Cold as the East Wind

by Bitcheesquared

John's reaction on the tarmac before he leaves for his mission is the final straw for Sherlock and it might just change everything for both our heroes.

John trudged up the stairs to his flat; his body weary from another seemingly endless day at the surgery and yet another week of sleepless nights.

Opening the door with his key his only thought was of the drink he badly wants and the five minutes of downtime that he's unlikely to get.

Julia is six months old and John can't honestly remember the last time he got a full night's sleep.

It's been not quite nine months since he made the decision to forgive Mary and take her back; nine long months of raging arguments and tension and the intermittent boredom of his ordinary life.

The baby never seems to stop crying when he's home and Mary seems to blame him for that as well.

Regardless of her once purported love and her supposed willingness to make things work, she never did let go of the fact that John had chosen to stay with Sherlock as long as he did. And no matter how many times they argued back then, she was still unapologetic about shooting his former best friend.

Oh she'd said she's sorry in the beginning, but it always seemed to come with a disclaimer; as though it was Sherlock's fault that he got shot, or that it was John's for choosing not to see who she really was. She had made it more than clear that even though John didn't want to know about her past; it didn't change the fact that she had one. Nor did it change the fact that she felt like she had no other option that night.
And as John has learned over the last nine months; Mary's lack of conscience when it comes to Sherlocks shooting, was only the tip of a much darker and larger iceberg.

Even back then when he'd first returned he'd thought it was all a load of complete bullshit, no matter what Sherlock may have said in her defense.

Still, he'd made vows and there was the baby to think of, so John had done what he'd resolved to do and made the best of it.

Unfortunately the best is utter shite and has been since Sherlock got off the plane from his aborted trip to Serbia.

But none of that matters now any way. That was the life he chose; when he chose to stay with the woman who shot the only other person he'd ever loved. It was after all exactly what he deserved.

However, even John's ability for self recrimination and loathing was apparently finite and is (hopefully) now rapidly nearing its end. If everything goes to plan this might actually be his last week in this wretched marriage. Still, that doesn't stop the memories of exactly why he's in this position from coming. Or the pain that he constantly lives with because of them.

He thinks back to the day; that last day before his life truly went to total shit and like a thousand other times he fails to understand how he could have gotten everything so badly and completely wrong.

He had barely spoken to Sherlock at the airport before Mycroft had swooped in and whisked the younger man away and it had been half a dozen extremely tense days before he'd gotten a reply to his numerous texts asking Sherlock what the hell was going on.

Sherlock had eventually agreed to meet him to fill him in and John had gone with bated breath and more than a little excitement. To be completely truthful it had reminded him of the good old days and everything he still missed living with Mary.

He remembers at the time thinking that it was yet another reason why he'd thought Sherlocks explanation of John's unconscious attraction to Mary was complete rubbish.

It had been barely two days after they had gotten back together before he realized he was pretty damn sure that whatever she might have been, it wasn't her past leaking through that he'd found attractive. Just the thought of her being capable of pulling a gun on Sherlock had had his skin crawling and even with his decision, he still hadn't known how he was going to bring himself to touch her intimately. He couldn't even kiss her on Christmas day when he'd taken her back; all he could think about every time she came near him, was how many other times had she shot someone for her own purposes and whether she'd felt any remorse at all.

So he'd only felt intense relief going to meet Sherlock that day. Relief to finally find out what was going on and even more to get away from the oppressive atmosphere of his and Mary's flat. He'd also been looking forward to spending time with his best friend, who he'd been rather worried about ever since the whole Magnussen ordeal.

He hadn't questioned why Sherlock had asked to meet him in a cafe rather than at Baker Street. Hadn't even wondered why Sherlock looked so grim when he'd sat down at the table across from his friend. So it had come as a rather large shock when Sherlock had informed him that Moriarty's return was all a ruse to get Sherlock out of the Serbian mission and that Mycroft had set it all up.

It wasn't until he'd said he was glad that it hadn't been Moriarty after all, that he'd finally realized that there was something amiss with Sherlock; that he'd somehow overlooked something important somewhere along the line.

Sherlock had looked at John in a way he'd never looked at him before and John had been shocked to recognize it as disgust.

When he'd asked Sherlock what was wrong, he'd gotten his third shock of the day, though it wasn't to be his last.

Sherlock had informed him that the mission that John had failed to ask about or even mention; the one that Mycroft had very handily got him out of, was apparently supposed to be one that Sherlock could not have possibly survived.

John barely had a chance to absorb that distressing piece of information before he'd then gone on to ask if John really was that stupid. If it had even occurred to John that killing someone in plain view of half a dozen witnesses might incur more than a slap on the wrist; a slap in the form of a mission that any of the more qualified MI5 agents could have taken. Of course he hadn't been coming back; that was the whole point. He'd spat derisively.

John didn't know what to say; he was still stuck on the fact that if it wasn't for Mycroft, Sherlock would have flown off and John would have never seen him again.

Sherlock seem to take his silence as some sort of confirmation of whatever else he'd been thinking, because the next thing John knew he was seeing a side of Sherlock Holmes that he'd only ever seen directed at others.

He was scathing and contemptuous as he proceeded to tell John that he felt quite justified in ending their association and their friendship forthwith.

He went on to say that it was now apparent that he had fallen prey to his own bout of sentiment in ever thinking that John had cared even half as much for Sherlock as he had for him. That it was obvious that John's deeply repressed feelings of inadequacy and his latent bisexuality had been the only reason John had been so eager to follow along in his wake. That his supposed friendship was more about John's need to feel like he still had some sort of purpose after being invalided home from Afghanistan, rather than any actual respect for Sherlock. And that Sherlock was disgusted with himself that he had been so ready to believe that John actually cared about Sherlock as a person.

John had been both infuriated and devastated by his friend's harsh words and nearly speechless with rage at his insinuation that John's willingness to share a flat with Sherlock; was only because he secretly wanted to bed the man.

Unfortunately Sherlock hadn't just left it at that. Oh no.

Sherlock then informed him that he might as well know, since he was too much of an emotional coward to ever see it himself, that not only had Sherlock jumped off a building to save John's life, but he had also done everything in his power to give John what he thought he wanted by protecting the woman that had not only shot Sherlock, but had in fact been the actual sniper responsible for Sherlock's jump in the first place.

Stunned at that revelation John had reeled under Sherlock's next admission, that that it was only after he had shot Magnussen and been about to leave for his 'trip ' to Serbia that he had finally seen what Mycroft had been trying to tell him ever since he'd returned home after the fall.

Now speechless for different reasons altogether, John had been devastated by the sheer vitriol in Sherlocks next words.

Apparently as far as Sherlock was concerned John Watson didn't care about Sherlock Holmes. John Watson saw him as a friend and no more because John Watson wasn't capable of seeing beyond his own narrow view of the world. And in that world Sherlock Holmes was an asexual creature that lived only for his next case and the praise of his one and only friend. And the worst part of the whole thing; was that according to Sherlock it was apparently the way John wanted it.

Sherlock would never be more than the brilliant best friend that John could get his adrenalin rush from; the man that would always have his back even if it meant destroying his life and health to do it, because to admit that Sherlock actually had real emotions would be unthinkable .

He then allowed that John would probably have once done the same for him, but that was back when Sherlock had been the only thing that had kept him interested in living. He added; that he should have seen that John no longer needed Sherlock as an emotional crutch when he'd chosen to return to his lying assassin of a wife.

As devastating as all that had been, it had been Sherlock's final parting shot that had put the last nail in the friendship.

He admitted that he'd actively encouraged John to go back to her, because he'd loved John so much that the only thing he'd wanted for him was for John to be happy; that John's happiness was more important to Sherlock than his own, because he'd believed deep down that John would only have done the same for him.

He had truly believed that John had loved him and that he just wasn't aware that his love for Sherlock was the sort of love that if it had been given half a chance, could have been more than simple friendship. He'd accepted that, as he'd accepted that the time for that possibility had passed with Sherlock's faked death and John's marriage to Mary.

He's scoffed at himself when he said the words and there were actual tears in his eyes as he met John's. But he acknowledged that he had finally realized just how wrong he'd been, when John had very obviously shied away from his attempt to tell John the truth about his feelings on the tarmac. That he'd seen the look of relief in John's eyes, when Sherlock had changed his mind and turned his final admittance into a joke; rather than admit to the feelings that he now belatedly realized John didn't want to acknowledge. That it wasn't that John didn't realize that the tension between them had always been due to their deeper feelings, it was that John didn't want them to exist at all.

He said it was then that he'd realized how stupid he'd been to believe that John cared in any way that was comparable to the way Sherlock had cared for him. And that he no longer wished to be any part of John's life. That in fact; being in John's life could and had only proved to be ultimately toxic to his own.

His final words to him as he's left that day had haunted John ever since.

He'd stood up from the table, straightened his coat adjusted his scarf and taken one last hard look at John's furious face and thanked him.

Loving you may have been the single most painful experience of my life John Watson, but at least now I can be relatively sure that I can love... and regardless of what my brother believes, for that alone I must thank you. I wish you and Mary joy of each other. Goodbye.

And with those words he turned and left both the cafe and John's life.

John had sat stunned at the table for a good half an hour. He still didn't completely understand what the hell had just happened and he sure as hell didn't know what to do about it. He was also rather shocked that he'd sat through everything Sherlock had said, without saying a word to refute the other mans accusations.

He'd just been so absolutely speechless with anger; or that's what he tried to tell himself as he stared down at the barely touched drink that he was still clutching.

He was still trying to get his head around it all, when Mycroft Holmes slipped into the seat that his brother had so recently vacated.

His, what the fuck are you doing here, had elicited little more than a brow lift and John had found himself doing his very best not to reach across the table and punch the other man.

Raised brow aside, Mycroft had never the less been extremely straight forward with his own words.

He had informed John that he was to under no circumstance to contact his brother and that as of ten minutes ago Sherlock's number would be blocked so he needn't bother even trying. He also advised him that the locks had been changed at Baker Street and Mrs Hudson had been alerted to the fact that if she allowed John entrance, then Sherlock would move out post haste.

As far as Mycroft Holmes was concerned, John had done all the damage he was ever going to do to Sherlock and he added that if he had any residual respect and compassion for the man, then he would leave Sherlock to get on with his life.

When John tried to argue the fact that it wasn't Mycroft's place to decide that for Sherlock, Mycroft had stilled and given John the first glimpse he'd truly seen of the real Mycroft Holmes and the true reason he practically ran the country.

He'd calmly explained to John, that should he continue to pursue any sort of relationship with his brother that Mary Watson would be brought up on charges for the shooting of Sherlock Holmes and John would find himself in the position of single parent quicker than Sherlock could solve a case.

When John had asked why he was doing this, Mycroft's expression had been both scathing and colder than any he'd ever seen on the other man's face and John had actively flinched at the others explanation.

That was the last time he'd seen or heard from either of them.

Nearly nine months later John still couldn't believe he'd been so fucking blind.

If he was to believe Mycroft, Sherlock had been in love with John and everything he'd done since jumping from Bart's right up to shooting Magnussen, had been because he loved John more that he valued his own life. Even his apparent drug lapse for the case had more to do with his devastation over John's marriage, than his need to give Magnussen leverage.

Mycroft had ripped the veils away from his eyes and suddenly John had seen every one of Sherlock's actions in a whole new light.

According to Mycroft the man who had once described himself as a high functioning sociopath, had been tortured and beaten to within an inch of his life to protect the people he cared about and the one he cared the most for had, on his triumphant return home, attacked and punched him, even as he was still healing from that same ordeal.

Mycroft had gone on to say that he had never understood what Sherlock saw in such an ordinary little man and he'd long been sure that it could only end badly for his brother, but he'd thought at the very least that John had valued his friendship with Sherlock.

Apparently; Mycroft had been as mistaken in that belief as Sherlock had been in John's love for him.

He'd then gone on to compare John to Sherlocks former drug addiction and had informed John that just like with that addiction, he would not allow his brother to continue along what had obviously become a self destructive path.

He'd said that he understood that at the moment Sherlock was hurt and reeling from his recent realization that John was not the person he'd thought him to be, but he knew his brother well enough to know that he could well relent at a later stage and allow John back into his life.

Mycroft made it very clear that that would not be allowed to happen.

John had gotten what he wanted when he married Mary and as far as Mycroft Holmes was concerned, it was exactly what he deserved.

His last look at John had been one of true pity, his final words chilling.

"I hope for your sake Doctor Watson that you never realize just what you've lost. My brother may be many things, but I do know him well enough to say this much. Being loved by Sherlock was a gift and a privilege, one that you threw away because you were too unintelligent to know better. In this life we seldom find someone who has the capacity to love the way Sherlock does and I truly pity that you will never know what that might have been like. Enjoy your life John Watson... I pray it will be worth what you have lost this day."

All these months later, John still remembered how those words had cut. Something in the region of his chest had actually clenched as Mycroft left the cafe and it still ached all these months later.

Though it was par for the course that with his total lack of hindsight, that he wasn't to learn exactly why that was until he'd taken a walk through Regents Park three weeks ago.

Mary and he had had one of their usual fights: John didn't even remember what had started it this time; he just knew that he needed to get out of the flat and as far away from her as possible.

Long before then, John had realized he'd made a huge mistake taking Mary back. Most days the only thing that kept him there was his duty to Julia and guilt over what he'd done to his best friend because of that choice. Any residual feelings he'd had for the woman he'd married, had died the day he'd come home from his meeting with Sherlock and realized exactly what she had cost him.

There would be no more chases through the London streets and no more laughter over Chinese. He'd never get to giggle with his best friend at a crime scene while making fun of Anderson's new haircut, or the current state of Sally Donovan's knees. He'd never again fight Sherlock for the last of Mrs Hudson's biscuits, or patch Sherlock up because he hadn't seen the barbed wire until it was too late.
He'd traded the life he truly loved, for a life of duty and boredom; the friendship of the best man he knew, for the love of a woman that didn't exist.

And in his more honest moments he knew he had no one but himself to blame.

By the time the baby was born he'd known his marriage to Mary was more than just a mistake, it was a trap and one he couldn't see a way out of.

He couldn't stand to look at her and barely ever touched her. And even the fact that he knew she was most likely having an affair was more of a relief than anything else. At least if she was getting it from somebody not him, he was off the hook. The few times he had managed to fuck her; back when they were both still pretending that everything would be fine, it had made him physically sick afterwards and no amount of hot water could scrub the away the soiled feeling touching her left behind.

They were married in name only these days and that was more than fine with him.

If it wasn't for Julia's existence and Mary's continuing threats he'd be long gone; marriage vows or not. Threats aside; Mary had also made it more than clear that if he left, it would be the last time he ever saw Julia and no matter how much he might have hated his wife, he couldn't do that to her.

He's seen how vindictive Mary could be now that the mask was off, he couldn't risk leaving a child to be brought up alone by her; especially not one that she already used as a bargaining chip whenever she wanted John's cooperation.

His life might be shit, but he was damned if he'd leave Julia to be brought up by a psychopath.

All these thoughts had been whirling in his head as he'd passed through the entrance to the park and he hadn't been paying much attention to anything other than his own anger as he'd turned on to the path that he'd walked so often when he lived at Baker street.

He'd been walking towards the bench that overlooked his favourite spot, when he'd heard a very familiar laugh.

The jolt of shocked joy when he'd recognized the voice as Sherlock's had him stopping in his tracks and the ache of longing he felt staggered him enough that his first impulse was to rush towards the man that he'd missed so much.

It was only the memory of that last day and the shame he still felt about what he'd done to his friend that stopped him.

John knew he should just walk away; he knew that Sherlock was very likely just around the bend and very probably sitting on the exact bench that John had been bound for. But just hearing the younger mans laughter had set up such an ache in his chest that he couldn't seem to make his feet move in the opposite direction.

And he very badly wanted to know what had made Sherlock laugh like that.

Sherlock had only ever laughed like that at home where only John had been there to witness the lighter side of the man. Yet it was definitely Sherlock's laugh.

Cursing himself as seven kinds of stupid, John edged into the bushes and made his way around to the far side of the open space where he knew Sherlock was sitting.

Moving as stealthily as he'd ever moved out on manoeuvres in his long gone army days, John moved to the edge of the clearing and carefully peered through the foliage that concealed him.

Sherlock was sitting on the bench as just as John had guessed, what he hadn't guessed was that he was not alone.

Sitting next to him was a man that John didn't know; a very attractive man and more importantly the strange man was holding Sherlock's hand.

The nagging pain in John's chest that he'd lived with all these months ceased as he immediately when numb with shock. Seconds later it returned with a vengeance, when the man holding Sherlocks hand pulled him into his arms and kissed him.

For nearly nine long months John had lived with the knowledge that he'd broken his best friends' heart, but the sight of Sherlock in another man's arms kissing in a way that John had seldom ever been kissed, obliterated every careful barrier he'd put up around his heart and mind.

For months he'd told himself that the grief he felt over the loss of Sherlock from his life was because he'd been stupidly blind to the other mans feelings and because of that he'd hurt someone he'd never wanted to hurt.

He'd known that whatever Sherlock had seen on his face that day on the tarmac it was not, no matter what Sherlock might have thought, because John had known of Sherlocks feelings and hadn't wanted to acknowledge them. Yes he'd known Sherlock was most likely going to say something of importance that day and yes John had flinched from that, but in actual fact he'd just wanted to avoid breaking down in front of Mary and Mycroft.

He'd never guessed that Sherlock was in love with him; no matter what anyone thought.

But even knowing all that, John had also been absolutely one hundred percent sure that he was straight and that the love he felt for Sherlock was platonic. Yes he'd loved him, possibly more than anyone else, at that point in his life. But he was not and had never been interested in anything more than their friendship. Because he was (as he'd repeatedly stated) not Gay.

Apparently that didn't change the fact that seeing Sherlock in a stranger's arms felt like someone was tearing his heart from his chest.

Watching Sherlock's hands creep up into the other mans hair was the single most painful thing he had ever experienced and it finally hit him; that the reason he felt this way was because regardless of his own self delusion, he was very much in love with Sherlock Holmes and he probably always had been.

Feeling like the voyeur he was and filled with the type of pain that he couldn't begin to process, John caught back a sob and slowly backed away from his hiding spot.

Christ. How could he have been so fucking blindly stupid? How had he missed the fact that he was in love with Sherlock?

He'd had everything he wanted right in front of him and he'd fucked it all up because he was so set on being everything his sister wasn't.

Every time he'd admired Sherlock's looks or caught himself staring longer than he should of, he'd told himself it was because Sherlock was the sort of person that you couldn't help but look at. He'd convinced himself that his feeling of possessiveness and jealousy with Irene and later with Janine were all about how innocent Sherlock was when it came to the carnal nature of desire. He'd told himself that his protectiveness was because Sherlock didn't have those types of feelings. That it was like he'd said that first night at Angelo's, that it wasn't his area.

Sherlock had been beautiful and sensual without even realizing it and it was only natural that John would notice; there was nothing wrong with admiring Sherlocks looks, it didn't mean he wanted him in that way, it was just that Sherlock was so extraordinary that even with as straight as John was he could still appreciate him; in much the same way as he would a piece of art or a magnificent animal. Finding someone attractive didn't mean you wanted to sleep with them.

Except apparently he had, he'd just been too nearsighted to see it.

Leaning up against a nearby tree John had tried to fight back the tears he could feel building; knowing that if he gave in now he would likely not stop. He had to get out of the park before Sherlock discovered him. He couldn't possibly survive having Sherlock deduce the fact that he'd been spying on him and he definitely couldn't bear to have Sherlock realize what his spying had wrought.

Even worse than that he didn't think he could live with the scorn he might see in the other's eyes, now that John had finally realized his true feelings for the detective.

There was no way he could stand to see Sherlock so happy with his lover when John felt like his heart was breaking and the thought of Sherlock finding him and possibly introducing the other man had John verging on panic.

In the end he had quietly slipped away and then knowing he couldn't possibly go back his and Mary's flat, he had booked himself into the nearest hotel and gone on a bender that lasted three days.

Ironically enough it was his sister that had tracked him down. How she'd found him he'd never know and he hadn't bothered to ask. She'd cleaned him up and listened to the whole sorry tale and then she'd sat him down and given him a dose of tough love that John could barely credit coming from his usually dysfunctional sister.

Eventually she'd convinced him that he had to go home and she'd even come up with a plan to help him with the whole Mary situation.

She'd told him it was time to man the fuck up and do something for Julia that didn't involve him staying with, quote: That fucking bitch that ruins everything she touches.

Two and a half weeks ago he'd put Harrys' plan in motion and now he just had to sit back and wait for it to all fall in to place.

The only part of the plan that he hadn't liked was the part that involved Mycroft Holmes and Greg Lestrade. Unfortunately, for the plan to work he'd needed the information that only Mycroft would have and he'd needed Lestrade to be the one to finalize it.

He'd spent a very tense two days waiting to see if Mycroft would even agree to enacting Harrys' plan. It wouldn't have surprised him one bit if Mycroft had refused. It was after all only what he deserved.

For eight months he'd convinced himself that he had no right to want anything more; that he'd made his bed and the only thing he could do was to lie in it.

It was only after seeing Sherlock in the park with the man that he undoubtedly loved that John finally admitted that he'd had enough. He'd lost Sherlock for good and no amount of self imposed penance in the form of his wife, could make up for the monumental cock up he'd made.

Julia was the only person he had left and he'd be damned if he'd sacrifice her happiness on the altar of his shame. Julia and he would be far better off without Mary in their lives and it was past due that he did something about it.

Why it had taken Harry to point out the obvious he still didn't know; he was just glad she had.

And knowing that Sherlock had found happiness with someone else, at the cost of his John's wilful blindness, was the final push that he'd needed.

He might have lost his chance to be truly happy, but punishing himself and Julia by proxy wasn't going to change anything. It was time to except his mistakes and to move on.

Jolted from his thoughts by the sound of Julia's crying John entered the flat and prepared to face his wife for what would hopefully be one of the last few times.

Three long hours later John finally got his drink and a chance to sit down.

Julia was asleep in het cot and Mary had gone out for the evening. Most likely to see her latest boyfriend rather than the book club she used as an excuse. Not that John cared.

He contented himself with the knowledge that his freedom could happen any day now. All he had to do was be calm and make sure that she didn't suspect. Fortunately he'd become rather adept at lying to his wife in the last nine months. He'd had to.

He'd only just settled in his chair with his book when the front door bell rang.

When he got up to answer it the last person he'd expected to see on his door step was Mycroft Holmes and for a moment John had actually been speechless with shock.

As Mycroft's eyes ran over him he couldn't help cringing at the expression on the others face.

John knew he looked terrible, he didn't need the others barely concealed shock to tell him that. He'd lost way too much weight over the last nine months and the tired lines and bags under his eyes made him look and feel like the old man he was rapidly becoming.

Gesturing for the other man to enter John moved to the kitchen and waited patiently to hear why Mycroft had come. Though he had a pretty good idea he knew what his visit was all about.

"Would you like tea or coffee Mycroft?" he enquired politely.

"I was having a drink myself but I can put the kettle on if you like."

Mycrofts' eyebrows rose at Johns' congenial tone, but his expression was closed off as he met Johns' eyes.

"No thank you Doctor Watson. I am merely here to let you know that as of seven o'clock this evening Mary Watson was taken into custody by detective Lestrade and charged with the attempted murder of my brother. She will undoubtedly be extradited to face charges in the US and several other countries as well, but for the moment we have a very solid case due to the evidence you so kindly collected for us. More than enough to be going on with I should think".

He sniffed disdainfully.

"It really was quite stupid of her to keep the gun she used to shoot Sherlock and a rather lucky happenstance that you knew just where to find it. If I may ask, what made you decide to finally turn the charming Mrs Watson in? Marital bliss not what you thought it would be hmmm?"

John sighed wearily at the other mans snide tone and reminded himself that it was only due to Mycroft that he was finally free.

"Not that it is any of your business, but the only reason I even went back to her in the first place was for Julia and as soon as I realized that she had no more real feeling for her child than she did for anyone else, I knew I'd done the right thing. Unfortunately, until very recently and for reasons I'm not going to go in to, I'd no idea how to extract myself without Julia being the one to suffer. And though I may be a lot of things Mycroft, I'm not the type of person that would abandon a child to someone as ruthless as Mary."

He looked down.

"No matter what you believe, my reasons for returning and staying in the marriage had everything to do with Julia and nothing to do with my wife. Whether you choose to believe that is up to you."

He looked back up and met Mycroft's intense gaze.

"Thank you for organizing all of this. I couldn't have done it without your cooperation and I know I'm the last person you would have wanted to help, so I really do appreciate everything you've done for me and Julia."

Mycroft's gaze narrowed with John's words but whatever might have been going on in that convoluted brain of his he chose to keep it too himself."

He nodded.

"Well in this particular instant I can honestly say you are most welcome. I will be sure to keep you updated on Mrs Watson's progress, but I rather think you have seen the last of her. Now I think that concludes our business, so I'll be off. I have a somewhat pressing situation in China that needs my attention."

He turned to go and John did the one thing he'd promised himself he wouldn't do.

"So he's happy then?"

"Pardon" Mycroft pinned him with a look.

"Sherlock? He's happy isn't he? I know I've no right to ask, but I saw him in the park a couple of weeks ago and he seemed to be happy".

"Why should my brothers' happiness concern you? More to the point why would you care?" Mycroft asked his tone sharp.

John swallowed hard at his question but he refused to flinch as he met the other man's scornful gaze.

"Because no matter what Sherlock or you may believe; I do want him to be happy. I may have fucked up my own life, but I never wanted to hurt him."

"Yes well maybe you should have thought about that before you broke his heart" snapped Mycroft.

John flinched and ran one hand through his hair before sighing heavily.

"Look Mycroft, no matter what you or Sherlock thought back then, I really had no idea that he had those sort of feelings for me... and if it makes you feel any better, I didn't even realize I felt the same way until very recently. He might have been right about a lot of things he said to me that day, but that was the one thing he did get wrong. I loved Sherlock then and I love him now and I'll have to live with it for the rest of my life... but I guarantee I honestly never knew he felt that way about me. And now I'll never know if it might have changed anything if I had." He sighed again.

"Just tell me that he's really happy... that he's doing all right and I promise I'll leave it at that, okay?"

"I really couldn't say" Mycroft offered in his haughtiest tone.

"As far as he lets on he seems to be content, but Sherlock is hardly likely to fill me in on every aspect of his life. He is working and not using and that is sufficient as far as I'm concerned. Now I really must go... farewell Doctor Watson, I'll let myself out".

Well what had he expected really? Mycroft wasn't likely to piss on him if he was on fire. The only reason he'd even helped with the whole Mary thing was because of her having shot Sherlock.

As far as Mycroft Holmes was concerned John had lost any right to ask about Sherlock the day he'd left John sitting in that horrible little cafe.

He sighed and went to lock the door for the night.

He'd made sure to take a fortnight off from work so he'd have time to start reorganizing his and Julia's life if he needed to, but he was much too wired from his conversation with Mycroft to think about making plans at the moment and even knowing that Julia would probably wake up several times during the night, he didn't think he'd be able to sleep just yet.

He knew he should be basking in the pleasure of having Mary out of his life, but he was much too depressed to even celebrate the end of his marriage.

The only thing he could think about was Sherlock; which was really nothing new, it was just seeing Mycroft had brought it all home to him again.

God. He'd really cocked up his life. And now all he could think about was Mycroft's expression as he'd asked about Sherlock.

He wondered what Sherlock was doing right now. Was he curled up on the couch at Baker Street or submerged in some fantastical case that Lestrade had given him, or maybe playing his violin as he gazed out the window of the flat.

Far more likely that he was in bed with his boyfriend, offered the nasty little inner voice that sounded a lot like his wife.

"Fuck".

And now he was imagining all the things he'd never dared to think about when he'd lived with Sherlock. And the absolute worst part; to help said imagination John now had a very vivid memory of just how Sherlock looked kissing the blond he had seen in the park.

It also didn't help that Sherlocks mystery man was tall and nearly as attractive as Sherlock. He was everything John could never be and quite obviously not ashamed to kiss Sherlock Holmes in a public park.

John just hoped that he knew how lucky he was. Unlike the ungrateful bastard that John had been. Sherlock deserved to have someone that would treat him like the amazing man that he was; someone that would be there for him even when he was being a
complete and utter git. He really did hope his friend was happy, but he supposed he'd lost even the right to worry.

Sighing heavily, John picked up his book and attempted to distract himself from his circular thoughts.

He'd read until he got sleepy and hopefully when he went to bed he could actually fall asleep for a couple of hours before Julia woke up to be fed. He had a busy day ahead of him tomorrow and a fair amount of stuff to pack for his move to Harry's , the last thing he should be doing is torturing himself with what if's and might have beens.

At least this time he had only himself to blame for his grief and he had the comfort of knowing that Sherlock was alive and out there living his life; rather than dead like he'd believed for those nightmare two years that he'd been gone.

He sighed again and settled down to find his place in his book.

Three hours later John was jerked awake from a very uncomfortable doze in his armchair to someone pounding on his front door.

His first thought was that Mary had somehow escaped custody and had made her way back to the flat. Even as unlikely as that was John still made sure to grab his gun before moving to answer the door.

When he looked through the peep hole he couldn't believe his eyes.

Sherlock Holmes was pounding on his door at one twenty three am and he looked absolutely furious.

John swallowed hard before putting his gun in the hall stand and carefully unlatching the door.

The moment the door was open Sherlock barged right in and John could only gape as he instantly turned to face John and kicked the door shut behind him.

"What the hell do you think you are playing at John?" demanded Sherlock his expression angrier than John could ever recall.

"How dare you involve Mycroft and Lestrade in your little domestic dispute? And why on earth does my brother think we need to talk?"

John stood shell-shocked as the taller man started to pace. His obvious agitation clear in every movement and expression.

"Um... well first up hello to you too. Secondly, if you mean the little domestic dispute that involved my wife being jailed earlier tonight... well I thought that would be quite obvious... and lastly I have no fucking idea why Mycroft told you that. He was barely here ten minutes."

John folded his arms and waited.

Sherlock glared at him and just as he was sure the taller man was about to let rip yet again, he was upstaged by Julia and her sudden demand to be fed.

"Hold that thought" he ordered. "Back in a tick".

John moved to the Kitchen and extracted a bottle from the fridge. He placed it in the warmer to heat and then headed for the bedroom.

Julia was crying like her heart was breaking and John very briefly felt a moment of guilt over the fact that thanks to him she was now essentially motherless.

Picking her up he shushed her gently as he laid her on the change table.

"There there my little love. Hush now dinners on the way."

Less than a minute later John had her clean and dry in a new nappy and was headed back to the kitchen with a considerably quieter baby.

Carefully testing the bottles temperature on the inside of his wrist, he couldn't help tensing as he felt Sherlock enter the kitchen behind him.

For long moments Sherlock didn't speak. His gaze sweeping over John as he did what Sherlock did best.

"John what the hell is going on? Frankly you look bloody terrible; you've lost at least three stone since I last saw you and the child you are holding is quite obviously not related to you. So perhaps you could do me the honour of explaining what you've been doing these last nine months that has got you looking so haggard?"

He scowled

"And whose child is that? I was told that you and Mary had a daughter. This child cannot possibly be her?"

John sighed.

"Sherlock meet Julia Watson. And yes as you've correctly deduced Julia is not actually my child. I rather thought the black hair was a bit of a giveaway myself but the brown eyes pretty much confirmed it, yeah."

Sherlocks mouth tightened.

"She was unfaithful to you? That appalling bitch cheated on you and you stayed with her still?"

He scowled before doing an abrupt about face and heading for the front door.

"Sherlock wait"

John quickly lay Julia down on her blanket on the lounge room floor and hurried after his former friend.

"Sherlock! For Christ sake hang on a minute will you."

John reached out and grabbed Sherlock's arm; Sherlock reacted by turning sharply and punching John in the face.

"Fuck!"

"Ow"

"What the hell was that for?" John snarled rubbing at his abused jaw.

Sherlock was cradling his hand and glaring at John as if he'd deliberately meant to damage Sherlocks hand with his face.

"Get out of my way John, I'm leaving."

"No you are bloody not... you are going to explain to me why after nine months you have barged into my flat at arse o'clock in the morning only to yell at me and then punch me in the face."

"I refuse to discuss this with you, now will you kindly get out of my way so I can go. "Sherlock snarled.

"Not fucking likely." growled John as he advanced on the taller man.

"You don't get to just assault me and storm out anymore. I'm not your bleeding flatmate or even your friend any longer, so you can go sit the fuck down in the lounge and explain to me what the hell you are thinking with that big brain of yours."

"Are you really sure you want to hear what I have to say?" Sherlock sneered.

"Because we both know how little you like to hear home truths, don't we John."

John's brow furrowed at the others words.

"Yeah, well you made it pretty clear what you thought of me the last time we spoke, so I think I'll survive." He replied in his mildest tone.

"Fine!" Sherlock spat.

Giving John a wide berth he strode back to the living room and lowered himself to the armchair that John had so recently vacated.

John shook his head and blinked.

What the actual fuck?

"Now please kindly explain what this is all about." John ordered.

Grabbing Julia's bottle from the sideboard he scooped her into his arms and gave it to her. All the while keeping a wary eye on Sherlock; knowing that he'd still be likely to bolt at the first opportunity.

There was no way he was letting Sherlock leave the flat until he found out just what the hell was going on.

Sherlock stared at him mutely. The expression on his face carefully controlled as he met John's gaze.

When he did finally start to speak it was with a question rather than the explanation that John wanted.

"Why are you not more upset that Mary has been taken into custody?"

John shrugged.

"Well considering that I arranged for it to happen in the first place it'd be a bit daft if I was upset now, wouldn't it.

Sherlock frowned.

"But why would you even do this John? It's obvious that you loved her enough to stay with her even after you found out the child wasn't yours. Why have her arrested at this late stage?"

John shook his head wearily and sank down on the couch with Julia still in his arms.

"Fine...I suppose there is no way of getting out of this conversation so I'm just gonna go ahead and say it."

He jiggled the feeding baby closer to his chest, and continued.

"I stopped loving Mary the night she put a bullet in your chest... Actually that's not quite accurate... I stopped thinking I was in love with her that night, if I ever really was." He looked down at the child in his arms and smiled wistfully.

"I was so angry with you when you came back that I was very determined I would never be in the position of letting you be the most important thing in my life again. I'd met Mary when I was still grieving and I suppose I rushed the relationship a little because at least when she was around I could forget about your death for a while."

He glanced up and met Sherlock's aloof gaze.

"I knew she wanted to get married and I knew that if I didn't take that step then it was possible she'd find someone else that wanted those things, so I thought why not. It wasn't like you were around to drag me on wild adventures; all that was over. So I brought a ring and nerved myself up to do it. Of course you came back before I had the chance and as angry as I still was with you, when Mary asked about the ring later I just went along with it."

Sherlock blinked, his mouth opening as if he was about to speak before snapping closed.

Encouraged by the somewhat confused look on the detective's face John took a deep breath and continued.

"So anyway... we got married because that's what you do when you buy someone a ring and you're doing your best to ignore the fact that you'd rather be with your best friend who faked his death for two years. Of course the whole thing went to hell the night she shot you. After that I could barely even stomach the thought of being in the same room as her let alone anything else."

His mouth twisted in a self depreciating smile, as he looked back down to the baby he held in his arms.

"That last day in the cafe... well it was an eye opener in more ways than one." He admitted.

"Going back to Mary was the hardest thing I'd ever done, but I kept telling myself that it was the right thing to do for the baby's sake. I knew that I didn't love her, not like I was supposed to, but you kept saying that she was what I wanted and that eventually I'd forgive her." He shot Sherlock a glare.

"Thanks for that by the way... don't know what that total load of utter bollocks was all about but tah. So anyway I went home and pretty much from the first night I knew it wasn't gonna work. Then the cafe thing with you happened and all I could think about was what a complete arsehole I'd been not see how much I'd been hurting you all along..."

"So what... you decided staying with a woman you no longer love and raising someone else's child was the thing to do?" cut in Sherlock sarcastically.

"Well... yes and no" John offered wryly.

Deliberately avoiding the other man's intent gaze, John removed the nearly empty bottle from Julia's slack mouth and placed it on the floor beside the couch. Levering her up onto his shoulder he rose from the couch. Still carefully avoiding Sherlock's eye he patted Julia's back gently to wind her and then turned to the bedroom to put her down.

Still not looking at Sherlock he paused in the doorway.

"Please don't leave".

Sherlock didn't say a thing as John left the room and John found himself torn between the desire to have Sherlock stay and his fear that if he did stay it could only hurt worse in the long run.

When he re-entered the room barely two minutes later Sherlock was still seated in John's chair, though he seemed even more on edge than he had been before John had left to put Julia to bed.

Sitting back down John ran both hands through his hair before looking up to face the other man.

"Right then... you want the truth... the whole sordid nasty story. Okay then".

John braced both elbows on his parted knees and looked down at the rug beneath his feet.

"After I left the cafe that day I did quite a lot of thinking. I'd already known as I said that the marriage wasn't going to work, but after everything you and Mycroft said to me that day I found myself looking at a lot of stuff about my life that I hadn't wanted to see before. First thing I admitted to was that nothing I had was worth losing your friendship, but also that you were right; I was toxic to you and you would be far better off without me hanging around. Second thing was that I should have never married Mary in the first place. That I'd convinced myself that I was in love with her rather than face the fact that the life I'd had with you was the only thing I'd ever really wanted. I realized that I'd used Mary as a shield against being hurt by you again and I only had myself to blame for the entire damn mess." He snuck a quick glance at Sherlock's expression before looking away again.

"Anyway none of that mattered because there was still the baby to think of and I'd already fucked up and lost you, so it didn't seem like it really mattered if I stayed or not at that point."

"But John... She's not even yours and you still stayed?" said Sherlock his tone bewildered.

"Yeah I was getting to that part" he sighed.

"So I stayed and tried to make the best of things for the baby's sake, but it was never gonna work Sherlock because I couldn't lie to myself and I'm an even worse liar when it comes to others... Mary specifically. It took her maybe a week to work out that I didn't want to be there and maybe a month more before she started showing her true colours." he offered wearily.

"By the time the baby was born she'd made it clear that if I tried to leave she'd make sure to finish what she started with you and when the baby arrived and I realized she wasn't even mine... well by then I knew full well just what she was capable of. Julia might not be my child but I couldn't leave Mary; not with her threats against you and the way she was with Julia."

Sherlock choked back a sound and John looked up and met his horrified gaze.

"She was a bloody awful mother Sherlock. She never even held her right from the start and barely paid her any attention unless she was crying so much that it annoyed her. Don't get me wrong, she would feed her and change her if she had to, but she really had no mothering instinct at all. She even admitted to me that the pregnancy was an accident and she'd only kept the kid because she thought it would keep me tied to her. I don't know how many blokes she slept with before we got married, but she was pretty annoyed when she realized that Julia's colouring was a dead giveaway that she couldn't possibly be mine. Didn't even need a DNA test, she admitted it straight up, but she said that she'd thought at the time that it was probably David's, her ex from the wedding, so she'd thought she could pass her off as mine."

John shook his head.

"By the time I realized what a cold bitch she was I knew I couldn't just walk out. I couldn't leave Julia with her and she'd made it crystal clear that all it would take was a DNA test to make sure I had no right to access. She might not be my baby but I couldn't just leave her with Mary. And really what did it matter... you were gone and my fucked up situation was my own fault. So I decided to just get on with it yeah."

Sherlock sat forward on his chair.

"But something changed... it must have. Lestrade arrested her tonight and you said you were the one who organized it. So why... what changed your mind?

John's eyes dropped and he looked away. He rubbed the back of his neck and cleared his throat.

"Dunno really... I'd just reached a really low point in my life and I went on this really bad bender" he offered evasively. "Then Harry tracked me down and sobered me up and told me I had to get out. She's the one who told me I should just go ahead and have Mary arrested; That I wasn't helping Julia or myself staying in such an emotionally abusive relationship." He snorted.

"Bloody weird coming from Harry of all people but yeah... I listened and then called your brother and asked him if the threat he'd made was still doable."

"What threat?" asked Sherlock his tone sharp.

"Oh you know... that day in the cafe when he told me to stay away or he'd have her jailed for shooting you."

"He bloody What!"

Sherlock looked furious and John was taken aback by it.

"I thought you knew... he came in not long after you left."

Sherlock shot to hit feet and started to pace.

John sat on the couch and watched him warily. Not understanding why the other man seemed so angry at John's explanation.

When Sherlock whirled to face him John was alarmed to see the look of confused pain on the others face.

"What else did my brother say to you John?"

John ran his hands over his face and tried to get his thoughts in order. He wasn't sure if he should tell Sherlock what had been said that day... at least not the part about Sherlock having been in love with John. He'd already hurt the younger man more than enough and though his feelings had been implied in his speech to John, he rather thought Sherlock would be horrified to know that his brother had so effectively outed him.

"Look Sherlock, it doesn't matter what Mycroft said or didn't say... that was ages ago." He offered, trying to seem unbothered while giving his former friend an out.

"Anyway he was right to threaten me with Mary's arrest, not that it was the reason I stayed away. He'd said a few things that I happened to agree with when I'd had time to think about them and that's all you need to know as far as that goes. Now... why are you here? Did you just come by to ask me about Mary's arrest? Or was there something else you wanted?"

He stood up from the couch. Suddenly deciding that he couldn't deal with the agony of being close to Sherlock when he knew that Sherlock no longer cared in that way, he moved towards the kitchen.

"I'm putting the kettle on for tea, do you want one?" he asked stalling for time. He knew any second now Sherlock would say what he'd come to say and then he'd be gone again and even with the pain the others presence brought, John wanted just a few more minutes of being with the man he still loved.

"No I do not want bloody tea".

Sherlock strode forward well into John's personal space.

"What I want to know is if the reason you refrained from contacting me was because my brother threatened your wife, or if in fact it was because of my unwanted affections for you?"

He stilled and pinned John under his intent gaze.

"God Sherlock! What the fuck does it matter. You told me yourself that you didn't want me around. I believe the word you used was toxic. I just thought it was better to leave it. I'd obviously done enough damage with my friendship. And you should know me well enough to know that Mycroft Holmes doesn't scare me." He huffed looking away from the other man.

"Look... I hurt you and I didn't mean to, but there was no way you would have believed anything I said back then and by the time I'd thought it all through I realized that you and Mycroft were right about one thing... I didn't deserve to have your love... let alone you friendship." He looked back up into Sherlock's startled features.

"Can't you just leave it alone please? I knew Mary had kept the gun so I brought a duplicate and then I swapped it out and gave the gun to Mycroft. I just wanted to get both Julia and I out of it. I hated that bloody bitch so much that if Harry hadn't picked up on the threat Mycroft made when I spilled my guts to her, I probably would have ended up snapping and shooting her myself one of these days. I wish I'd never met her... never mind marrying her... she's cost me fucking everything."

John gasped and quickly turned from his former friend.

Shit.

He'd forgotten who he was talking too. Sherlock had always read him like a book and here he was practically drawing him a diagram.

"John?"

John steeled his nerves and turned back to face Sherlock.

Sherlock looked puzzled and a little worried but that light bulb expression that John had half expected to see was not there.

Staring into his friends perplexed gaze it suddenly occurred to John that Sherlock actually did have the right to know the full truth. That John was being what Sherlock had once rightly accused him of being; an emotional coward.

He also realized that if he told Sherlock the truth, then at least Sherlock would know that John had actually loved him and had really just been as thick as Sherlock had always accused him of being.

It would also have the added advantage of releasing some of the guilt he'd felt over hurting his friend if Sherlock was the one that got to tell him that he was sorry but he had moved on.

So John decided in that instant to finally do what his sister had suggested all those weeks ago.

He was gonna man up and come clean.

"Right I can do this" he muttered.

Pulling the kettle off the hob John reached for the scotch in the top cupboard and poured himself a hefty shot.

"Okay... I'm going to speak now and I need you to not say a word until I finish... Okay?"

Sherlock frowned at his words but he nodded his acquiescence.

"Right here goes..." he swallowed a gulp of his drink.

"That day in the cafe you could have knocked me over with a feather. I had no idea you felt that way about me and the thing at the plane that you think you saw... well it was because I was doing my best not to break down in front of your brother and my bloody wife, not for the reason you thought."

When Sherlock opened his mouth as though to speak; John shushed him before he could ask whatever question it was that he could see in Sherlocks eyes. He needed to get this out without interruptions or he was going to bottle out of the whole bloody thing.

"Fuck!" he rubbed one hand across his face and took another drink.

"I have only ever truly loved one person in my life and that person has and always will be you. Until three weeks ago I had also managed to fool myself into believing that what I felt for you was purely platonic and even though I knew you meant more to me than Mary I was too stupid to realize it was because I loved you in a totally non friend way as well. I was so fucking blind that I married Mary because I was scared of how much I'd grieved when I lost you after you jumped from Barts. And just for the record... I had no idea that you could feel that way about me... why would I. I'm just a tired old soldier and your you... You could have anyone if you wanted. I never even thought about us in that way... probably because I already loved you enough as a friend that subconsciously I was scared that falling in love with you would only destroy everything we had if you had worked it out. I've also never in my life, no matter what you believe, been attracted to another man, but saying that it still didn't stop me from fall head over heels for you."

He took another gulp of his drink and drained the glass.

"Three weeks ago I was in Regents Park and I saw you...well I saw you kissing some bloke and I fucking near died. It took seeing you in some other tossers arms for me to actually finally get it... but boy did I get it. I'm in love with you Sherlock and it's only fair that you know that you were perfectly right with what you said that day. Well except for the part about me rejecting you because I knew how you felt" he added "that part was a load of old bollocks. I had no bloody idea about myself let alone you. I know that I fucked everything up and I can't change what happened, but I just wanted you to know how I feel. I only stayed with Mary because I didn't know what else to do... not with all her threats, but after seeing you that day I finally decided I'd had enough of punishing myself. I guess I figured having lost you completely was the final straw." His mouth twisted derisively.

"Well actually first I left the park and got shit faced for three days and then Harry came and found me. After that I sobered up and you know the rest". He finished reaching for the bottle.

When he glanced back up from getting his drink Sherlock was frozen in position. His expression was very reminiscent of the day John had asked him to be his best man and John couldn't help the fond little smile as he watched Sherlock as he very obviously decamped off into his mind palace to process John's words.

Two minutes later Sherlock blinked and came back.

Five seconds after that John Watson got the shock of his life when Sherlock Holmes stepped forward and kissed him like he'd never been kissed in before his life.

His head was reeling and his dick was hard by the time Sherlock relented and pulled away.

"John Watson you are an idiot"

Sherlock beamed down at him and swooped in again to take John's mouth, in if it was possible, an even more enthusiastic kiss.

For several minutes that felt like hours to John he was lost in the sheer delightful feeling of having a very aroused and passionate Sherlock plastered to every inch of his body.

It was only as he felt Sherlock's hand at the zip on his trousers that John came back to his senses.

"Wait... Ah... Oh God." He gasped "Sherlock stop."

Sherlock's hand withdrew and John actually whimpered.

"Are you sure you want me to stop?" asked Sherlock with a pointed and knowing glance in the direction of John's pants.

"No... ah yes oh God... Sherlock what the hell? What about your boyfriend?"

Sherlock smirked.

"You see but do not observe John. If you had stayed a little longer that day you would have seen Lestrade arrive and arrest the man you had seen me so ardently kissing. The kiss was a ruse to pick his pocket, nothing more. It was a case John not a love affair."

John gaped.

"But you... well you looked well into it. I well... I thought you didn't do that sort of stuff... not your area and all that?"

Sherlock sighed.

"I also said sex did not alarm me John... I may have not been interested in Victor but I still do know how seduction works. As a matter of fact I had known Victor since University and it made it quite easy to convince him I was interested in pursuing a more carnal relationship."

"I'll just be it did." John growled frowning at the taller man.

Sherlock huffed out a laugh before pulling John close again.

"If it makes you feel better, I was thinking of you the whole time John Watson." he blushed as he met John's annoyed gaze.

"You are the only person that I have ever wanted in that way and you are still the only one I want". He confessed shyly.

"Really? You mean that?"

Sherlock sighed heavily.

"Yes John I mean it. Why else do you think I rushed over here when I heard about Mary? Imagine my surprise when I got here and discovered it was you that had had her locked away."

He smiled but it was tinged with sadness as he studied John's face.

"I've spent the last eight months cursing myself for being such an emotional fool that day in the cafe. I let sentiment rule my better sense and my brothers' words colour my decisions. But by the time I had cooled down and come to my senses I realized that I had most likely burnt my bridges, so to speak. When you failed to contact me I was of course devastated, but after my behaviour I felt it was only just. I attacked your integrity and your friendship for me and I embarrassed both of us with my unwanted feelings... or so I believed at the time. I resolved to finally let you have peace in your life so I stayed away."

His arms tightened around John.

"Well fuck!"

"Hmmm most likely." Sherlock purred nuzzling John's ear.

John shivered.

"So then you love me and I love you and that's it... all is forgiven?"

"Seems about right to me... don't you agree?" Sherlock offered, his mouth moving to John's throat.

John tilted his head into the kiss and considered.

"Right then... I'm good." He agreed pulling the taller man closer.

"Indeed you are John... indeed you are."

When Julia Watson woke up for her bottle four hours later it was to a very very tired and extremely happy John. Fortunately she was much too young to wonder why her daddy was being accompanied by a man wearing a sheet and little else.

And by the time she was old enough to care...

Well according to her best friend Kerry Matheson all parents were weird like that. It was just part of being an icky adult or so her friend said. And well truthfully, she thought with a very Sherlock type shrug, she was pretty used to having the weirdest ones on the block anyway.

The end.