The day that everything changed started in the most normal way. John Watson got out of bed and glanced across at his wife, sleeping peacefully as she always did; she hadn't seen the things he had. He got dressed, pulling on his jeans and his jumper, stepping into his socks and shoes, collecting his wallet and his phone and shoving them into his back pocket. Then, just like every other morning, he walked to the bathroom. On this particular day, however, John looked at himself in the medicine cabinet mirror and thought about mistakes.
You know? All of the mistakes you make when you're trying to figure things out. When you were a kid, bright eyed and patriotic joining the army. When you misjudged the aim of the enemy and ended up with a bullet in your shoulder. When you followed a friend to St Barts and met – no, that wasn't a mistake. Still, John could list so many on his fingers. All the stupid things he did before he knew who he was. He'd left school with all these expectations, guidelines, if you will, basic assumptions about what his life was going to be like. What he wanted. Who he wanted.
Then there was Sherlock Holmes. This man who pulled him head-first into a life like no-one could ever imagine. Sherlock Holmes was never part of the plan. That didn't matter though, because he hadn't been part of Sherlock's plan either, but they just worked. They needed each other. Sherlock gave John excitement, adventure. John gave Sherlock humanity.
For those two years when he thought that Sherlock was dead, John thought he'd forgotten how to breathe. A life that had been like an action thriller became a dull indie movie with no plot. It was then that Mary had stepped into the frame. Dear Mary, who'd picked up the pieces, without complaint and waited in the wings. Eventually, John realized he couldn't make her wait forever, that was his big mistake. Still, maybe it could have worked out, if Sherlock hadn't returned.
When Sherlock walked into that restaurant, John could have killed him all over again. It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair what he'd done. Two whole years of agony. Realistically, he knew that he was being a little selfish. Sherlock had the best intentions when he did what he did. That didn't matter to John. In those first moments, all that John Watson could do was feel.
That was the most surprising thing. Amongst the hurt and the anger and the betrayal there was something quite different. It was terrifying and with it came John's next mistake, not dropping Mary right there and then, not telling Sherlock how he felt.
The two years since then had been a catalog of mistakes. He'd gone through with it, he'd married Mary, Sherlock had been his best man. Rather than running around London with Sherlock 24/7, John had taken a job as a general practitioner. Worst of all, he'd let himself distance from Sherlock. They barely spoke anymore, he got updates on his best friend through Lestrade and Molly.
On the face of it, John had done everything right. He had the house, the career, he had everything he'd ever wanted. But he wasn't happy.
Staring at himself in the mirror, he asked himself the same thing he'd been asking since Sherlock walked into that restaurant "Can I make it through one more day?"
There was a knock on the door "John, are you in there?"
"No," John's eyes widened and he set a shaking hand on the doorknob "No."
As he heaved open the door, he saw Mary frowning, looking up at him with those round blue eyes "No what?"
"No, I-" he felt the stinging pang of guilt rattle his bones "Mary, you might want to sit down."
Narrowing her eyes a little, she wearily agreed and backed towards the bed – their bed. This was going to be hard, possibly the hardest thing he'd ever have to do. He wasn't sure if he would ever forgive himself but he couldn't do this anymore.
That's exactly what he told her, holding her tiny hand in his. He watched her heart break in front of him. To see that familiar face crumple, to feel her hot tears on his thumb as he wiped them away, it was almost enough to break his resolve. Almost.
When he finished talking, he kissed the top of her head and left the room "I'll come and collect my things later, but I-"
"John, please don't do this."
He kept walking, even as she hurried after him, tugging at his clothes. Desperately, he ignored her, he didn't know what else to do. As he tried to put his coat on, she tugged it off him "Don't do this John, we can work this out, I love you, please." Her hands were damp with tears, fumbling for a grip on him.
With a deep, heart-wrenching, sigh, John pried her off of him and held her at arm's length "I'm so so sorry." Then he darted out of the door, leaving his coat and his wife behind. He just couldn't lie to himself anymore. A quick wallet check told him he had enough for a taxi into the city. It only took him a couple of minutes to catch one.
"Where to?"
"221B Baker Street, please."
It was time to start over, John considered as he watched the city rush by. It was time to be honest with himself and with the man he... the man he loved.
This was definitely the stupidest thing he'd ever done. This was not part of the plan. He was the kind of guy that settled down that did the logical thing. That was the way lives worked in the normal world. Normal people didn't fall in love with the beautiful genius, they stayed with their sweet, caring wives. It wasn't too late to turn back. Hell, he didn't even know if Sherlock felt the same way. What would he do if Sherlock didn't feel the same way?
He'd left his wife for a man who, some days, bordered on inhuman. Sherlock was no-one's safe-bet. Life with him was like a roller-coaster. No, not a roller-coaster, wilder than that. It was like being dragged behind an untamed horse. It was like swimming out of your depth. It was like being in love. God, he was so beyond screwed.
Still it was worth it. No-one else could do this for him. No-one else but him could walk away and know that it was okay that he was wrong. Those mistakes didn't matter anymore, if he could get this one thing right, everything would fall into place. He was ready for confusion, for the lost and found of being with Sherlock Holmes. This was their time. History could wait, this was the twenty-first century and no-one could tell him not to go after the man he loved. John Watson didn't fall in love lightly, this was his moment.
He paid the driver and hopped out onto the pavement. It felt like coming home.
Throughout everything, Sherlock always left the front door unlocked when he was in the apartment. It was probably because anyone who wanted to invade this place would have a hard time getting out alive. The hallway hadn't been redecorated in the last four years, just touched up a little. It looked almost as if nothing had happened since the day he decided it was time to let Sherlock go. That was when Sherlock had been dead.
Of course, the place was a mess. Sherlock didn't do tidy, his home was like his mind – he knew where everything was but it was impossible for anyone else to understand. As though he'd never left, John began to pick at the debris. The comfortable quiet and the unlocked door told John that Sherlock was sleeping so he might as well keep himself busy until he woke up. He wasn't in the habit of waking Sherlock when he was sleeping since he slept so little. Despite the crazy and the oddity, John couldn't remember the last time he'd felt so normal, so right. After all, he'd spent enough time at Sherlock's side for cleaning baker street to become pretty routine.
"John?" Sherlock's voice was level but bore the foggy wear of sleep.
It froze John in a solid grip of fear. Every worry he'd had about leaving Mary and coming here shot up his spine.
Clearer this time, Sherlock said "You've left your wife."
Slowly, John eased his body round so he was facing the taller man. He didn't doubt for a moment that Sherlock would know all he had to say as soon as he saw his face. So, John was more than a little surprised when he saw the confusion in those changable blue eyes. Then, it occurred to him. Sherlock could read him, would know that he'd only just woken up, that he'd been crying, what he had for tea last night and a million other things but no-one had looked at Sherlock with love before. To see love in someone's eyes is something you have to know by experience, you can't read about it in a book. With only Mycroft for family and few relationships, Sherlock could analyze dilating pupils and pulse-rates all he liked, but he would never read John's love.
"I couldn't lie to her anymore," John replied slowly, inclining his head a little in a sort-of nod.
"About-" Sherlock broke off, searching John's face for a moment before asking "About what?"
Setting his lips in a tight line, John tried to piece together the right words. There was a long pause. Everything that Sherlock had ever said, ran through John's mind. He had to feel the same way. Surely this couldn't just be him. This, what John felt, this was too strong "Sherlock Holmes. I have the strangest feeling that I may... I may be in love with you."
For a moment, Sherlock just stared at John, his expression unreadable. John's heart was made of stained glass, a little cracked and chipped and held in Sherlock's hands. All that John could do was hope that Sherlock didn't drop it.
Air rushed into Sherlock's lungs, his shoulders lifting with the action "You love me?"
"More than I can understand," John breathed.
A flash of pain dashed grey through the man's eyes "Why?"
John felt the pain like it was his own. It was the pain of a scared little boy sat at a dinner table with three other people who never said a word. A house of silence where a friendless child buried himself in science. No-one ever hugged or kissed that child, no-one tucked him in at night, he never asked them to. He was too scared they'd say no. And when he did dare to ask his brother, the result was a blatant refusal. Back then, he'd felt so deeply he stopped feeling at all. Until John.
All of John's fears seemed to blow away and all he could think was that he needed to love that little boy.
"Oh, I don't know," John stepped forward, frowning "Because you're tactless and clueless. Because you can't keep an apartment clean and you keep severed heads in the fridge. Because you can't keep yourself out of trouble. Because you may have a brain more advanced than a supercomputer but you forget to eat some days. Because you are possibly the most difficult, frustrating, bad-tempered, brilliant, beautiful, original person I've ever met and I can't get through another day without you by my side."
A smile spread across Sherlock's face "Me neither."
Once again, Sherlock surprised John. This time, in the best way. Taking John's hand, the taller man pulled him closer and pressed their lips together. And it was like a roller-coaster. It was like being dragged behind an untamed horse and swimming out of your depth. It was like being in love. And it was brilliant.