Author Notes: This story will have two chapters and I hope that I will be able to post the next one in a couple of weeks. :) Also, please read the trigger warnings to this chapter before you start reading.
Appreciation: I have to thank Tstui1gos for beta reading this chapter and improving it significantly. Thank you for your help. =D
Trigger Warnings: Transphobia, transphobic language, misgendering, body dysphoria.
Thinking back, Moving forward
"You could have helped me, you know?"
His question was merely greeted with a snort and John sighed quietly as he sidestepped the mess on the floor to put the groceries into the fridge. At least, he didn't have to prepare himself for the sight of fresh body parts as they had worked on a smuggling case for over a week and Sherlock hadn't gotten the chance to do a shopping tour at the morgue. The case was also the reason why John had spent two hours at the closest Tesco, as they had run out of everything but canned beans. He had tried to force Sherlock to come shopping with him, but the lazy wanker had refused to set a foot outside of the flat and there hadn't been any experiments John could have threatened to throw out to change his friend's mind. Really, as if it was too ask for your flatmate to help you carry four bags with groceries - including the favorite biscuits of said flatmate.
"Stop muttering to yourself, John! I'm identifying the different compositions of the most popular chocolate brands right now."
"Right, of course, that's more important than helping me putting our things away... Wait, where did you get various types of chocolate from? We usually don't even have one type of chocolate in the flat - if you don't count your favorite chocolate cookies."
John watched fascinated as a slight blush crept up Sherlock's neck as he pressed his eye closer to the microscope. "I might have woken up after four hours of sleep, last evening and ran down to the next Tesco to get the samples... before I went back to bed."
"And you couldn't be bothered... Nevermind."
John sighed in resignation, even as a fond smile turned up his lips. He shouldn't be surprised - and he really wasn't - that his friend would go to Tesco for an experiment, but forget to buy anything that was truly necessary. In fact, John would probably have checked Sherlock's temperature if he had come down this morning and found the fridge and shelves stocked with eatable things. His friend didn't do ordinary things like going to the shops or cleaning up after himself - although John forced him to do the latter once in a while - and John had learned to live with that. Honestly, he almost hadn't been able to live without Sherlock's eccentrics and chaos, when his friend had faked his own death to dismantle Moriarty's network.
John swallowed against the sudden lump in his throat as memories of long and hopeless days resurfaced in his mind. He had been close to ending his existence more than once in that time. Actually, if it hadn't been for the lovely nurse at his former workplace, Sherlock might have only had a gravestone to come back to, when he had finally returned. Mary had been like a light bulb in the darkness - not enough to really brighten his day, but enough to make his life bearable again. John might even have settled for her, if Sherlock hadn't made a reappearance and... Well, it hadn't been hard to decide where he belonged. His brilliant friend - who was sniffing at a piece of dark chocolate and getting it all over his nose right now - would always win against any of John's dates... and wasn't that telling?!
John allowed himself another resigned sigh - seeing as Sherlock was too busy to deduce him - and turned his attention to the pile of bills that was stacked on the table in the living-room. Only because he had finally found the balls to admit to himself that he was in love with an eccentric, mad, brilliant and absolutely gorgeous genius, didn't mean that anything else had changed. Sherlock still wasn't interested in dating anyone and John would rather snog Anderson than forcing his - certainly unwanted - feelings on his friend. It was enough that they were back to living and solving crimes together and if John found himself overwhelmed by a wave of affection for his friend - like today - then he gave himself a boring task until he could meet Sherlock's eyes again without blushing.
John sorted through the bills and arranged them according to priority - although Sherlock would probably argue that an internet connection was more important than warm water. A chuckle was torn from John as he imagined the look on his friend's face, if he couldn't go online, before it morphed into a groan as he thought of the following tantrum.
"Better get it done then," John murmured to himself and reached for the first bill to write the transfer - their latest case had earned them enough money to pay everything - when an unopened envelope caught his gaze. It must have fallen down, as John had arranged the other bills. With a sigh, he reached for it - hopefully not another bill - and checked the sender. A slight frown appeared on his face and he was about to open it, before he thought better of it and wandered back into the kitchen instead.
"I'm busy," came Sherlock's protest, when John stepped up behind him.
"And covered in chocolate," John remarked with a smile in his voice, before he became serious again. "There was a letter from your health insurance in the mail and I thought..."
"Boring," Sherlock muttered and licked at a piece of chocolate. "Just open it. They have probably just done some stupid reform and want to inform all their clients about it."
John opened his mouth to protest - he was only Sherlock's friend after all and not a close relative or partner - but his friend beat him to it. "You are my best friend and doctor, John. You have patched me up more often than even I can count and I don't see why you shouldn't read this letter. We share everything else, after all."
John raised an eyebrow at that, as they clearly weren't sharing everything with each other - he hadn't even seen his friend completely naked for example - but he didn't try to argue the point as he opened the envelope. He scanned the letter once. Stopped, read it again. Blinked and went over it again, while trying to make sense of it. He failed miserably.
"Ehm, Sherlock," John started slowly, while still staring at the words that didn't make sense. "There must have been a mistake. A mix-up or something."
One blue eye peered up at John at this, but Sherlock still didn't turn away from his experiment. "If you tell me what's in the letter, I could make an informed statement."
"It," John checked the words once more to make sure that he hadn't confused anything. "It says that they aren't going to pay for your pelvic exam and Pap test, because they only cover these services for women."
"Oh for crying out loud!"
John stumbled back a step, as Sherlock jumped up from his chair and all but tore the letter from his hands. "These stupid... Yes, of course they assigned me to someone else. Obviously, Mrs. Hardwood retired and now some stupid new kid is messing everything up. Great! Just fabulous!"
John could only stare in astonishment as Sherlock ranted and raved, while growling at the letter as if it had personally offended him. And it had, in some way. The content of it had sent his friend in a blinding rage, but John couldn't figure out what it was. The whole part about pelvic exams and Pap tests didn't make sense to him - at least not in regards to his friend - and he didn't understand why Sherlock was so angry about it. Better ask then, John decided, when his friend appeared to be on the verge of throwing the crockery at the wall. He didn't fancy cleaning up a mess, after spending his whole morning doing the shopping.
"What exactly... Why are you in such a strop? Did such a mix-up happen before?" At least the question got Sherlock's attention as a sharp gaze turned onto John and away from the helpless plates and mugs.
"I'm not in a strop," Sherlock clarified calmly - too calmly. "I'm also not angry, but mad as hell, because," Sherlock took a deep breath and glared at the innocent looking letter. "I sorted everything out with my health insurance years ago and it took me months to get them to pay for my yearly pelvic exams and now, I will have to go through all of it again, because some stupid, overeager idiot messed everything up."
John blinked in disbelief and tried to make sense of Sherlock's little speech, as his friend leaned against the kitchen counter with a loud sigh.
"You... need a yearly pelvic exam?" John stated carefully, afraid he had misunderstood something and was about to make a fool of himself.
"Obviously, John. Do keep up, I... Oh shit!" In any other situation it would have been funny how Sherlock's eyes widened in panic as he stared at John. "You weren't there. I told you that I was transgender years ago, but... you weren't in the room with me, were you?!"
John shook his head slowly, his mind whirling with the new - and surprising - information. "No and I told you that it's not possible for me to listen to you, when I'm not actually there ages ago and... You should really check if you aren't just having a conversation in your Mind Palace or something. We went over this." The words came out calmer than John had expected, but Sherlock still looked close to a panic attack.
"You were here - in this flat - when the conversation ended and I didn't realise that you didn't really know and..."
"Sherlock, just stop!"
John interrupted his friend's rambling - his voice sharper than he had intended it to be. He rubbed his eyes tiredly as Sherlock snapped his mouth shut at his harsh order. Really, this was too much after a long and tiring case. John had only wanted to have a nice, lazy day with Sherlock and now... he had to deal with this. Although, it was rather unfair to think like this, John reminded himself as he took in the tension in Sherlock's body and his slightly trembling hands. He knew how his friend's mind worked and it wasn't the first time - and wouldn't be the last - that John had only been informed about something important in the Mind Palace. At least, there weren't any poisonous frogs in the shower, this time. Nevertheless, with the frogs, John had known what was acceptable to do - mainly screaming at Sherlock and getting him to remove the amphibians from their flat. Now though, John was at a loss to know what to say or do. On the one hand, he wanted nothing more than to sooth his friend and tell him that everything was fine, on the other hand... he didn't know if this was a good idea. Not because he liked the panicked look on Sherlock's face - quite the opposite - but rather because he didn't trust himself not to hurt his friend with any of the questions that were swirling around his head. He needed...
"I have to go for a walk," John announced abruptly and hurried to fetch his jacket. He needed to clear his head, without having Sherlock deduce his every thought.
"John!" He stopped at the threshold of the door and turned to Sherlock, who was wringing his hands nervously.
"We will talk later. " John tried for a reassuring smile, but failed miserably and he hurried out of the flat, before he could change his mind.
OOO
John was gone.
Sherlock stared at the spot where his friend had stood just minutes ago and felt a hopelessness creep up on him that he hadn't felt in a long time. Not since he had been captured by Moriarty's men in Serbia and he had lost all hope to ever get back to London and to John. It had been the worst months of his life - even including his time in rehab - and Sherlock had only survived, because of John. Because, he had needed to protect his friend - his best friend - even if it had killed him and now... Sherlock balled the letter from the insurance company up in his hand and threw it across the room. If they weren't so incompetent, then nothing of this would have happened. Sherlock wouldn't have lost his nerve and John... still wouldn't know that he was transgender.
The air whooshed out of his lungs in a rush and he collapsed in his armchair like a puppet, whose strings had been cut. It was too much. Just too much to absorb and understand, although his mind was already trying to fit this new realisation into the wing of his Palace that was solely reserved for John. All this time, Sherlock had believed that John knew - that he had come out to his friend - and that John accepted Sherlock as he was. Of course, it had surprised him that John had never asked any questions or hinted at anything, but months - and then years - after his supposed coming-out, Sherlock had believed that it simply didn't matter to John that he was transgender. At least not when it came to their daily routine. Still, Sherlock had sometimes wondered if his gender identity was the reason why John never acted on his feelings for him.
Oh, the signs of his friend's attraction to him were obvious - Sherlock wasn't blind to feelings after all - and he couldn't deny that he cared for John as well. More than simply cared, if he was honest with himself. But just like his friend, Sherlock had never acted upon his feelings, because he had convinced himself that any advances would be rejected. John was attracted to him - might even love him - but it was possible that he didn't want to be together with a transman - it had happened before - and Sherlock had accepted it. Of course, he had hated it and - on especially bad days - he had hated himself - his body - for it, but it had been possible to live with it, as long as John stayed with him, but now... Sherlock didn't know what to think anymore. John hadn't known that he was transgender, so that wasn't the reason why he had never confessed his feelings to Sherlock.
Maybe, Sherlock mused as he tipped his head back and stared at the ceiling, John had been afraid of entering a relationship with a man. After all, he had only ever dated women and preferred to keep it at one night with men. Or he hadn't been certain that Sherlock returned his feelings. After all, Sherlock was aware that he was hard to read at times - and he liked it this way - and he also didn't know how to subtly show someone that he was interested in them. It had never been important to acquire the necessary skills. At university, Sherlock had picked his lovers from all the students that were interested in him if he felt like it, but he had never wanted someone so badly that he had needed to... flirt with them. It was an oversight on his part - to never learn what subtle flirting entailed - but it would also be in vain to learn it now.
Sherlock sighed helplessly at the ceiling, as he followed the pattern of the wood with his eyes. John hadn't taken his coming-out as well as Sherlock had imagined in his Mind Palace and it was only a question of time before he would move out now. They would become strangers and Sherlock would lose the best friend he had ever had.
He forced the air past the lump in his throat as he inhaled deeply and tried to convince himself that he would survive losing John. The attempt failed, just like it had when Sherlock had tried to make himself believe that he wouldn't need the support of his parents, more than two decades ago.
"Mummy, Dad." Sherlock started nervously as he entered the living-room, which earned him the attention of his parents right away. They probably expected him to confess that one of his experiments had gone wrong and that he had set fire to the grass - again. At least, Sherlock deduced as much from Dad's amused smile and his Mummy's narrowed eyes as he fidgeted with the seam of his shirt. For all his cleverness, Sherlock couldn't predict if his parents would welcome the news he had to give them or if they would rather wish for a major fire.
"What is it, Aurelia?"
Sherlock took a shuddering breath at the mention of this name and forced the words out, before he could back out. "I don't want to go by this name anymore."
His Dad cocked his head to the side in mild confusion, while his mother raised an eyebrow at this announcement. "Do you want to go by one of your other names then? I rather thought you preferred Aurelia over Nathalie or Sophia, but if you want to be addressed by one of them, then..."
"No!" Sherlock shook his head vehemently, even as cold sweat started to gather at his neck. "I... Sherlock! I want to go by Sherlock."
His mother's frown only deepened and his Dad leaned forward in his armchair to peer at Sherlock over his glasses. "You know that Sherlock is a boy's name, Darling. Your mother and I would have given it to you, if you had been a boy."
"But I am a boy!"
A fine tremor ran through Sherlock's body, as both of his parents stared at him in confusion and everything in him screamed to run away and hide in his room, but he refused to give up just yet. It had taken him almost a year to figure out why he hated it so much when people spoke to him as if he were a girl. Of course, for a time, Sherlock himself had believed that he was one - everyone had said so - and he had thought that it was just because most people underestimated girls. That he merely hated how they thought that he couldn't do the same things as boys his age and that he had to prove to them that they were wrong. That was until Sherlock had realised that he also despised being perceived as a girl by his family, although neither his parents nor Mycroft tried to force him into any stereotypical gender roles. Sherlock had been ten at the time of this realisation and he had spent a whole summer at various libraries, until he had found out why he felt this way.
Transgender... it had come as a relief to Sherlock that there was an actual word for it and that he wasn't the only one who struggled with their assigned gender. Nevertheless, it had taken some time to come to terms with how this would affect his life and even longer - another year - until Sherlock had decided that he couldn't keep his gender identity a secret any longer. Not only because it hurt whenever someone called him by his given name or referred to him as a girl, but also because his body was changing and he didn't know if he could make it through puberty without the support of his family. He just wasn't certain that he would have their support as he waited for their reactions with bated breath.
It was his Dad, who recovered from the shock first. Carefully, he sat down his reading glasses on the table and rubbed his eyes, before he met Sherlock's nervous gaze. "I just want to make sure I understand you correctly, Darling. You say that you are a boy and that you want to be called Sherlock from now on, correct?"
"Yes... Well, actually I want to change all of my names to William Sherlock Scott Holmes. You told me once that's what you would have called me, if they had assigned me male at birth."
Sherlock gulped as his mother's piercing gaze bore into his. He wasn't afraid that his parents would hurt him physically, but if they didn't accept that he was a boy, it would hurt more than a slap in the face.
"You read some books about gender at the library, I guess." His mother waited until he nodded, before she continued. "Are you sure that they didn't just confuse you and you..."
"No!" Sherlock interrupted her, before she could go on. "I read them because I didn't know what was going on and I needed an explanation. I'm not a girl, but a boy. It's called being transgender and I really can't live as a girl anymore."
His parents exchanged a look and something passed between them that Sherlock couldn't decipher, before his mother nodded and his Dad turned to look at Sherlock again. "Go outside for some time, Darling. Your Mum and I need to discuss this."
"But..." Sherlock started. He didn't want them to discuss anything about him while he wasn't present. This was about his life and his future after all and he couldn't allow them to...
"We love you, Sweetie, but we really need some time to talk things through. I promise you that we won't make any decisions without you." The voice of his mother was gentle and Sherlock allowed himself to be calmed by it - and her words - as he left the room reluctantly. His feet carried him to his favorite place by the lake, where he sat down in the high grass and waited, while his heart was hammering away in his chest in fear and anticipation.
OOO
"Aurelia!"
Sherlock jumped at his mother's voice, even as his heart stuttered hopelessly at the use of his birth name. So then, they had decided that he wasn't a boy to them or that they didn't want him to be a boy... which came down to the same thing in the end. Sherlock would have to make it through puberty without the support of his parents when it became too much and he already knew that he would hate the changes to his body. He neither needed breasts nor menstruations, but he could survive getting them, if his family helped him through this time. Sherlock was certain of this, but if they didn't stand behind him, then... he didn't know how he was supposed to get through the next six years, until he would finally be of age. If his parents supported him, he could get his first hormones with sixteen - Sherlock had done some research - but if they weren't on his side, then he would have to wait until he was eighteen and that wasn't a happy thought. In fact, it was frightening as hell and Sherlock had the sudden urge to hide in the grass and never go back inside. He knew that it was childish to hide, but he felt terrible and he couldn't face his parents now. Not when they had just crushed all his hopes and...
"Sherlock! Come inside!"
He peeked up at that and when his Dad called him by his chosen name again, Sherlock cautiously came out from his hiding spot and wandered back to the house where his parents were waiting for him on the terrace. They both looked exhausted but determined and Sherlock felt himself starting to sweat again, as he sat down in one of the chairs and waited for one of his parents to speak. Finally, it was his mother who broke the silence. "Your Dad and I have discussed what you told us and if you want to be called Sherlock from now on then we will try our best to use this name."
"We might slip." His Dad warned him, as Sherlock forced himself to sit still and hear his parents out. "And it will take some time to wrap our heads around the idea that we have two sons now."
"Although," his mother jumped in, before Sherlock could add something of his own. "If you ever change your mind that's fine as well. Yes, I know," she held up her hand to stop Sherlock's protests. "You say that you are a boy and your Dad and I believe that you feel this way and it might very well be that you will always feel this way. If that's so, then we will support you on your way, but... if you feel different one day, then that's fine, too."
"What your Mum is trying to say," his Dad added as he noticed Sherlock's confusion. "Is that we want you to be happy, either as a girl or a boy. We will neither hold you to something you said today for the rest of your life nor will we try to force you to live as someone that you are not."
A small gasp fell from Sherlock's lips as the words finally sunk in and all the tension left his body in a rush. He wasn't ashamed of the tears that ran down his face, as his parents' arms enfolded him in a tight hug and he allowed hope to bloom once more.
Sherlock smiled faintly at the memory. His parents had been his greatest supporters - and still were - while he had struggled with his puberty and how his peers and society perceived him. Back then, it had neither been possible to get hormone blockers for a transgender teenager nor to change his gender marker on papers or his name legally. It had only been thanks to his mother that they had managed to add Sherlock as one of his names and as it was such an unusual name, no one had known if it was for boys or for girls. So, at least Sherlock had been called by his chosen name at school, which had made things marginally more bearable. Of course, Sherlock would have gladly skipped his monthly menstruations and the growing of his breasts - thankfully very small ones - but he had survived this time of his life, although Mycroft had done his utmost best to make it harder for him.
"Mummy, Dad, I'm back home!"
Sherlock's head snapped up from his book, as his brother announced his arrival loudly. Mycroft had been away to study a year abroad in France and Sherlock was thrilled to have him back. The few phone calls and letters hadn't been enough to make up for the absence of his brother and Sherlock also couldn't wait to tell Mycroft the good news. After all, Sherlock still remembered when his older brother had told him that he would have preferred a younger brother over a sister and he couldn't wait to see Mycroft's face, when he realised that his wish had come true.
Sherlock closed the book and jumped to his feet to greet Mycroft in the kitchen. Their parents had decided that it would be better to wait until his brother got back home to tell him about Sherlock's gender identity. So far, his brother only knew that he didn't go by the name Aurelia anymore - which Mycroft had found funny - and Sherlock couldn't wait for the look on his face, when he learned everything.
"Mycroft!" He skipped the corner of the kitchen table and threw himself in his brother's arms.
"Ah, sister dear!" Mycroft hugged him tightly. "Any chance that you will go back to Aurelia or do I really have to get used to Sherlock?"
"You have to get used to it," Sherlock insisted, when Mycroft put him back down. Their parents too, had gotten used to it -mostlyin the nine months since Sherlock had come out to them. Sometimes, they still slipped - Mummy more often than Dad - but it was fine with Sherlock. Mummy had read a lot of books about gender theories - Sherlock had found them on her desk - and he knew that he could count on them.
"What did you do to your hair?"
Sherlock glanced up to catch the Mycroft's disapproving look as he took in the short curls. They had reached down to his chest, before Sherlock had gone to the hairdresser with his Dad.
"Most boys don't have long hair."
Mycroft pulled a face at this - he had loved to brush and braid Sherlock's long hair. "You aren't a boy, though."
Sherlock gulped at the disappointed look on his brother's face, but forced himself to say what needed to be said. "Yes, I am a boy. That's why I changed my name to Sherlock. I'm transgender and..."
"Nonsense!"
Sherlock flinched away from Mycroft, as his brother's hand came down on the table. "Who told you such nonsense?! You're my beautiful little sister. You don't need to be a boy to do experiments or take judo lessons!"
"I know!" Sherlock shouted back, although he was trembling inside. This wasn't going as he had planned. Mycroft should be over the moon to have a brother by now or - at the very least - ask smart questions. His brother wasn't supposed to brush off his gender identity like this.
"Girls have the same potential as boys have, but... I'm still a boy. Not because I think I can't do something as a girl, but because I'm just not one. I will never be a woman, I will grow up to be a man and as soon as I'm old enough I will get hormones and..."
"Did you know about these crazy ideas?" Mycroft interrupted Sherlock as their parents stepped into the kitchen.
"If by crazy ideas you mean that Sherlock is transgender, then yes, your brother told us," Mummy replied calmly, while their Dad moved closer to them.
"Brother?!" Mycroft spit the word in disbelief and Sherlock backed away from him, until he felt the calming presence of his Dad behind him. "You can't seriously believe that someone can just change their gender like this."
"It's not like this, Mycroft," Mummy explained calmly. "I have done some research and gender appears to be much more complex than most of us have always thought. I believe Sherlock, when he says that he is a boy."
His brother sneered - he had never before acted like this towards their parents - and Sherlock believed that he would have spat on the floor, if it hadn't been for his good manners. "If I had any say in it, I would send my dear sister to see a therapist or send her to a psychiatric clinic, until she got rid of these stupid ideas, but as it is, I will just leave. I certainly won't watch while my little sister succumbs to a mental illness."
The picture of Mycroft blurred before Sherlock's eyes as his brother turned around to collect his luggage. He didn't want his brother to leave - not like this - but he also didn't want to listen to more of his abuse.
"Mycroft," he still whispered pleadingly and his brother turned towards him once more, a sad smile on his face, but determination in his eyes. "I know this isn't your fault, Aurelia. You're just ill. When you can finally admit to yourself that something is wrong with you, give me a call and I will find a specialist for you."
Sherlock gaped at his brother in disbelief. For a second, he couldn't breathe as his chest constricted painfully at his brother's insults, before strong arms hugged him close and he was enfolded by the familiar scent of his Dad.
"Mycroft Edward Holmes," he heard his mother rant as he clung to his Dad. "If you go like this, don't think you have to come back, before you have come to your senses, young man."
"I'm not the one, who believes he has suddenly changed his gender nor am I the one who supports this nonsense."
"I had expected better of you, Mycroft, but if that's what you believe, then go. But dare to insult your brother ever again and I will make sure that all of your valuable contacts learn of all your little misdeeds as a teenager."
"Fine!"
There were only footsteps and the sound of a banging door afterwards and Sherlock couldn't hold back the sobs as he heard the engine of a car. Mycroft had left. His big brother had abandoned him and thought that Sherlock was crazy.
His parents held him, while he cried himself outand finally fell asleep to the stifled sobs of his mother and the soothing voice of his Dad.
Mycroft had come around in the end... nine years later, when Sherlock had overdosed for the first time. Sherlock grimaced at the memory of finding his big brother next to his hospital bed, after he had spent the better part of a week in a medically medical induced coma. He had never learned what exactly had changed his brother's mind - the shock of almost losing Sherlock or his transgender assistant - and he had never cared to ask. Mycroft had abandoned him, when Sherlock had most needed him and no matter how hard his brother had tried afterwards to make up for it, Sherlock could never really forgive him for all the years of silence between them. And so, they had settled into their respective roles, Sherlock the wild, eccentric little brother and Mycroft, powerful, controlling older one.
It could have been different, everything could have gone differently, if only... Sherlock shook his head to push the unwanted thoughts aside. He couldn't change how everything had turned out and for the most part, he didn't want to. Against the prediction of a lot of people Sherlock had become the man he had always been meant to be and if some idiots weren't willing to understand that, then... they could deal with Mycroft.
Sherlock grinned as he glanced at the crumpled letter from his insurance and reached for his phone. His brother owed him something for bringing back such painful memories - by merely existing - when Sherlock was already upset about John's reaction.
"Brother dear," he started, when Mycroft picked up his phone. "I need you to take care of some trouble with my health insurance for me."
At least, Sherlock thought when he ended the call, he didn't have to worry about his next pelvic exam, now that Mycroft was on the case. Now he only needed to worry about John and his reaction, when he came back home... lovely.
