A/N
SPOILERS! Spoilers for season 3 episode 1 The Empty Hearse
Another Sherlock one-shot!
Hope you enjoy!
Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock
Hindrances
Sherlock stood in the door to the restaurant where he knew John had a reservation. He eagerly looked around the room, excited to see his old friend. When he finally found him sitting by a table he couldn't help the wide smile spread on his face. He stood for a while observing his friend as he had dreamt for two years. He noticed the moustache; obviously an attempt to try something new - to begin a new life. That fact hit Sherlock right in the heart, and at that moment, he could not argue that he did not have one. Because how could something ache, if it wasn't there to begin with? No, he had a heart all right. And it was breaking at the sight in front of him.
A blonde woman had appeared and was sitting across John. Just the fact that John was dating, was a clear sign that he had moved on. But that was not what broke the otherwise insensitive man. What broke his heart, and every hope that things could ever be the same, was the nervous gestures of John's hand which kept patting on his left pocket. Sherlock knew, given the fine restaurant and the shape of his pocket, that it was most likely an engagement ring. That John was ready to such a commitment after two years was not just shocking, but also hurtful to Sherlock. It was hard to watch while knowing how difficult it had been for the two of them to admit to themselves that they were friends two years ago.
But maybe it was him? Maybe he was the one being difficult? Maybe John was actually a normal being, and Sherlock had been too different and thus causing John to act different than he normally did. With that thought, and billions of others accusing himself, Sherlock felt more insecure than he had ever felt. Not that he ever felt insecure. He had always been so sure of himself, looking at the facts and never bothering to feel anything. It was only, when the matter involved John, he found himself to care a great deal. And that of course included the moment right now. His heart ache was like that of a brokenhearted who just lost their loved one. The thought caused an unknown warmth to spread across his face, making him blush deeply. He quickly threw away the thought and swore to himself never to admit it to anyone. Especially not to John.
The pain increased by the minute when he saw John struggle to ask at the right time in the right way.
It's funny how much people care to find a special one to share their entire life with, for the rest of their days, Sherlock thought. And yet, he was the same.
It pained him to see John getting so worked up over a simple woman. What was so great about her anyway? She looked boringly normal and had no special appeal whatsoever. He closed his eyes as John reached down to his left pocket again. When he squeezed his hand around the square shape, Sherlock felt himself growing dizzy.
I can't watch this, he thought, finally admitting to himself that he did not want to give John to this simple woman. And yet, the smile on John's face stopped him from interfering.
I guess, he really is happier this way, he thought with a sad smile. With heavy legs and a heavy heart, Sherlock spun around on his heel and walked out of the restaurant. No, he wouldn't interfere with John Watson anymore. After all, it seemed he had moved on. He had started a new life, and he didn't need him anymore. Which meant, Sherlock would now have to start a new life as well - by himself.
...
Mrs. Hudson was clearing her flat when she heard the door open. She picked up the vase she had been rearranging and nervously called out:
"John? Is that you?" Her shaky voice turned into a squeak - not really turning into a scream - when she saw the familiar face. Sherlock carefully walked closer trying not to frighten the poor woman.
"Sherlock?" she said in a quiet whisper. He smiled reassuring.
"Yes, it's me"
...
John was walking down the all-too familiar street. He had waited for the perfect moment last night, but when it had occurred, he had chickened out at the very last second. He stopped in front of the familiar door.
221B Baker Street.
He hadn't visited or even called Mrs Hudson, which he felt greatly sorry for. But that was about to change. He was starting a new life, with new friends and a new girlfriend, and he wanted Mrs Hudson to be a part of that life too. It had taken a great deal of pursuation from Mary, but at last she had given him the courage to apologise to his former landlady.
He took his keys, which he oddly enough had kept, and walked in to knock on her door. Not soon after did she open. At first she was mad, but after multiple apologies, she forgave him. She knew all too well how hard it had been for him to go on after Sherlock's death.
"So, are you moving back too?" she asked with a cheerful voice as she handed him a plate of biscuits.
"Too?" he asked, confused to why she even expected him to go back to that place filled with memories. For a moment, he thought she had sold the flat to someone, and he felt the anger build up inside him, when he thought of anyone other than Sherlock living there.
"Yes, with Sherlock's returning and all. Or are you staying with that new girlfriend - Harry, was it?"
"No, it's Mary, but hang on, what did you say?" John's thoughts were running wild in his head, a tiny bit of hope appearing. He scolded himself inwardly for even getting that hope - surely he had just heard wrong.
"I said, are you moving back?"
"No, no. After that"
"Uhh. With Sherlock's returning and all, or are you-" she said, but John cut her off mid sentence, which was something he never did, but in this particular situation.
"Sherlock's returning? Look, Mrs Hudson, he's gone. Even if we wish otherwise, he really is. It's time you face it, like I've done" he said carefully, trying not to hurt her feelings. He knew how much she missed him - he missed him too. But it had been two years for god's sake.
"Oh, but he isn't gone at all! He came back yesterday, saying it was all a lie, and that he didn't really die!" Mrs Hudson said with glittery eyes. John shook his head.
"Look, if this is some kind of joke-"
"It's not! He's upstairs right now! Listen, you can hear his violin!" she said eagerly. And it was first then, John noticed the faint sound of a violin. It had been there since he stepped inside, he just hadn't noticed it. Or perhaps he had, but just thought of it as his mind playing tricks on him, as it had did since the day two years ago.
John swallowed a large lump before stepping out of Mrs Hudson's flat. He slowly made his way up the stairs meanwhile the sound of the violin grew stronger for each step. When he reached the door he had gone through so many times, he let his fingers hesitate on the doorknob. The violin was still playing, but he could hear the play was coming to an end.
Here goes nothing, he thought. If there really was a Sherlock Holmes behind the door, he wouldn't know what to do. But if there wasn't, he could just go back to Mary, as he had always done after seeing weird hallucinations. Battling with himself whether to spare himself the disappointment or actually opening the door, he didn't hear the play coming to an end. He didn't hear the footsteps closing in on him. But he felt the door open in front of him. He took a step back so he wouldn't be hit, and took another step back, when he saw exactly who had opened it.
Mrs Hudson hadn't imagined it. He was right there. Right in front of him. So close that John could touch him. And he had to. Just to be sure that this wasn't a dream. He let his fingers strike the coat he knew so well. John was beyond surprised. He felt breathless, speechless and numb in all his body. He looked up and met green eyes which were just as surprised as he himself was. Then, something triggered inside him. All the grief, the anger, the loneliness he had felt, came out in tears and weak hits. He clenched his hands into fists and hit Sherlock's torso weakly over and over again, while tears ran down his cheeks.
"You- You!" He kept saying while getting closer to Sherlock. Soon he gave up on his weak attempt at revenge and pulled the still stunned man into a tight hug. He sobbed into the crook of Sherlock's neck, feeling the dark curls fall over his face. Sherlock, who hadn't expected to ever see John again, was left with nothing to say. Knowing that this might be his last meeting with the former military doctor, he brought his arms around him, and tightened his grip. He let John cry in his arms until the cries turned into sobs and the sobs turned into sniffs. Finally, John let go of Sherlock. His eyes were red and bloodshot from all the crying, but he didn't really care.
"Why?" he asked simply. Sherlock looked away, John's expression making him feel things he had never felt before.
"Why did you leave? And why did you come back? And why didn't you tell me?" John frantically asked, his eyes beginning to water once more. Sherlock studied the lines of the wall carefully, afraid that if he looked at John, he would break. Why was John there anyway? What could he possibly want in their old flat, since he had obviously moved out long ago, going by all the dust.
"Sherlock?" John whimpered, now afraid that it actually was a dream, since the man who always had something to say, was now speechless. The whimper hit Sherlock right in his gut. He felt guilty and terrified at the same time.
When I tell him, and he's satisfied with my explanation, will he then go back? Back to her? Sherlock's mind was a mess - something he wasn't used to.
"Sherlock, say something! You've been gone for two years! Don't you have something to say?" John almost yelled at the stone faced man in front of him. Did he not care? Did he not think John more important, since he didn't tell him about his returning, and about him not really being dead at all?
Sherlock took a deep breath to control the tears in his eyes, and his shaking hands. A single tear fell just before he turned to face John. It was hard, the hardest thing he'd ever done, when he faced John. The self-preservation he had to master not to lose his façade took more effort, than Sherlock had ever cared to give. The sooner John left, the better.
"I didn't tell you because you wouldn't look like you believed it. I came back simply because I was bored and I didn't tell you about my returning because I found no reason to" he said very hastily, wanting John to accept his explanation and leave. The explanation was not entirely a lie. He didn't tell John about faking his death, because there was too big of a risk that he would not play his role right, and therefore be killed by the assassins. Yes, he came back because he was bored - bored because John hadn't been there. And the last one was not a lie at all. He found no reason to meddle in John's new life when clearly he was happier without him. Even though he didn't look like it, Sherlock just wanted the best for John. He thought that was himself, but he knew now, that John wanted a normal life. How dull, he thought.
John's tears were coming back, but he refused to let them out this time. He started breathing heavily as his rage build up from the inside. He thought, Sherlock had missed him just a little bit. But it seemed not. What really angered him, was that all of the reasons clearly stated, that he did not trust John. After all that time, sharing a flat together, solving crimes and what not, he didn't trust him one single bit. John's heart, after finally being gathered after two years, was now breaking once more. He opened his mouth to say something, scold him or yell at him, but he found that it was unnecessary. Sherlock had made his decision. So John did too. He turned around on his heel and stomped down the stairs, hurrying out the door to get as far away as possible.
Just as John disappeared from his sight, Sherlock's legs collapsed under him. He breathed hard and fought the tears building up, but didn't manage to keep them inside. And there he sat, the one and only consulting detective, crying at his own doorstep
It was late before Sherlock got himself into the apartment again. How late, he didn't know, and honestly, he didn't care. All that he came back for, all that he cared about, was now gone. He had nothing left to do. He was shaking as he climbed into bed under the warm covers. He felt the same as he had before he met John - nothing. Except his heart clenched in a painful way. He closed his eyes, trying to forget the pain and the look on John's face when he left. He was still shaking as he surrendered to a dark sleep.
...
John dialled the number and heard someone pick it up in the other end.
"Hello?" a careful voice said. John smiled.
"Mrs Hudson, hello! It's John, John Watson"
"Oh hello John! You know, you could have just come over instead of ringing" she said in the other end.
"Yes well... I'm actually a bit busy, so I thought I'd just call and see how you're doing" he lied. He didn't want to go over there and risk bumping into Sherlock. He had made himself quite clear, that he didn't need John in his life.
"Oh I'm fine, but, have you talked to Sherlock? Is he over at your place?". John stiffened.
"No, he's not" John sighed, trying to control his emotions from pouring out at the innocent woman. Though, he couldn't help but feel slightly worried.
"Oh, it's just, I haven't seen him for a couple of days now. Actually, I don't believe I've seen him since you visited. Was he alright then?" she asked in her petite voice. John's heart skipped a beat. He hasn't been out since then? What could be wrong?
"No, he was fine then" he said carefully.
"It's just, that he's locked the apartment, and I lost the key somewhere, so I can't check up on him" she said. Sweat appeared on his forehead as the guilt and concern build up in his heart.
"It's alright, I'll check on him. Goodbye Mrs H" he said, not able to control himself. As he heard her goodbye he quickly hung up and ran out, not really getting his jacket on before he was outside. He stole a cab from someone else, telling him it was the police, as he had done before. He told the address to the driver and asked him to drive as fast as possible.
When he reached 221B he practically jumped out of the cab after throwing money to the driver, not really caring if the money fit. He barged in, noticing that Mrs Hudson had gone out before he ran up the stairs. He faintly thought that maybe Sherlock was completely alright, and was just lying in his apartment doing nothing. Even so, John wouldn't take any chances. Not any more. He nearly broke the door when he jumped in the flat he had missed so much. He frantically looked around, and when he didn't see the curly-haired genius, he called for him desperately.
A small whimper caught his attention, and he sprinted for Sherlock's room. It was dark and closed, but he could still see the slim figure lying on the bed. John bent down next to Sherlock's head to study the sleeping man. His brow was glittering with sweat and he was gasping. John reached for his forehead and immediately jumped as he had done so.
"Jesus, Sherlock you're burning!" he yelled, more to himself than to the unconscious man. He quickly fetched some water, a cloth and some medicine that he knew was there. He opened the windows to let some fresh air in, and wiped the sweat of his face. Sherlock whined but stayed still and let John do what he was best at. Sherlock slowly wakened as he was cooled down. He fluttered his eyelids open and turned his pale face to look at John.
"Why- why are you here?" Sherlock whispered in between breaths. John's heart clenched. He really doesn't want me here.
"Don't worry, as soon as the medicin kicks in, I'll go" he answered and started packing his things. Just as he lifted himself to go, he felt a warm hand clasp his shirt. Despite how weak he looked, Sherlock's grip was firm.
"Don't. Go." he managed to utter. John looked surprised, but soon his eyes turned mild. He took Sherlock's hand in his own and sat back down at the edge of his bed.
"Of course not" he whispered.
Sherlock felt... Well, stating from the sweat and the coldness, he assumed he was sick. This was that kind of time where John would have taken care of him, two years ago. But now, he was all alone. Even Mrs Hudson couldn't help - she had forgotten her key next to his skull. He fell into a deep sleep all alone in his room.
When he woke up he felt someone wipe his face. Oh, so I'm dreaming, he thought. It was the only logical statement, since he had locked the door, and the only person with a key didn't care for him anymore. He let himself enjoy the dream with the caress from a well known, rough hand. He opened his eyes to get a sight of his former friend and saw, that he was about to leave. No. No! You can't leave! His heartbeat increased as he saw the figure he longed for turn away. In a last attempt at making him stay, he finally got a hold of his shirt. He managed to utter a few words, and that seemed to work. At least he's not gone from my dreams, he thought while surrendering to the sleep once again.
When he woke for the second time, he was certain, he would still be sick. But surprisingly, he felt better. He didn't feel cold or sweat anymore. He noticed a warmth on his right hand and looked to see what it could be. To say that he was shocked, would be an understatement, when he saw a hand holding his own. Even more surprised was he, when he saw who that hand belonged to. John was sleeping with his head leaning on his hands, which were resting on the bed.
"John?" he whispered in his weak, hoarse voice. He regretted he'd spoken when he saw John shift.
"Sherlock?" he tiredly whispered back. He lifted himself from the bed and in the progress let go of Sherlock's hand.
"Sherlock!" he repeated as he blinked the sleep out of his eyes and saw the colour had returned to Sherlock's face. Though it slowly disappeared once again, when Sherlock found out that it wasn't a dream but reality.
"How are you feeling?" John asked.
"What are you doing here?" Sherlock asked, thinking it was more interesting and important than the other question. John felt a slight stab in his heart. Was it just because of his fever, that he didn't want me to leave before? Does he not care, now that he's healthy again?
"Mrs Hudson called me. She was very worried" he replied. Now it was Sherlock who felt a stab. Oh, so it's for Mrs Hudson's sake, that he's here. Not mine. I should have guessed.
"I see. Well you did your job. You can go back to whoever she is now" he said, jealousy and hurt filling his heart. John sighed. I thought he cared for a second. I guess not. John stood to leave. For every step he took towards the door, was like a stab in the heart for both of them. Though when he reached the door, he hesitated for a minute. No. I can't let it end this way. He turned around and looked at Sherlock.
"What happened to you out there?" he asked, surprising Sherlock with his voice.
"What do you mean?"
"Why are you being like this?" With no answer, John went on:
"I don't understand you. After you... Disappeared, you haven't once let me help you. Why is that? Did you realise, that you don't need me? Did you figure out, that all I am, is a block around your leg? That I could never reach your plan of intellect?"
"John, stop!" Sherlock forced the yell in a hoarse voice, making him cough like mad. John was immediately by his side with a glass of water. When he had drunk Sherlock grabbed John's shoulders in a tight grip as if to keep him from ever leaving again.
"Do not. Say that. Again." He gasped. John frowned with concern and sat next to the bed again. He held Sherlock's hand when he whimpered that he couldn't go. Sherlock struggled with words, but he know he needed to say them out loud.
"I do need you. You are - not - a block. Quite. Contrary. Actually." The many words took a lot of effort physically as mentally.
"But you... You didn't seem like it a couple of days ago!" John argued. Sherlock, not in condition to find an excuse, decided to just go with the truth, even if that meant showing his feelings.
"You gave me -gasp- no choice"
"What? I gave you no choice? What are you talking about?"
"You seemed -gasp- happy enough" he said, as always concealing his feelings. But John knew better. John knew Sherlock.
"You thought... You thought I was happier without you" John concluded quietly.
"Why - why would you think that? I thought I made it clear, all the pain I've gone through" John said, not really understanding why the detective, who could tell your life story from your phone, hadn't remembered all his tears and seen his pain just a few days ago.
"Her. You seemed -gasp- happy with her"
"Who?"
"Your fiancé". John's head shot up. He tried to lock eyes with Sherlock, but he would not meet his gaze.
"My - my fiancé?" John's mind was going in full speed trying to figure out, what Sherlock meant. Then he realized.
"You - you were there! You were at the restaurant! Why didn't you tell me?"
"As I said"
"You didn't come to me, because you thought I was happier? That I was better off not knowing of your surviving? You... You..." John raised his voice, while tears were spilling from his eyes. Sherlock felt his heart ache as it had so much on so little time. John was angry, he could tell by the tone of his voice. But then, something he hadn't expected, happened. He was pulled in to a tight hug.
John pulled his arms tightly around Sherlock, and pulled him as close to him as he could.
"Idiot" John said. Sherlock, still confused, was about to contradict his statement, but John spoke first.
"Of course I'm not happier without you. You're my best friend. Yes, I am mad at you for making me believe that you died. But you are, and always will be my... Best friend" John said with a slight break. He wasn't used to showing feelings in front of the usual insensitive man, but right now, it was needed.
Sherlock was stunned to say the least. But he knew John to be an honest man. So he believed him. He pulled his arms around John as well to return the hug.
They had experienced separation, death, jealousy and misunderstandings. But they had overcomed all of the hindrances and were now, at last, together again.