There comes a time when a person has to do what he believes, no matter what the consequences might be.
John Watson believes that now is his time.
The hour is half past midnight, and he's pacing down the dark and cold streets of west London with his sleepy little daughter in his arms. Emily is almost 3 years old now, some say it is the perfect age; the cutest age in a human life.
John is thinking the same, but then again, he guesses that all parents think that way about their messy little children, regardless of age. He loves Emily more than he loves anyone else, more than life itself. When she was born, all John was able to think about is what if he won't be good enough of a father for this little angel, but he was determined that he would do his best. He would do anything in his power to protect her, and that's exactly what he's doing.
"Daddy," Emily whispers to him tiredly, "You still haven't told me where we are going." John snuggles his daughter and smiles at her. Looking in her eyes, which are just like her mother's. People say that her eyes are the only things Emily got from Mary, everything else was all John's; the smile, the lips, the ears, the blond(ish) hair. No one could doubt that she is his daughter, and that is a very pleasing thought for a father.
"Sweetie, you're going to meet your godfather." John kisses her temple and doesn't let her see the tears that come down his face while he says that to her.
Emily never met Sherlock, he just vanished from John and Mary's life after she was born. He had no reason whatsoever to do so, but he refused to stay in touch with them, even when they just called from time to time. They went to Baker Street countless times, but he ignored them no matter what they did; he was just oblivious to their existence.
It was this way for a year, until John got a letter from Sherlock on Emily's first birthday. The letter was short, but the message was clear: he still cares. And that was more than enough for John to survive this.
While John enters Baker Street he thinks about all the times he was so close to just breaking into the flat and forcing Sherlock to tell him what was wrong. He wants to yell at Sherlock, make him see how much pain he caused him, demand explanations and never leave the flat again unless Sherlock is by his side.
He has had his speech all worked up for the last 3 years and he can't wait for the chance to finally use it.
But of course, as John knocks on the door of 221B, his mind is suddenly empty and his heart is pounding faster than it should be.
Within a few seconds, a tall figure opens the door. Sherlock is wearing his blue dressing gown and his hair is messy in a way that makes it clear to John that they woke him up. He looks exactly the way he looked 3 years ago, as if only a day had passed since they chased after Moriarty together and Emily was born. Sherlock is surprised to see them, his eyes are open wide, but other than that, his face remains an expressionless mask.
"We need your help," John says before Sherlock can get the chance to recover from the surprise and close the door in their faces.
Sherlock is looking at him with his "collecting data" stare, which John didn't really appreciate right now. He didn't want Sherlock to know everything that happened in the last few years with just one look, he wants to have a normal conversation, with his speech and all. He worked on that speech far too long to be shushed with a stare.
Sherlock opens the door, gestures for John to go up the stairs and walks quietly behind him. John's hands are shaking as he goes up the 17 stairs and comes to open the door to what was, once upon a time, his flat.
He has so many memories from this flat. The best years of his life were in that flat with the man who's standing behind him.
Sherlock clears his throat, which kicks John back to reality. He opens the door, to see that nothing has changed. Nothing at all. Everything is still messy with books, experiments, and dirt. John smiles against his daughter's temple as a feeling of 'home' fills every cell in his body. It's the happiest he has felt over at least a year, and it overwhelms him. He inhales deeply and lets his eyes wander, taking in all he can, just in case Sherlock should kick him out of the flat in a few minutes.
Sherlock closes the door behind him and eyes John carefully. This time John doesn't mind, he's too damn happy to mind, and he has no way to explain why, even to himself.
"You can put her in my bed," Sherlock says as he walks toward the kitchen and puts the kettle on.
John nods and carries Emily into Sherlock's room. The bedroom is as messy as the living room . Sherlock's huge bed is covered with what seem like dozens of books and blueprints. John makes room for Emily on the bed and puts her to sleep. He whispers softly that he loves her and kisses her temple with a "goodnight." He turns off the lights and closes the door behind him, praying with his all heart that his daughter would never remember this day.
When John gets back to the living room, Sherlock is already sitting in his normal armchair, sipping tea.
"You made tea?" John asks, surprised. For some reason, the doctor is focusing on the fact that Sherlock made tea, rather than on what it was that brought him to the flat in the first place.
Sherlock arches an eyebrow and smiles a wry smile.
"I see you're still as observant as always, John, good to know that having a child didn't ruin you completely." Sherlock chuckles and John takes a seat on the couch. His old armchair is nowhere to be seen, and John feels himself hurt more than he would like to admit.
"Why would you think that having Emily ruined me?" he asks and tries really hard not to sound as offended as he feels.
"People usually change after having a child," Sherlock says in a bored tone that John is too mad to admit he missed. Sherlock takes another sip and adds, "Mary sure did."
John feels as if his skin is on fire as Sherlock mentions Mary. His heart is pounding in anger and depression, and everything he tried to keep under the surface in the last few hours for Emily's sake emerged in a rush.
"John? Do you want to talk about it?" John looks at Sherlock as if he's gone mad, because Sherlock never showed he cared before, he never asked to be told before. And John wants to share, wants to take all his sorrow and disappointment out of his body; he feels it has been trapped there for years, and this is finally his chance to get it out.
"You're right," he begins and Sherlock leaves his cup of tea and pays full attention to John. "People change after having a baby and Mary changed. In the first few months after Emily was born, everything was okay, we had no fights or serious disagreements. She acted as if everything is normal, like Emily is the only thing in the world that matters. After about 10 months, when Emily started to walk and pronounce things that began to sound more like words than just sounds, something changed. She started to leave Emily home alone with her friends, and she came home in the middle of the night, smelling of cigarettes and gunpowder." John waits another second before he continues with a trembling voice.
"She started to do her old job again. My wife was an assassin. Just out of nowhere. It was obvious but she kept denying it and told me all this nonsense about hanging out at some clubs that didn't even exist. I got why she did it, I missed the thrill we had in life, too, but I never would have put Emily in such danger. So I told her that if she didn't stop, I would get a divorce, so she did. She stopped. But she also stopped being herself. She started drinking and she still paid no attention to her daughter. I thought about divorce many times but always came to the conclusion that it might not be a good solution; thought that I should just give her another chance. And another one. It went on like this for more than a year." John lets out a hissed breath and Sherlock notices how his body tenses with every single word he says.
"What happened today?" Sherlock asks and he's frankly scared to know the answer; whatever Mary did, she definitely broke John mentally, and even after all the years during which Sherlock did his best to stay away, it is hard for him to see John.
"When I arrived home today she was completely drunk, with a gun pointed at Emily. Accused her of ruining her life. Then she cried and apologized, and then started yelling and throwing glasses at me. I took Emily out of there as fast as I could, finally signed the divorce papers, like I should have done a long time ago, and came here." John sighs heavily and shuts his eyes. It feels surprisingly calming to tell Sherlock all of that, to share the burden with his closest friend.
Sherlock gets up from his seat and his hands are shaking, John can't really figure out why. He still wants to say his speech, he still wants answers, but something tells him that he should wait. Sherlock won't kick him out now, he still cares.
Before John even notices, Sherlock takes out his mobile phone, dials and disappears into the kitchen. When he starts talking John can't hear a word; Sherlock is whispering for some reason, and comes back to the living room less than a minute later.
"Mycroft will bring you everything you need by tomorrow morning. You two can stay here as long as you wish," Sherlock says and sits next to John on the couch. He's so surprised by this announcement that he isn't quite sure how to react. It was exactly what he wanted of course, but after the last three years, he didn't think Sherlock would actually consider letting them stay in his flat for more than one night.
"Sherlock," he starts but he isn't really sure what to say; there are too many things to say, too many things he planned to say, but nothing seemed important now, as he's here with Sherlock. In the very same flat, sitting on the very same couch, breathing the same bloody air. Everything seems so right, so utterly perfect, that John doesn't want to spoil it with words. So when Sherlock just pats his back awkwardly, John is smiling and leans into the touch of the person he didn't feel complete without, and yet had to be without for the last 3 years.
After everything he's been through in the last 3 years, after everything that happened with Mary, he finally feels complete. Something feels so right, after so long that everything felt wrong.
"Come on," Sherlock suddenly says and makes John jump in his seat, "You have to rest, you have a long day ahead of you tomorrow." John knows he's right, but stays seated. Sherlock rolls his eyes and gets up, holding up a hand to John. John takes Sherlock's hand reluctantly; though he would prefer to stay safe and comfortable with Sherlock on the couch, he lets Sherlock lead him toward his old room upstairs anyway.
"Sherlock," John starts again and Sherlock grunts in response.
"Whatever it is, John, it can wait until tomorrow. I have things to do, and holding heart-to-heart conversations isn't one of them," he says and pushes John into his old bed, and John is surprised that it is even still here.
"Goodnight now," Sherlock says as he leaves the room. John wants to ask him where he is going to sleep, and then ask him to stay with him, or at least promise he's not going anywhere, but John knows he's just being childish and ridiculous. And a bit obsessive. And paranoid. But who gives a shit?
It's been a long day, and tomorrow is going to be another one. He should listen to Sherlock and get some sleep. The bed smells like Sherlock and John can't help but wonder if Sherlock slept in his bed while he wasn't here. John feels himself smiling and relaxing at that thought.
Sherlock won't leave him again, he knows that. He even knows that Sherlock cares more than he shows, but refuses to think about it properly. The only thing that interests John Watson as he closes his eyes and let his mind drift him into the joy of a peaceful sleep, is that he's here, in 221B, with Sherlock Holmes.
And nothing can change that.