A/N: Hi! This is my very first fic, so be nice to me, okay?
Let Him Go
Why hadn't he seen it coming? Looking back, the signs had been obvious. After all, they were clearly in love. You could see it in their eyes; hear it in their voices. And then there was John's increased nervousness and the squarish bulge in his pocket when he left this morning.
And yet somehow he had managed to be surprised when John had burst in, cried "I did it!" and collapsed on the couch.
"Did what?" he had asked, somewhat vexed that he hadn't already deduced what the other man was talking about.
"Proposed! To Sarah!" John beamed at him. "She even said yes!"
He had been stunned. Speechless, even. And that wasn't something that often happened to Sherlock Holmes.
He had managed a somewhat strangled-sounding "Congratulations." John hadn't noticed, however, because at that moment Sarah had called. They were currently discussing wedding dates, and how much they loved each other, and other matters that he found trivial.
John's occupation gave him ample time to consider his surprising surprise. He had had all of the information necessary to anticipate this, and yet had not put things together. Had chosen not to put things together.
But why not? He decided to treat this like the mystery it was. He would cross-examine himself and find out why he thought what he did.
The easy answer was that he didn't want John to leave. He would, of course, once he was married. He and Sarah would want privacy. And Sherlock couldn't say he blamed them. But John was his best friend, his only friend. Who else would he ever be able to tolerate living with? For that matter, who else would ever tolerate living with him?
But that wasn't answer enough, and he knew it. Sherlock Holmes did not deny reality just because he didn't like it. He didn't go around pretending that Mycroft wasn't his brother, did he? Well, except that once…
So anyway, there must be another reason he had ignored the signs that John was about to leave him.
Wait a minute. He'd just thought "leave him." Leaving implied being "together," romantically entwined. They weren't, of course. But Sherlock Holmes did not often misspeak, or even mis-think. Was thinking "leave him" a Freudian slip?
He thought it was. He could recognize them easily enough in others, so why not in himself? But that left the question: did he want to be "with" John?
After a minute of soul-searching, he found that the answer was yes.
Now that he could no longer deny them, all the weird feelings he'd been ignoring for months came flooding into him. And then it was clear to him: he was in love with John Watson. Heart, mind, soul, everything of him belonged to the sweet, sweater-clad ex-army doctor.
Then, he realized something else. It was too late. John wouldn't have proposed unless he was sure that Sarah was the one he wanted. He had lost the game he hadn't even known he was playing.
But what was winning, exactly? Was it simply possessing John, the way one might possess a house, a chair, a riding crop? No, of course not.
Then what was it?
He pondered that for a while. What was winning? What was the thing that both Sarah and he wanted?
Finally, a little voice in his head whispered, "it's about John. Making John happy."
Of course the voice was right. If John were happy, he would be happy. He would win.
John would be happy with Sarah, he knew that. So he would be supportive of their marriage, or at least, not unsupportive. He wasn't sure that being truly supportive would be physically possible for him.
A few weeks later, he heard someone on one of John's television programs say, "Well, you know the old saying: If you truly love someone, you must let them go."
Sherlock smiled to himself, and thought, at least I'm getting something right.
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