So, am I like, kicked out of the fandom now? Is that what happens?
Disclaimer: I own Jeanette Starkweather; that is all. I'm using a Barbie in a GI Joe playset.
Her name is Jeanette.
They are expecting a child, and she's not sleeping due to morning sickness- he can tell that from her eyes. She's a natural blonde, but prefers brunette on herself, he can tell that by the roots of her hair, and the way she holds the mug the café provides him that she's perfectly comfortable being there with him, though she's unsure she should be.
Her ring is shiny, and fits her finger well; they're married, but haven't been for more than a few months. It's regularly polished. She cherishes the union, and would only give it up for one reason. Her lips- she's been kissed goodbye, twice.
"He misses you." Jeanette says softly across the table, her blue eyes looking into his with honesty and disapproval.
"I know."
"Sherlock Holmes. The most brilliant man he's ever met. His best friend. He only says good things about you, Sherlock."
Sherlock looks past his orange curls at her, his legs crossed and his own coffee sitting before him, nearly untouched.
"He shouldn't." He replies softly, eyes not leaving hers.
"You can tell he was in love with you," She tells him, taking a sip of coffee. "It's obvious."
"And you still married him."
"At the time, we were under the impression that you were dead."
They stare at each other evenly, in silence for a few moments.
He can tell that she's not intimidated by him, and secretly he's happy about that. He finally looks away, at the snow.
"Nobody can convince him that you ever told a lie."
She watches him sadly for a while, and emotion flickers across his face.
Guilt, sadness, regret, but mostly loneliness.
He's been alone- for the past three years, he's been alone.
"I plan to keep it that way."
She straightens up, and confusion is brief in her facial features. He hears her sigh, placing down her mug.
"He's always believed in you, Sherlock," He hears her say. "He's always loved you, treasured you, and ultimately worshipped you. You're his hero."
Sherlock turns to look at her.
Jeanette stares evenly back.
"I'm not a hero." He informs her.
"You are to him." She says back, not missing a beat, not moving a muscle.
He watches her across the table, unreadable, and she gazes back.
"You should see him when he talks about you. He gets this distant look in his eyes, and he smiles… And he'll just talk. He forgets about me, and his world is about you." She leans on the table, face emotionless but eyes questioning. "You knew he loved you. So why did you do it?"
"To protect him." Sherlock replies, not skipping a beat.
"And your friends?"
"I didn't have friends. I only had one."
"And you took yourself away from him, because you wanted to protect him."
"If I hadn't, he would've died."
"He practically did."
Sherlock is quiet, watching her closely.
"He was a wreck, Sherlock; fell into booze deeper than Harry ever did, and refused to leave that flat for a year."
"Then you got worried about him."
"Of course I did. I've loved him since high school. I've always loved him. I want him to be happy."
He stares at her, and sees that her words are only the truth. She's always been in love with John Watson, and she's jealous of Sherlock. She won't say it, but he knows; she's known John since before he went abroad, and been in love with him without returned feelings for that long. Then this man John barely knows waltzes in, and he falls in love with him within the year.
She doesn't get it, but she's starting to, and she understands.
If it'll make John happy, she'll leave, and let him choose Sherlock all over again, no matter how much she loves him.
In a way, Sherlock is jealous of her; he would never be able to just give John up like that.
He loves him far, far too much.
"And so do you."
"Yes, I do."
"Then why, why didn't you at least tell him you were alive?"
"He would've come looking for me. Tried to be my hero, again." Sherlock looks at his coffee, takes a sip, and sets it down again. "He's saved my life, or tried to, at least four times now… This was the one time I tried to save his."
She nods, and takes a sip of her own drink.
"He's at his happiest, I think, when he talks about you." She admits after a while, not looking up from the table. "He looks sad when he thinks about forgetting. Thinks about the fall. He has nightmares, you know… Still."
Sherlock feels a lump slowly rise in his throat as he looks at her, then gazes out the window.
"I'll be… laying there, reading, and suddenly he'll just… Jolt awake, calling your name… He can never fall asleep for the rest of the night. Like his PTSD all over again."
I've seen men die; good men, friends of mine. Thought I'd never sleep again.
He feels the hair on the back of his neck rise up, and he glances at her.
"Nobody, Sherlock. Nobody can convince him that you ever told a lie, until you." She looks up at him. "You could. But you won't." He nods.
"No. I won't. It's better for me to just… watch him from the distance." He says softly. "If you'll let me."
"Like a guardian angel."
He chuckles.
"No. I may have the angels on my side, but don't think for a second that I'm one of them."
"Oh, I don't." She leans back and crosses her arms.
He gazes at her for a few moments, then down at the table.
"But like our own little hero."
"Not a hero. A silent guardian, a watchful protector."
"A Dark Knight?"
They share a small laugh, and he shakes his head.
"One way to put it, I suppose, though I'm a far cry from Batman."
She shakes her head and smiles.
"Yeah, I guess you are…" She murmurs, looking aback up at him and tucking one curly hair behind her ear.
"But Sherlock… He's still loyal to you. He still loves you. So why?"
"Why what?"
"Why won't you tell him that you're alive?"
A moment of pregnant silence rests between them before he takes another sip of his coffee.
"Because I can't. I love him too much."
"You love him."
"Yes."
"Then why?"
"Immature love is wanting someone to be happy, only when you're with them." Sherlock informs her. "Mature love is wanting someone to be happy, no matter what."
Jeanette understands, but looks at him expectantly, and after a brief moment of gazing at the snow, he looks her right in the eye, and she feels a chill creep down her spine.
"He's happy. I've ruined that once; I won't do it again."
Because in my head, the absolute cruelest thing Sherlock could possibly do after putting John through all that is come back.