"John, there's something... I should say, I've meant to say, always meant, but I never have. Since it's unlikely that we'll ever meet again, I might as well say it now." John is looking at Sherlock with big, wondering eyes, trying to guess what is it that Sherlock never told him.
If there's one thing he learned over the years of being Sherlock's best friend, it's that he never actually does shut up, and when he does, it's always in the most uncomfortable moments and a very bad sign.
But Sherlock is quiet now, he's looking at the floor, as if hoping to find there answers to his mental dispute, and there's nothing John can do but wonder.
"John Watson," Sherlock finally continues and then clears his throat, "I love you." It's no louder than a whisper, but John hears nevertheless; Sherlock can tell by the way John inhales sharply and the way his body tenses. It is clear to Sherlock that John is, to say the least, surprised.
John is just standing there, turning his head a few times in his wife's direction. He can't understand what Sherlock just said. Well, he can understand the words, but he can't comprehend their meaning. Especially when they are coming out of Sherlock Holmes, of all people.
Even though Sherlock hasn't said exactly what kind of love he means, it is more than clear, even to John Watson, that he doesn't mean them in any platonic way.
"Why?" John asks after what seems like eternity. Sherlock arches his eyebrows in a frown to this very stupid question. John gets his mistake and clears his throat.
"I mean... Why now?" Sherlock rolls his eyes to another stupid question.
"Because the odds are that we'll never meet again. Do try to keep up, John." John chuckles bitterly and Sherlock feel like something is stabbing his stomach.
"When else did I have the chance? I wanted to tell you when I came back, but you were already...busy." Sherlock lifts his gaze off John's wide eyes and looks in Mary's direction.
"And now it's just so much better of course, when I'm married and having a baby." Sherlock ignores John's sarcasm, as he always does and John experiences an unfamiliar and weird mixture of feelings: happiness, hopelessness, pride and loss. Because for fuck sakes, Sherlock Holmes actually loves him, and there's nothing he can do about it now.
"When?" Sherlock returns his piercing gaze to John's eyes, but remains silent. "When did it start?" John asks more quietly now, not completely sure that he really wants to know. And as it seems, Sherlock really doesn't want to tell, because he smiles wryly and turns his sad eyes from John again, but he answers anyway. "Four years, 2 months and 5 days," he says confidently, and John's mouth falls open.
"Four yea- are you bloody serious?! Four fucking years and not a single word?"
"Why is that even important?" Sherlock remains apathetic to John's response and he can't quite figure it out. But then again, John was always some kind of an enigma to Sherlock. That's one of the main reasons why Sherlock loves him so much. That's why he knows he won't be able to stop loving him.
"Sherlock, has it ever occurred to you that maybe it is important? We lived together for more than half of that time. You could have told me."
"And then you'd leave, and I couldn't let that happen."
John shakes his head with disbelief; he can't believe he's actually having this conversation with Sherlock, after so many years of wanting to... Of craving to tell him. But now, not only are they having this conversation, it is Sherlock who is actually telling him how he feels, which is more than John ever dreamed of. So here they are, and he can't understand how sometimes Sherlock Holmes can be that brilliant and that stupid all at once.
"I wouldn't leave. Of course I... I wouldn't leave you." John is trying to decide if he wants to say it out loud, if he wants Sherlock to know that he feels the same way, but he also knows that the second he says it- it becomes real. It becomes real that he's been in love with a man for the last four years, who's now leaving him without any other choice. Not to mention that he loves another man while he's married to a beautiful woman who's carrying his child (and who tried to kill the man in question.)
"John, are you even listening?" John's train of thoughts and his inner debate comes to an end.
"It's my turn to talk,"John stops him; and Sherlock takes a step back and gestures with his hand for John to continue.
"I find it difficult, Sherlock; I find it difficult, this sort of stuff." John takes in a sharp breath and continues before he will be able to think again and regrets what he's about to do. "I love you, too, Sherlock. I... I always have. Since the very beginning. But you said you were married to your work, and it was fine. It was more than fine because I became a significant part of your work, and you never made me feel lonely. I love you, Sherlock, but you know... We know-"
"It's too late," Sherlock says sharply, and his gaze is filled with sorrow that only John can see, because no one else know Sherlock Holmes better than John Watson.
They are standing there, staring at each other, each of them with an annoying lump in their throat. Each of them determined to control their feelings, and not to let the world know about the storm in their hearts and minds. Both of them know that the end is nearer than ever.
So Sherlock takes off his gloves and lifts his hand to shake John's for goodbye, because they both know it is the end. "To the very best of times, John." John stares at the hand in front of him and feels the lump in his throat getting bigger and bigger, until the impulse to cry and hug Sherlock is practically unbearable, but instead he just takes Sherlock's hand and shakes it. With this single insufficient touch, John tries to say everything that he should have said four years ago, everything he wanted to do but was afraid. And it seems as if Sherlock is trying to do exactly the same.
Sherlock walks away, and that's the image that John would always remember as the most heartbreaking in his life. (Except the fall, but he doesn't want to think about that.)
It's the second time in three years he's losing Sherlock Holmes; his best friend, his flat mate, the man he's in love with.
But he mustn't think about that, so he turns around and goes to his wife, hugs her and takes all the comfort she can possibly give him. She knows, of course she knows, she's known from the moment Sherlock popped up at the restaurant. She never said anything too explicit, but John knows she knows, so Sherlock must know, too.
Sherlock's plane takes off, carrying Sherlock far away from John, and John knows it's probably forever, so he just tightens his grip on his wife and tries to control the steaming hot tears coming down in his face onto Mary's shirt.
Mycroft watches them from inside the black car and then answers his phone. A phone call that makes him shiver and his mouth fall open with complete shock.
He hangs up the phone and within seconds he's already calling the plane which his little brother is now on, and gives Sherlock the most horrible news that he could have told him; that James Moriarty is alive.
What Mycroft doesn't know is that his little brother couldn't be happier with that announcement. Now he has an excuse to come back. To see John Watson again and smile at him.
Now John knows that Sherlock loves him, now Sherlock won't have to try and hide it as he did in the past.
They would figure this out. It might be awkward at first, Sherlock was highly aware of that, but they're done with the secrets.
And Sherlock knows in his heart that John loves him, too, and that he won't leave. Because even with Mary as his wife, no one can take away his best friend, and if that's what he is doomed to be for the rest of his life, then he'll take it any day. Sherlock Holmes means to make John Watson happy, and nothing else matters.
Mycroft gets out of the black car, telling the Watsons the terrifying news.
And while John explains Mary about Moriarty, about the possibilities that he's really alive, all he can do is thank god for it. He's thanking him in his mind over and over again, and feels his heart clutching with joy when he sees Sherlock's plane getting ready to land.
"There's an east wind coming," he says to Mary in satisfaction, with a huge, genuine smile on his face.
He can't be more grateful.
They will find a solution, they will have time to talk about it, they will have time. More time. As much time as they need.
Because John Watson is sure of one thing, and one thing only. He loves Sherlock Holmes with all his heart.
Always has and always will.
Always.