For Better or Worse
Sherlock sprung up the stairs and into 221B Baker Street with his usual energy. There had been a small break between cases, but he had several experiments to keep him busy. The results had been more than he expected, which left him in an unusually good mood.
That is, until he saw the empty bottle of Port in the kitchen sink.
John...
His sister (and other relative's) drinking habits had kept Johns moderate. He didn't avoid alcohol, per se, but he always erred on the side of caution. Unless he was upset. Really upset. Then he might dance on the edge of drunk for a night.
Sherlock pushed aside the tight, uncomfortable feeling that was growing in his chest. That wouldn't help John. Instead, he did what he did best-deduce.
Sherlock scanned the apartment for data. There, in the chair by John's computer-his unpacked work bag. Sherlock approached the bag slowly, scanning for data. He needn't have bothered. A small pile of papers from the clinic told him everything. John had been let go...
It was redundant to examine the papers, but he did so anyway. His severance check was not generous, but that was no surprise. The clinic operated on a small budget. The rest of the usual papers were there: health insurance information, tax information, the empty space in John's keys were the clinic keys used to be...
Sherlock scanned the written notice of termination. There was the slightest tremble in Sarah's handwriting. She hadn't wanted to do this. She knew John was a good doctor, just like he did. Too many late nights. Not enough productivity.
Stifled crying reached his ears then.
Oh, John...
Sherlock dropped the paperwork back on John's desk without bothering to hide the fact that he'd been through it. John needed him now, and he would be there.
Sherlock slipped off his shoes just inside their bedroom door and stole across the carpet. John was a shaking tangle of limbs on the bed. Not sobbing, John was a bit too reserved for that. More great huffs of breath as tears leaked through his closed eyes and down his cheeks. Without preamble (John had heard him enter; Sherlock was sure of it) Sherlock slid beside John and pulled him back into a warm embrace.
"Shhhhh," Sherlock whispered in John's ear. While normally fueled by sentiment, a "shhhh" gesture had a scientific basis for calming people. It mimicked the rush of blood fetus's heard in their mother's womb. Sherlock was fueled by science...and by sentiment for his hurting partner.
John shook with intermittent tears for a long time before he could get any words out. John hated to speak when he was choked up. Ever the proud solider he wanted to speak clearly. Stupid, unnecessary pretense. Still, Sherlock was prepared to hold John in silence until he was ready to speak; then to hold him for a long time afterwards, John's protests be damned.
John took a number of shaky breaths before muttering, "You know." It wasn't a question. In that statement Sherlock heard pain and doubt. Doubt in himself as a doctor. Pain of loss. Pain of some 'burden' he imagined he was forcing on Sherlock. The idiot had the gall to be sorry when he'd done nothing wrong.
Sherlock gently moved his fingers through John's hair. "Yes, I know." A long pause. "I'm so sorry John.."
John choked on his sobs for a moment before replying, "You're sorry? Sherlock that's-"
"As idiotic as you feeling guilty, I know," Sherlock cut him off. "And I'm still sorry that you're hurting... I can't make it go away."
John huffed into his shoulder and Sherlock could feel his shirt growing damp. "It's my own fault."
"Don't start that John," Sherlock stated, softly. "You are an excellent doctor and you know it. You have saved many lives. Joining me in cases and working the clinic... you're only human, John."
John grumbled into Sherlock's shirt, not ready to face that fact just yet.
"Regardless," Sherlock pressed on, caressing John's face with his left hand, "I will be here." Sherlock's hand slipped down to John's shoulder, "For better or for worse," his hand was trailing down John's arm now, "for richer, or for poorer," his hand skimmed John's wrist, "in sickness and in health," his hand found John's and their fingers intertwined, "to love and to cherish," Sherlock brought their joined hands up and kissed John's ring, the one that matched his own, "until the end of my days."
John had gone quiet, except for the occasional sniffle. Sherlock met his gaze and held it; steady and reassuring. "I made those vows to you over a year ago, John, and I have kept them every day."
John leaned over Sherlock's chest and pressed a messy kiss to his lips. "I love you," he breathed, his voice breaking.
Sherlock pulled John closer and pressed a firm kiss into his hair. "I love you too."
John sighed, part relief, part expulsion of energy, and settled into Sherlock's chest for the duration. He wasn't fine. He wasn't even close to alright right now... but Sherlock was here, and that is all that really mattered.
I wasn't really planning on writing a one-shot right now, seeing as I'm in the midst of a multi-chapter... but I'm not having the best day either and I needed to get it out. I hope you enjoyed it.
P.S. Reviews and/or feedback would be much appreciated; I could use a smile.