Kitchen
Sholto/John
"I'm leaving." John announces to the apartment as he puts on his coat. Mary's head pops into the doorway from kitchen.
"Have fun." She replies but she doesn't mean it. The air hangs thickly with the tension that won't dissipate; John won't let it. Mary does not get to shoot his best friend in the chest and then get him to rub her feet and watch the telly. She's been trying for days. Sherlock lied to him to convince him to stay with her. Sherlock continues to encourage John to lead a train wreck of a life with this woman. Not even Mary but AGRA, whatever that means. John is honestly angry with them both, but how angry can he really be with a friend who will overlook the fact that someone shot him if it meant John's happiness?
"No." John stresses. "I'm leaving." He watches her face shift with realization.
"Oh?" Mary sneers now as she makes her way to the doorway. "Leaving me, you mean?" She moves her hand to her stomach. "Leaving us?"
"Yes." John grabs the door and she throws her hand against it to close it.
"You won't even talk about it? You're just up and leaving?" John's lips curl up into a dangerous smile.
"No. There is no need to talk. You" John takes a breath. "You shot Sher-" his breath catches, "Sherlock, my best friend, in a place we all know should have killed him. We were over the second that thought crossed your mind." John smiles again "The only reason I haven't killed you," because that's what John does to people who hurt Sherlock, "is because there is a chance you're carrying my baby."
"We are married!" She shouts as he opens the door.
"I know people." Namely Mycroft.
"This IS your child."
"I know people." He repeats as he heads down the stairs. Her hand flies to her stomach.
"You can't take her from me." John turns to look at her and she curls her hand around her stomach. "Not while there is still one breath in me." Ella used to tell John he was afraid he was still dangerous, but John knows it's the other way around, he was afraid he had grown soft. Now, looking at Mary, he just saw a threat and he knew what to do to threats.
"Like I said. I know people." He smiles dangerously before turning and walking away.
He has made it a few blocks before realizing that he didn't have a destination in mind. He couldn't go back home, and he really couldn't go back to the only place that felt like home because he still wasn't sure what he would say to Sherlock. Sherlock who died, again. John is terrified because he's already let Sherlock back in and he knows one day Sherlock might be gone again and he can't do that. He shakes his head to dispel the thoughts but it is replaced with voices.
John, can you do this for me?
Don't be dead.
THAT'S WHAT PEOPLE DO!
That's what people do, isn't it? Leave a note?
John's breath comes out in a shudder as he stops. He receives a choice phrase or two as he stands and focuses on breathing. People move around him as if he's not there and he just wants to reach out and hit someone, or get hit, he doesn't even care. He wants to see the ripple he can cause on the world because now it just seems like he's falling under the tide. Unnoticed.
John clenches his fist and he's walking again with his hand up because he suddenly just figured out what he needs. His life is a hectic mess that's falling apart and, honestly, he is craving something steady, reliable and his. Getting in the cab and paying a ridiculous fare all seems worth it when he gets out of the car.
He uses the short walk to try and figure out what to say but by the time he reaches the gate he hasn't come up with much. Sholto, on his perimeter check, turns his head to see the other by the door. His lip moves up into a small smile as the nurse with him, Peggy, waves.
"Shall we go to him?" He offers her a sadder smile as he pulls away from her and she understands that this man must be from the military if Major Sholto is once again putting up fronts. She steps to the side and walks a step behind him, watching his lips for any jerk that would send him flying. She is so focused on Sholto that she doesn't get to see the guest until they've arrived at the gate.
He's short, shorter than she is, and built well for a man of his age. Peggy offers a small smile as she opens the gate.
"Welcome…"
"John Watson." He holds out a hand for her to shake then turns, grinning, to the Major and offers him a salute. Peggy turns to Sholto to offer an apologetic smile, since he is always uncomfortable saluting his guests but his eyes are bright as he stands straighter and salutes the stranger back. John licks his lips as he steps forward.
"I am on my rounds." Sholto offers and John nods,
"As you were then, I'll join you." Sholto nods and turns his attention to his nurse. Fantastic woman she is, but she's nervously biting her lip as she glances between the two of them. Sholto clears his throat.
"Ms. Peggy, Dr. Watson will accompany me for the remainder of my walk." She smiles softly and ducks her head before making her way back to the house.
"She's new." John offers as he falls into step with the other.
"Margret retired, but Peggy is quite capable. I trust her." He answers the unasked question and John nods, comfortable with the knowledge. Sholto gets to the fork in the garden paths and looks over his shoulder.
"The longer path?" John skims the paths to see the longer is more flat and wide, meaning Sholto will walk it on his own and nods. Both men are quite similar in hiding pain and weakness, even if others don't determine it to be so. They both walk along in silence, neither one finding a need to fill it. John breathes in the fresh air and feels it ground him. When they reach a rocky incline, John moves underneath Sholto without a word, and he grabs the hand of the arm around his shoulders as they move along the path. Its smooth, comfortable and came as naturally as the step itself. When they reach flat grass again the hand squeezes him once and lets go and the two continue walking. John spots the gate again after a few more minutes and Sholto nods to himself.
"To what do I owe the pleasure, John?" John's face tightens as he looks away from Sholto to the gate.
"Does there need to be something?"
"No, but I still know you well enough to see that you are riled up," John lets out a breath and Sholto debates pushing him. When Sholto, shakenly, begins to climb up the step to the front door John once again offers help. He sighs as he feels Sholto shaking,
"It's Mary." Not just Mary, but it's a start.
"Tell me what happened and I'll pour us some scotch." John watches Sholto move forward before letting out another deep breath. This is why he came, isn't it?
Spilling to Sholto is easier than it should have been, but he and John had never been good at keeping secrets. The scotch goes down smoothly and the conversation, though sad, continues to flow.
"It feels like I just attended the wedding and now you're divorced." Sholto chuckles and John smiles.
"I'm hard to please, I guess."
"And Sherlock Holmes?" The question is sudden and it takes John a second to understand it. He did mention Sherlock was thankfully alive and back at Baker Street and bored without a case. Oh.
"No," John sighs in frustration "He-I-It's not like that."
"Do you want it to be?" Sholto has always been direct.
I'm not gay, I've never even kissed a bloke before.
Do you want to?
"No," John sips his scotch. "I'm not interested." He laughs. "Could you imagine that? I'm sure Sherlock is only turned on by dead bodies with riddles."
"I guess I left some pretty big shoes for the other men to fill." Sholto offers and John shakes his head with a smile.
"The biggest."
John and Sholto understand that silence does not need to be filled, and it falls over them again as they finish their scotch. John doesn't look away from the fire or his drink, and Sholto feels the emotions crashing in him spill into their room. At least, in war, you knew who the enemy was, and you only had to mourn a soldier once. At least in the war, Sholto had John.
Sholto shouldn't want this, not anymore. He had accepted it with a grimace and nod when the time had come. He watched John marry another, someone he isn't quite divorced from yet, and wished him well. A marriage that may now result in John's child, but John chose to come to him. He stood and congratulated John on a marriage he is happy is over and now he wants to put the final nail in the coffin, as it were. Sholto finishes the last of his drink and stares at the empty glass.
John came to him.
"The divorce is final then?" he asks without meaning to and John looks over and nods.
"Not in paper, but I make a phone call and it's done." John's face has always spoken verses even if his lips only utter words. Mary was very much out of the picture and Sherlock wasn't even in the running. Shame. The man looked at John much like he did.
"I think I'll be needed a refill."
Sholto nods and John makes his way to the kitchen. After a minute, and the decision that invading a country seems easier than wooing John, Sholto follows.
John has poured the scotch and placed the bottle down, but he closes the bottle as he turns, holding his full glass. Sholto is in the doorway and John wonders, truly, about all that the war had taken from them that they haven't quite managed to get back. John remembers the feeling of that body against his, the hands and lips he couldn't forget. Sholto steps forward and places his glass on the kitchen isle. John follows and tilts his head. A question, a challenge, what is Sholto doing? When Sholto takes another step, he and John are locked into each other's space. John does not move, and Sholto takes that as a go ahead, and places his hands on John's hips.
John knows what's coming, and doesn't mind in the least. He wonders if this is what he had been craving when he decided to come here of all places.
The kiss is slow, deliberate, more of a memory than a dream. I missed you. I want you. I've wanted you all along. Their last first kiss was as scorching hot as the desert they were in, in a hurry to not be caught. This is more languid, and it feels like coming home.
John opens his eyes and looks up to Sholto's who are peering down at him.
"What was that?" John asks as his hand curls around a familiar waist. Sholto offers him a small smile.
"Just trying on an old pair of shoes."
"How did it feel?"
"I should've never let you go, John."
"So don't." Sholto's hands grip John as hard as they are able.
"John," he tries to warn but the arm around him tightens. John's face changes into the notes of love songs and Sholto finally understands.
"Don't."
And Sholto doesn't. He won't. Not ever again.