Like Air We Go
"Mary's resting," is the first thing John says when Sherlock opens the door. He stands on the landing, soaking from the rain that drips off his hat and runs unsteadily down his coat. He looks like he did the first time they met; has that weary droop to his shoulders and the shake that isn't quite a tremor when he gestures inside the flat. "May I?"
Sherlock steps aside and John steps in. John is vaguely aware of Sherlock helping him slip off his coat and hat and shutting the door quietly behind him, but he pays Sherlock's ministrations no mind and heads straight for his old chair by the fireplace, sinking into it with a long, slow breath sucked in as if he's asphyxiating.
John's head feels heavy, so he holds it in his hands and leans forward and breathes, and it feels like everything that's happened the last week is balled up in his stomach and crushing his throat and pricking his eyes and sitting so, so heavily on his shoulders, and it's impossible to think of anything but the spots of blood on Mary's handkerchief.
"Watson," Sherlock says suddenly at his side, and John feels his hand held and cupped in Sherlock's before Sherlock presses a warm cup into it.
Earl Grey, the type Mrs. Hudson likes. Milk, no sugar, of course.
John hears Sherlock slide into the armchair across from him, but he doesn't look up. Doesn't trust himself to keep composed.
"Watson," Sherlock says again, and it has a note of genuine concern that John has rarely heard from the detective. "What's wrong?"
The steam rising from the cup wavers with every breath that John takes, weaves into the air like fog, difficult to see against the fire.
"Watson."
John's lips don't tremble, and his eyes don't shut, but his knuckles are white around the too-hot cup.
"Tuberculosis," he manages in a voice that doesn't crack. "As I thought. Mary won't live out the year."
Sherlock closes his eyes. John watches the fire, and it's so bright it hurts his eyes.
"John," Sherlock says, and he leans forward and squeezes John's shoulder, but it doesn't take the weight away.
The steam rising from the cup wavers as it goes; wavers and shudders and disappears entirely.