think too much about that. But he only actually saw Mycroft once every few months for those brief assurances that Sherlock was still alive and for that John was glad. He didn't want to have to see Mycroft more than was necessary. And he certainly didn't feel like seeing him now.
John was still angry at Mycroft. He knew he shouldn't be and that holding on to his resentment was hurting himself but he couldn't get past it. He knew that Mycroft had played a huge part in what had happened. He was part of the reason that Sherlock had to be away from his home, in danger. He was part of the reason that John had to be separated from him.
"Good," Mycroft replied a little more calmly than John would have liked. "I'm not here for either of those things."
"Then what are you here for?" he said turning around and looking at Mycroft once again.
"Come with me."
"I thought you weren't here to kidnap me."
"I'm not."
"Then why would I come with you?"
"I guess you could call it a Christmas gift of sorts."
John scoffed. "Right. Goodnight, Mycroft." He turned and started to walk away again. There was only one thing that John wanted for Christmas.
"Do you want to see him?" Mycroft asked simply.
All the bravado faded out of John in an instant as he stopped dead in his tracks. He swallowed before he rasped out "What?" He was glad that his back to Mycroft as he was sure that his face was sure to be a mask of barely contained desperation and longing. Could this possibly be the news that he had been waiting for, hoping for, longing for?
"Get in," Mycroft said opening the door.
John managed to get to the car on shaky legs. Once he was in and seated he was able to utter out another word. "How?"
"Sherlock is in town for tonight, briefly, and he would like to see you. It would be a short meeting but he's waiting if you want to see him."
John's heart was pulsing hard in his chest and his mind was spinning at the shock and disbelief of it all. If he wanted to see him? If? Of course he wanted to see him. It was a treat enough just to get an update, to hear that his friend was alive, at least for today. But to know that he was nearby and waiting on him, John had not felt this amount of joy in a long time.
As John was pausing to collect his thoughts Mycroft continued. "He thought that you might not want to see him, since it has been so long since the two of you have seen each other and the meeting would not be able to be very long. He thought you might feel it was easier to stay apart until his coming home could be permanent."
John was still trying to make sense of this news. He was still trying to convince his mind that this was real, that Sherlock was here and that John could actually see him for real tonight. It was everything that he had wanted but had not allowed himself to think he could have. "Of course," John said his voice catching his attempt to contain his emotions failing, "I want to see him."
"Very well then. We'll be traveling to a public location. He's already there and felt that it would be safer that way. He'll be in disguise and you shouldn't say his name or draw any attention to him."
John just nodded his head numbly. He couldn't believe this was happening. In a matter of minutes he was going to see, to talk, to Sherlock. After 18 long months of waiting, he could know, with certainty, that Sherlock was alive.
They traveled some distance before they finally arrived at a park where the car slowed and finally stopped. John didn't know where they were or how long they had been traveling; he only knew that the excitement and anticipation and nervousness had now built up to a near unbearable level. By now the snow was falling at a pretty steady pace and the ground was covered in a thin layer. The park was surrounded by lighted displays and though it was late there were still many people walking about to admire them on this Christmas Eve night.
John got out of the car and looked around the park at the people in the nearby area. He didn't recognize anyone that looked like Sherlock. He glanced back towards Mycroft and he motioned to a man standing a few feet away, his back turned towards them.
John watched as the car slowly pulled away and then stared at the man, at Sherlock, standing in front of him. The tall, proud, almost cocky way he stood should have told John it was him. He was frozen for a second as a year and a half of loneliness and longing was brought to the surface as both the object of those feelings and their remedy to them was now finally in reach. It bubbled up into pure nerves that ran over his entire body.
He felt shaky from it all as he slowly approached Sherlock. He was still a few feet away when Sherlock turned around and faced him. John wanted to scream his name and run towards him. He had imagined this moment so many times and thought he'd do just that. But he found himself doing the opposite as he found himself frozen in place
Sherlock didn't look like himself not that it would be expected that he would since he was in disguise. His full head of curly hair was buzzed short and covered with a hat. His face was covered in a couple of days worth of stubble and he uncharacteristically wore jeans and trainers. The coat he wore was not the familiar and well-remembered one and he worse no blue scarf. But John would recognize that face anywhere.
He was here. He was alive and well. It wasn't until that moment that John realized he had been holding his breath not even allowing himself to believe the reports from Mycroft that Sherlock was alive. He lived for the updates that Sherlock was alive but still he could not be sure until he saw the proof. Sherlock was not a memory, a figure of John's past never to be seen from again. He was real flesh and blood living day to day.
"Hello, John," Sherlock said with the most genuine smile that John had ever seen on him. Sherlock was happy, truly happy for this second. And John knew that he was the reason.
When he spoke it was like he had never been gone. John had so wished to hear that voice. He remembered that voice, he thought about that voice, he even dreamed about that voice. The flat would get so quiet at times that John just ached to hear it again. He had feared he would forget what it sounded like. He had missed it so and yet now, it was like it had never been missing.
Tears sprung to John's eyes. He told himself firmly he wouldn't cry. He didn't want Sherlock to think he couldn't cope; he wanted Sherlock to know he was handling the situation. But Sherlock had been plucked from John's life so suddenly. In the span of one day he had been taken from him. They had been able to say goodbye, briefly but it had not been adequate. All of that left him now feeling overwhelmed.
"Hello," he managed to say though it was apparent by the sound of it that there was turbulence inside of him
"It's good to see you," Sherlock genuinely said, the same large smile on his face. He stepped a few feet closer to close the short distance that was between them until only a little remained.
"You too," John said. John was frozen for a moment just staring at the face of his best friend, a face he had not seen in so many long months. "You look…different."
"You haven't changed a bit," Sherlock said warmly.
A minuet passed as John stood frozen and Sherlock allowed him time to process. Then a silent word went between them as they both closed the remaining distance between them and embraced each other.
They had only ever hugged once, the day that Sherlock had left. It had felt somewhat strange at that time, it was so foreign to them. But it felt the furthest thing from strange at this moment. In reality, it probably should have been awkward just to see each other and speak after all of this time but it just was not.
"Sherlock," John said whispering the name in Sherlock's ear. John knew he could not say the name out loud in greeting but he wanted to say it. He had said it so many times in the time they had been separated, at times he wished Sherlock had been there, at times he wanted to say something to Sherlock even when he wasn't there, in times when he begged Sherlock to please still be alive. This time he could say the name and it actually would be heard.
He felt Sherlock's arms tighten around him and he knew that it meant something to him too. Sherlock's current outward appearance only served as a reminder that Sherlock was on the run. Sherlock could not be himself. John knew he must hardly if ever hear his name. Hearing your own name spoken, being able to be yourself and recognized as such; it all seemed like such a simple thing. But it was not. It was something that Sherlock had been deprived of. John got his first glimpse into how hard these past 18 months had been for Sherlock.
The tears that were in his eyes were begging to get out as John started to think about his friend and all the pain he must be going through. This time had been hard for John. His whole life had changed with the absence of Sherlock. He spent his days worrying about his friend, wondering if he was safe or even still alive. He longed to be by Sherlock's side where he belonged helping in whatever way he could, not sitting at home waiting until the work was done.
But he knew that the time spent away must have been so much more difficult for Sherlock. He had spent many a night wondering what Sherlock was doing and wondering how he was doing; how he was coping. But this was the first time that John had felt how Sherlock was doing. He felt pain in the way that Sherlock held him back. He felt the loneliness. At the first mention of getting to see Sherlock, John had thought many things but he had not stopped to wonder why this meeting. Was Sherlock alright?
John buried his face against Sherlock's shoulder hoping that any tears that would find their way out of his eyes would be hidden there. He was not going to cry in front of Sherlock, he simply would not. He could do that later if he must, but right now he didn't want to get overly emotional in front of Sherlock. Sherlock certainly wouldn't want that and neither did he.
"Sherlock," John whispered again. "You're alive," John said disbelief and joy on that last word. All the worry of the past 18 months faded away. The assurance he had so desperately wanted, to know that his best friend was alive and well, was here. All the difficulties and troubles were for this moment far away.
"So I am. Did you doubt it?"
"At times…yes," he honestly admitted.
Sherlock didn't say anything but he made no move to pull away or leave either. Concern for why he had decided to meet John after all of this time was growing. "Are you alright? Has something happened?" he asked.
After a few moments, Sherlock did speak. "I'm fine. It's nothing like that," he said sensing where John's mind was going. "Are you alright?"
"Yeah. I'm great," in this moment at least that was true. "I just can't believe you're here. I never expected this. What made you decide to come tonight?"
There was a long pause before Sherlock spoke. "I just…" he began then stopped.
"What?"
"I just…wanted to see you," Sherlock said conviction in his voice. The words were not easily said. It seemed like the simplest of confessions for most but from Sherlock that could not be so. John did not want to think about the events that had lead Sherlock to such a confession, even to him, his best friend.
There was so much that John wanted to tell Sherlock. There were so many things that he wanted to ask Sherlock. But he sensed they were both getting to a place where they would become unhinged. John would have thought that never would have been possible for Sherlock. But the way he held John in desperation, John could not be sure of that anymore. John forced his face into composure before pulling back and looking at Sherlock. At a loss for anything better to say John simply said "Happy Christmas."
"John, it's not actually Christmas yet."
John let out a laugh. Oh, how he had missed this man. "Yeah, I do realize that," he said with a smile. "It's just a saying."
"Well you know me, I've never paid much mind to the sentiment of it all but I thought you might appreciate it. You do tend to get so emotional about things."
John knew that Sherlock was deflecting the emotions off himself and onto John but John let him. It felt so good to fall into their normal comfortable banter and it felt so good to know that Sherlock was still Sherlock. He may look different on the outside but John was so glad to hear that he was still himself.
They started to walk, not going anywhere in particular. After a few minutes of comfortable silence John made himself ask a question that he didn't really want to but knew he had to. "How long do we have?"
Sherlock's face was regretful as it looked back at him. "An hour."
The statement cut into John. It was so short a time. He could tell by Sherlock's face that he wished it could be more. "Well, then I guess we shouldn't waste any of it," John said with a smile.
Sherlock smiled, grateful that John had agreed to meet him if only for so short a time.
They walked around the park in silence for a few more moments. John was desperately trying to find words to say but he was drawing up blank. "All the times I've wished you were here and now that you are…I can't think of what to say," John confessed with a laugh.
Sherlock gave a laugh in response.
"I never thought I would see you in jeans and trainers," John finally said gesturing towards Sherlock.
"That is why it is called a 'disguise.' It wouldn't be a very good one if it still made me look like myself." Sherlock's eyes clouded and his face fell slightly. "Tell me how you've been."
"I don't want to talk about myself. I want to hear about you."
"Please John, tell me how things are."
John could see it in his eyes. John could see the darkness in them. Sherlock did not have anything good to say. He didn't want to tell John what he had been up to because it was only bad. John wanted to know how Sherlock was but he saw now that he might not like the answers that he got.
"Alright," John said conceding, "What do you want to know?" Normally, John would have pressed Sherlock on the matter but he didn't now. They had so little time and he didn't want to waste a second of it. If they were going to have a good conversation then it would have to center around John. And he knew that Sherlock needed that.
"How are things at home?"
"Entirely too quiet," John said in a jesting tone. "There aren't any explosions or gunshots or violins playing at 3:00AM. And it's way too clean; there haven't been any body parts in the fridge since you left."
"It sounds completely dull," Sherlock said in mock seriousness.
"It is," he said with a laugh but then there was a weighed silence between them. He said it in jesting but it was true. John's life did seem so dull without Sherlock in it. He missed the excitement that was knowing Sherlock. He was bored without his presence in his life. Sherlock understood too. He longed to be back home. He had never liked dull moments and had run from them at all costs but the business of his current life was actually something he would trade for some of those boring days spent at 221B.
"But I got a job at the surgery," John continued trying to bring out the positive in his current life.
"A job. Like I said, dull," Sherlock said in mock disinterest.
They talked about John's job. They talked about Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade and Molly. They talked about all the normal everyday things that Sherlock had never really cared for. It was strange that they would have a conversation like this. It had nothing to do with a crime or a mystery to solve. But even though it was strange it did not feel out of place. Even the moments they spent just walking silently beside each other didn't feel wrong. They were together and that just felt right.
They didn't talk about the hard things. Sherlock said nothing of how he had spent the past 18 months. John didn't talk about the funeral they'd had for Sherlock. He didn't talk about what it was like to watch those around him mourn for Sherlock. He didn't talk about the newspapers and how people talked about Sherlock being a fraud. Neither one talked about the worries they had for the other or the nightmares they both suffered from.
It had been the perfect way to spend the hour. Though John's life didn't seem that interesting anymore he found that he was glad to tell Sherlock about it. There were so many times he had wanted to tell Sherlock about something that had happened and now he had that chance. For an hour their problems didn't exist. For an hour they could pretend that they hadn't been separated for a year and half. They could pretend that wouldn't be separated again very soon.
They eventually found themselves standing on a bridge overlooking a small river that ran through the park. The snow was still falling as they looked out over the Christmas lights that lit the park. Sherlock reluctantly looked at his watch and saw the time. "I need to go."
John looked ahead for a minuet, trying to get himself together. He knew this was coming, he knew it had to come but he was still sad their time was over.
"Alright," he said looking at Sherlock and trying to sound calm and failing miserably. Tears sprung to John's eyes and he hated that could not seem to keep them under control any longer as a few of them slipped out. "Ahh," he said in frustration looking away. "Stupid tears," he said trying to brush them away. "Can't control the nasty things."
"John…I'm sorry. I wish I could stay."
"I know, I know," John said trying to get himself under control. He didn't want Sherlock to feel bad about this. "It's fine."
"Would it have been better if I hadn't come?"
"No," John answered adamantly. "I'm glad you came."
Sherlock reached out and put a hand on John's shoulder. "I'm sorry this is so hard for you." Though they hadn't talked about it of course Sherlock still knew, could still see what it was that his friend had been going through.
"It's not that bad. I know it's much worse, much harder for you."
"But that doesn't mean it doesn't still hurt."
John didn't try to deny it because there was one thing he wanted Sherlock to know; he wanted Sherlock to know that he mattered and right now that meant showing that he had been missed. John wanted him to know that his absence left a hole in John's life. There were a lot of things they might not say to each other but there was one thing that John had to say.
"I miss you...so much," he confessed. "Sentimental I know," he said shrugging off the awkwardness that seemed to hang in the air around those words.
Sherlock looked at him and though he didn't say anything John could see it in his face; he missed John too, more than he could say. Sherlock was the one now to move forward and pull John into a hug.
"One thing I've learned in this time...is maybe that sentiment isn't so bad," Sherlock said.
"Wow...the world must be coming to an end."
"It feels that way sometimes," he said darkly.
"Sherlock," John croaked out, "Are you alright? Really…are you alright?" They had talked about happy things and John was glad that they had spent their little bit of time this way but he had to know. Was his best friend alright?
Sherlock paused a long time before answering John honestly. "No. I'm not. But I will be. I have to do this for everything to be alright again."
"I know."
"I'll be alright then."
John wished that he didn't have to leave this moment. In this moment he could know with certainty that Sherlock was alive. He didn't have to worry in this moment if his best friend was in danger or hurt or even dead. In this moment he could remember with clarity the exact way that Sherlock sounded and looked because he was right in front of him and not just faded memories that were months old.
"You take care of yourself," John said with conviction as they pulled apart. "You make sure you eat and sleep and all those other little things that you forget about."
"I'll do that," Sherlock promised with a smile.
John smiled at Sherlock. He refused to say goodbye so instead he said "I'll see you soon."
"Very soon."
John turned to get into the car that was back right on time and waiting to take him back home. He was almost in when in the distance a clock struck the hour twelve times. Sherlock called out to stop him "Oh, and John."
"Yes?" John said looking back at Sherlock.
"Happy Christmas," he said with a smile.
"Happy Christmas to you too," John said with a returning smile, a real smile, because it truly was one.
Sherlock thought about the past hour, a time that was so short and yet had seemed to live apart from time frozen from all other reality. For a brief time he was truly happy. Even now he smiled to himself thinking about it. For once his troubles didn't exist and the weight he bore every day was lifted. The fact that that was possible reminded him that this dark time would not last forever.
He knew that he shouldn't have met with John. It was simply too dangerous and he should not have been willing to take the risk. He had taken all necessary precautions but there were still risks. It was selfish but he couldn't help himself; he always had been selfish.
John had been great about their separation since day one. When Sherlock had figured out how things were going to play out between him and Moriarty, when he knew what he was going to have to do and the effects it would have on everyone around him, he had deliberated about what to do. He had tried to decide if he should keep the news from John and let him believe that he was dead or if he should tell John the truth. He knew for everyone's safety that there could not be even an ounce of doubt that he was still alive and that meant John's performance would have to be completely believable. He thought maybe the only way to do that was for John to not know it was an act. But in the end he just couldn't bear to put John through that.
He had made the right decision; he shouldn't have doubted John for a second. When he had first told John that something was about to happen and he just needed John to go along with it he had expected some resistance. But John had trusted him; he could see that in John's eyes when he had told him he would explain it all later. His phone conversation with John had been surprisingly painful even though they both knew that everything was not as it should have been. It had hurt Sherlock to have to say those words to John, even though he trusted that John would know that he didn't actually mean the words that he said. And John's response was utterly heartbreaking; Sherlock did not have a hard time trying to act upset.
Then when he had jumped and John had run to him…Sherlock knew with certainty that he had made the right decision in telling him the truth. Hearing the pain in John's voice he couldn't imagine if it had been real. He wouldn't have been able to bear the sting of causing that kind of pain to his best friend.
He had been able to explain everything to John later that day but it had been quick as had been their goodbye. John had handled the whole event extremely well and Sherlock was relived and grateful that he accepted everything and didn't make things unnecessarily emotional.
What Sherlock had not been prepared for was the way he handled everything since that day. Living in the in between, between the day he left Baker street to the day he would return, had proved much more difficult than he had anticipated. For most of his life he had lived in a solitary condition and it had never really bothered him all that much. But now that he had lived with John he found that he missed having that companionship in his life. He had thought he was happy before but it wasn't until John that he realized that he had actually been lonely.
That was a fact that had been very real and present every day of the past 18 months. He missed John. He missed their home and his work. He missed working with John. He missed being able to be himself. He lived a life in the shadows, always on the run. He was always in disguise and he was starting to forget who he was.
He knew that John was safe, or so he told himself. He made certain that Mycroft had placed plenty of surveillance on him so that he would remain that way. He received regular updates from Mycroft that John was safe. But he still worried about John. He tried not to; he knew it was a waste of energy. Doing so would not do John or himself any good. But that did not keep him from wondering about John's safety. It did not keep the nightmares away. The only way he would trust that John was safe was to see it with his own eyes.
Sherlock found that it was all becoming too much to bear. He was so unaccustomed to these emotions and their severity was alarming. He realized that he had to do something. That was why he had decided after all this time, to take the risk and meet with John. He just wanted to see him, to know he was safe. He just wanted to talk to him and remember the life he'd had and forget the one he was currently living, if only briefly.
But he felt that tonight they both had got something important. They had both been reminded what they were holding on for. They needed to be reminded that one day their troubles would be over. They needed to remember why any of it was worth all the effort; because one day they would be together again. One day they would be able to laugh and talk just as they had done could tell that John had needed that just as much as he did. And he knew that they both had come away with just what they needed to keep going.
He fingered the set of dog tags that hung around his neck, ones that were inscribed with the name of a better man than himself, ones that he wore at all times. They were a reminder to him every day of what he was fighting for. They were a reminder of all he had to lose and all he had to gain.
John had given them to him that day he had to leave a year and a half ago. As Sherlock had been getting ready to leave John brought them out of the box where he kept all of his hidden things, all the things he kept of the war. Sherlock had never even seen anything out of the box; John had never even told him what the box contained but of course Sherlock knew what it was.
When he had pulled them out and Sherlock had caught sight of them they had stirred his emotions to a level he had not ever experienced. "Here, take these," he had said placing his dog tags in Sherlock's hand. "I wore these...on some of the darkest days of my life," he said the words strained and his jaw clenched in held back emotions. "Just make sure you bring them back."
Sherlock had worn them that day and every day since then. Now he had worn them on some of his darkest days too. They had been such an encouragement to him and he had often wished that he had given something to John, some sort of token to encourage him. Sure it was true that he had left all of his possessions behind and John was surrounded by them. But that was not the same as giving a gift. John had given him something of his past, something that really mattered to him. Sherlock wanted to do to the same in return.
He smiled now as he thought about how this night had provided him an opportunity to do just that. Though he wouldn't be there to see it, with this brief but wonderful encounter still fresh in his mind, he could imagine John's face when he found it.
He was glad to know that John would be comforted this night and maybe even every night until Sherlock could come home.
John had spent the ride back to 221B in silence. He had turned his face toward the window and looked out it the entire way back. Mycroft didn't talk to him and for that he was glad. John was managing keep tears back but he wasn't sure he could do that if he had to keep up a conversation.
He honestly didn't even know what it was he was feeling. This whole night was a whirlwind. He could only dream for the opportunity to see Sherlock again after all of this time. He could only wish that he would actually have the chance. This night had been unexpected. He could only hope that time would unexpectedly bring Sherlock home again soon. But one thing that John was sure of this night was that Sherlock would be back.
John wasn't sad about the night; he was sure of that much. The time had been short, not nearly enough; one hour together after a year and a half apart. And yet it was exactly enough. It was enough to keep him going. The time was more that he could have hoped for and more than they would have expected to have so John just couldn't find it in his heart to be upset that the time hadn't been more. He knew that maybe he should have felt that way. But the emotions just weren't there. This night he could only be happy.
When they finally arrived back at Baker Street, John got out of the car and still Mycroft hadn't said anything. John was getting ready to shut the door but he stopped and said a simple "Thank you," to Mycroft.
Mycroft gave a half smile. "Happy Christmas, John."
John turned and made his way back up to his flat. Though it was late he did not feel like he could go straight to sleep with this unexpected and happy meeting still so fresh in his mind. He went to the kitchen and started a pot to boil making himself a cuppa.
He was just going to settle down in his chair by the fire when he finally took his coat off and discovered that there was something in the pocket. He reached in and pulled out a CD. He was puzzled as to where it had come from when he opened up the case and written in familiar handwriting were the words Merry Christmas. Sherlock
John put the CD on and smiled as familiar violin music began to flood the silent flat. It was music that could have only been played by one person. Sherlock's songs, the ones that he had composed, started to play through the flat. John felt like simultaneously crying and laughing at the same time as the flat that had been devoid of these notes for so long was filled with them again: just as it should be.
As he sat in his chair and listened to the songs he loved he was reminded of the words of a song that he had heard earlier this night and was once again encouraged by the words as he once had been. Because though it was for a brief time today it would one day be permanent.
Faithful friends, who are dear to us, gather near to us once more.
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