Hey! So soon huh? This idea has set fire to my brain so hopefully it will come on as quickly as possible! It is pretty vague in description, mostly because I want you to figure it all out at the same time as Sherlock. I will warn that there might be some strange stuff in here and I will try to warn people as it comes up. Enjoy!
Chapter 1
Sherlock watches John pace back and forth in the sitting room, stifling a vague noise of discomfort as he moves his left arm up onto the armrest; his onetime flatmate is at his side in a flash. "Where does it hurt Sherlock? Can you fill your lungs? Inhale on a slow count of six for me please."
Sherlock winces as John's sure fingers close over his wrist, he hates that his heart trips at this casual contact. 'It's just the adrenaline.' his mind whispers. But none the less he basks, a bit, in the undivided attention and concern his best friend is lavishing on him. "Just the intercostals on the left side John, they are very sore from my injuries and I forgot when I went to lift my left arm up onto the armrest." Risking a quick skim over John, deducing what he could in tense moments Sherlock hesitates, then...
"Why are you still here John? It has been weeks since our meeting with Mary as a client was cut short by paramedics. Given I had no reason to escape the hospital, like the last time, to prove she did the best she could in a completely mad situation and stayed there as long as you and my host of doctors demanded. Why do you still hover about as though unwilling to go?" Looking again, "Your posture says you feel burdened, to care for me I assume, so you may go."
Hearing a ring down below, John growls under his breath, "Missed something again Sherlock."
The detective's mind is suddenly ablaze with deductions: John is angry at being interrupted, to the point of animalistic behaviors, they hear Mary's chatter with Mrs. Hudson and Sherlock watches his friend's eyes narrow in irritation, so he's especially annoyed with Mary's presence, he sees a stiff reluctance in John as though he's waiting to be taken home like an angry recalcitrant child.
As the woman's steps progress up the stairs Sherlock gives a 'Van Gogh's worthy 'oh', "You are burdened, but not to care for me, but to her!" The last delivered with a toss of his wrist to point at Mary standing in the doorframe trying her best not to look as though she wants to take them to task for hiding out in 221B.
Instead she crosses to 'the client chair' pulls it out and sits down carefully, looks up to John who is carefully walking over to sit down. The room is quiet for a long time as everyone seems to be wondering where in the conversation they are going to start. For once Sherlock is beat to the punch by John, "I'm moving back in with Sherlock and I want a divorce as soon as possible."
Seeing Mary flinch and inhale as though to counter his words John rushes on. "No you can not change my mind, I did love you, but" he pulls out the flash drive and lobs it into her lap, "I really don't anymore. That on top of you lying to me about the parentage of your baby is too much Mary." Turning his head down and towards Sherlock, he holds a hand out as if to stop her from talking over him. "But really it is better this way, Mary. I never would have taken the time to get to know you if Sherlock hadn't of disappeared for so long. So I'm quite sure we'd not last with him around again, even if we were without these issues."
Gathering herself and the flash drive up, Mary looks almost everywhere but AT John and Sherlock, "I'm sorry things went this way, I love you so much, how can you give up on us?"
John, looking away from Sherlock's gaping expression of shock, "Then why are you carrying someone else's baby?" Sending the shock into confusion as icy green eyes blink shut in an effort to make the universe make sense again.
When, several minutes later, Sherlock opens his eyes again, he sees what he heard, namely Mary (beginning to sob) has left the flat and John is watching her leave through the window by the sofa.
"Why John? How did you know about the baby? Why did you send her away?" He watches as his best friend's jaw clenches tightly shut then loosens as he pulls the wedding ring from his finger and pockets it. Almost immediately he seems lighter, almost cavalier, and suddenly as he's looking at Sherlock his old monicker comes to mind, 'Three Continents Watson.'
Sherlock is struck with the oddity of that nickname. Who in this day and age would happily and frequently take to the baser instincts of sex for comfort, regardless of the worry about illness and disease, let alone accidental pregnancy, regardless of prophylactics; especially when that person is a doctor as good as John! Sherlock knows he has had many sexual partners, even in the time they roomed together, John was a bit of a casanova, but now Sherlock wants to know exact numbers. He carefully scans his friend again as a number buzzes steadily upward in his mind, Sherlock is shocked to think his friend must have had hundreds of sexual partners.
No that can not be right, "John, tell me how many sexual partners you have had, quickly now, I'm testing a hypothesis."
A quick shake of the head no as his arms come up to cross protectively over his chest, "No Sherlock, I couldn't tell you if I wanted to and I don't want to!"
The detective's eyes widen as he takes in the shifting from foot-to-foot tell of an embarrassed man and jumping to the conclusion for it, "You don't know!" his low voice rising in pitch with each repetition, "you don't know, do you?! You have had so many one night stands that you can not calculate the number!?"
John drops his arms down in mock irritation and stalks over to his chair to sit down. Sherlock just stares at him, "John the chances of accidental pregnancy once you crest a hundred are a certainty..." he breaks off as he notes a confident note in John's smile. 'He knows he can ignore the statistics...'
Leaning suddenly forward he pins John there, looking into his eyes, searching for sadness or anger. Finding none he continues, "Your sterile." John blushes slightly, "I've had an active lifestyle Sherlock. I have generally had a partner to spend the night with at least once a week for the entirety of my four plus years in the military, almost nightly on leave and yes it wasn't always women. I did not develop a relationship with any of them, thus I was nicknamed 'Three Continents Watson.' When I was twelve my parents sat me down and explained that I couldn't have kids the way other boys did. That me penetrating a girl and ejaculating would come to naught. It was a defect I carried from birth. In the vernacular, I shoot blanks."
As though horrified he forced this confession from his friend Sherlock reaches a hand out to his knee to comfort him. "Why did you allow the fiction of the child being yours then?"
His face a picture of frustration, pinched and sad, "I got caught up simply, you were so proud of your deduction of her symptoms, and Mary was so happy about it that I played along. I knew she hadn't seen the bloke again, so I didn't care... Till now."
Tossing his head in frustration, "But John, she did it all because she loves you, to keep you safe from all of this..." John interrupts him, dropping his hand heavily upon his own knee squeezing the hand Sherlock had left there.
"I know you see this as some sort of parallel for you faking your death and running off for so long, but it isn't. I know you feel that: if you can prove she loves me, it proves that you did what you did for me, as apposed to just because you wanted to be the cleaver man. But that is NOT how it works Sherlock. I loved her and was married to her. I knew she had had sex with another man and it didn't matter one whit. Till she shot you."
Worry at something unguarded possibly escaping knotting in his stomach Sherlock clenches John's hand tight. "But that's just it! She didn't have a choice, she had to make it look like we weren't working together to get to Magnusen, or he would move against us all. Nor did she want you implicated in his murder! She also didn't know what you would do if she shot the man, from her point of view there was no other option."
John's expression softens a bit, the tension leaving his brow as he looks at Sherlock with fondness, "Yes there is Sherlock. She could have knocked Magnusen out first and then wounded you, or talked to you about the whole issue. She is a crack shot, I'd rather not try to best her in the range, yes. But she didn't need to shoot you!" John's second hand lands solidly on the firmly clasped hands, "I will never forgive her for that Sherlock, never. So let's leave it, yeah?"
Once again kind of blankly staring at their clasped hands, registering the heat of John's two hands bleeding into his flesh. "Okay, yes John, that's fine then."