Bravery
John Watson had looked death in the eye. He had thrived in desert terrain filled with screaming and bleeding and bullets. He chased down criminals and laughed at crime scenes. He lived with Sherlock Holmes for fucksakes. But in this moment, he is a middle aged man, sitting in the living room with his parents, and he is terrified.
When Harry had come out in her teens, he'd never really empathized with her. He'd loved her and been worried about her and all that; to say mum and dad had taken it terribly would be the world's biggest understatement. But Harry had already been distant for a long time, already had a drinking problem, already spewed hateful words at him in her frequent drunken stupors. So yes, John had been concerned, but he'd never really cared to try and put himself in her shoes.
He was in them now. He supposed that was karma for not taking up for Harry, even when they're parents had crossed the line from ignorant to full-on homophobic pricks. Even when they'd kicked her out at fifteen. He'd just stood by and let it happen, and now he was paying for it.
Part of him felt a little foolish. He'd always figured a sexual identity crisis happened during a person's teen years, maybe some experimentation during college. But at his age? It felt like a cliché 'mid-life crisis.' He'd never even considered himself all that repressed. He'd always loved women. Still did, really. But lately, he'd had eyes for only one. And that 'one' is distinctly not female. He supposed breaking the rules and destroying the norm was all in a day's work for Sherlock-madman-Holmes.
But this wasn't about Sherlock at the moment. Well it was a little bit…but mostly it was about breaking the news to his parents. Harry's volatile temperament certainly hadn't come out of nowhere. It was a family inheritance. His therapist had often hinted that this was where his own unflappable nature had grown. A young boy's desperate attempt to keep the peace. No wonder he could keep a cool head in the face of danger. In the face of Sherlock. Afghanistan was nothing compared to the warzone that was his family.
He does need to tell them though. Not for their approval. He's long since learned to live without that. No, he needs to tell them because as long as he sits around fretting about telling them, the longer it's his problem and not theirs. And really, it IS theirs. He's spent all the time between discovering his feelings for Sherlock and now, carrying around the baggage of having to tell them. He hasn't even told Sherlock yet, though the deducing bastard probably figured it out well before he did. The fact was, with everything else he should be focusing on, his parents being foremost on his mind was a bit not good. He took a deep breath and reminded himself that regardless of what they said or did, just saying the words would set him free.
"Mum…Dad? I'm gay."
A/N Dedicated to the ridiculously brave David, who doesn't know I write fan fiction, and will never read this, but came out to his father last night, and deserves way more than this little drabble for his courage :) Maybe I'll bake him cookies ;P