Future Tense

by J. Baillier

Chapter 2/3

I ASSUME MY BROTHER IS WITH YOU? MH

IF YOU REFER TO THE MENACE IN THE BACKSEAT THEN YES. JW

"Did you have to choose such a small car?"

"That's all I could manage on my Visa. And I had no idea you'd stepped into a bloody rabbithole and gotten your leg broken."

"You should have said. I could have given you Mycroft's Mastercard."

"Of course you would have Mycroft's Mastercard. What was I thinking. Still, if you didn't want him knowing what you were up to, using his card might not have been a good idea."

"Point taken. I don't get why they had to give me this ridiculously long cast."

"It has to cover the next joints on both sides of the fracture. How's the pain?"

"Manageable. I remember fractured ribs being a lot more painful."

"But you don't remember me convincing them to give you a local anesthestic since we have a long drive?"

"I must've been so happy to see you I was distracted."

John glances at him in the rearview mirror. "That grin is creepy, Sherlock."

"If we're so eternally tied to each other, why'd you let me marry Mary, then?"

"You wanted to."

"How is that a good reason?"

"I like giving you things you want. I like seeing you happy."

"That's awfully sentimental of you."

"I've told you repeatedly I dislike sentimentality. I never claimed I was incapable of it. Mary has known right from day one. When I returned, I mean. Honestly, John, considering the high regard you claim to have for womenfolk, you don't give them much credit. Look at it this way, John: how many women did you scare off first dates because you kept talking about me too much before you met her and she actually stayed and listened?"

"It's not fair. It's not fair to her."

"She doesn't seem to mind. She said yes, didn't she? It'd be hard for her to find someone because her true nature would be bubbling through every once in awhile. She found a bargain, really. She's a reasonable person, she can compromise. You can do whatever you want with her, I don't mind."

"Of course you mind. If you're saying what I think you're saying in that roundabout, insulting way of yours, then what would prevent you from getting jealous?"

"The fact that I know that if push comes to shove you will always, always, choose me. I will admit, however, that I think it's sickening how much you're in love with the idea of being a normal, responsible family man."

"Are you saying I'm a bad husband? A bad father?"

"You can be many things. I think you will be a terrific father and husband-wise a lot of women could do a lot worse."

"So?"

"Just admit it. Just admit you're attracted to me. Intellectually, sexually, take your pick."

"Fucking hell, Sherlock."

"That a yes, then?"

"Maybe. Yes. I don't know.

"I need you to stop the car. I need to piss."

John hits the breaks a little harder than necessary. It's dark and raining so he kills the engine but leaves the lights on. Sherlock opens the door but doesn't make a move.

John drums his fingers on the steering wheel, slightly irritated.

Sherlock raises his brows. "Well?" he prompts.

"Well what?" John glances at him from the front seat.

Sherlock looks like he's about to swallow a bitter pill. "I need you to help me out. Getting in was easier but I don't think I can edge myself out without falling into the mud."

While John gets out of the car Sherlock's phone chimes. He looks at it and then places it on the car floor. "Mycroft wants to know why we've stopped. I think he's tracking the GPS on my phone."

John appears in the backseat doorway that's behind Sherlock. He grabs Sherlock's phone and throws it into the nearby bushes.

"Had it with Big Brother, then?" Sherlock remarks dryly. John doesn't reply, just grabs him by his armpits and drags him out of the car and onto his feet.

"'Why would I need you,'" he muses as he goes to dig Sherlock's crutches out of the trunk.

Sherlock finds his footing and receives his crutches. "Excuse me?"

"Nothing. Go sort out your business, then. It's bloody freezing out here."

"You're angry."

"Bloody brilliantly deduced as always."

"Are you angry because what I've said is incorrect, because it's me saying it or because it's you that hasn't said any of it in the past, even though you probably should have?"

John slows the car down to a halt, this time more gently. "All of the above." He turns to face Sherlock.

Their eyes meet.

"Here I am at at the arse end of the universe-"

"I'm sure the good citizens of northwestern Pontefract would disagree."

"Oh ha ha."

"Do continue."

"Here I am at the arse end of Pontefract, middle of the night, in the rain, with the most annoying man in England, away from my pregnant wife and my lovely, warm bed and still I have no desire to be anywhere else."

"My point exactly."

"Do you have to be so fucking smug about this? It's not like you've been Mr Honesty either."

"I've made my intentions quite clear."

"Sure. I guess I just wasn't there."

"You were there at our wedding."

John's jaw drops. "OUR wedding?"

Sherlock shrugs.

John opens his mouth to debunk this bullshit but before any sounds leave his throat it suddenly makes sense.

There were three people who made vows that night. And all of them had meant every word. It didn't matter if they were spoken in front of a priest or not, or even if they were vocalized aloud at all.

Mary knew. Like Sherlock had said, Mary truly isn't stupid. She saw and heard all and she chose John, even though she'd have to share.

"I'm an idiot," John blurts out.

"Evidently," Sherlock replies, bending his torso downwards so he can scratch his itching toes which are still orange from the iodine desinfectant.

"Am I the only one here who has to be making these sort of admissions, then? What about you?" John asks.

Sherlock turns his gaze away. "What about me?"

"What do you want from me?"

"I want what you're willing to give me. However little or much that is."

John sighs. "That's not fair either. We're all in this, as you just so illustrated. What do you want?"

"God knows you're already in my head and in my dreams. It's distracting. You. In my life. In my work. In my bed, I think."

"You 'think'?"

"I've never skydived or wrestled with anacondas. How would I know if I'd enjoy doing those things."

John runs his hand through his hair. "God, you and your metaphors. You say you want me. That sort of things usually are included in the equation. God, I'm actually sitting here discussing shagging you."

"You've romanced women you weren't intellectually attracted to. I'd assumed this was much less problematic since we have an emotional connection. Unless there was a major issue concerning my anatomy, which is understandable considering the ridiculous emphasis you put on cultural constructs and labels."

"Stop derailing this conversation, Sherlock. Do you want me or not?"

"God, yes," Sherlock says and actually blushes.

"Then why did you hesitate to answer?"

"The notion is sex with you is wonderful. The reality of it is full of uncertainties."

"Let's say we somehow solve this whole proble of me being married and me actually sorting through this fucking mess in my head. If, and only if, we ever get to that moment, it's going to be a disaster."

Sherlock looks taken aback. "Why?" he asks quietly.

"I don't know what I'm doing when it comes to blokes but at least I've been in the receiving end of certain things. You, on the other hand-"

"Is the concept of my inexperience truly so abhorrent that you don't want to say the word?"

"No. I just wished you could have had that with someone who has a clue about all of it. And who isn't as fucking confused."

"You use quite a lot of profanity when your sexual identity is being challenged."

"I think I'm going to ignore that."

They continue the drive in silence for a few kilometres, until John speaks again. "I still don't think this has been fair on you," he suggests.

Sherlock pontificates this for a moment. "How so?"

"It's not like I ever gave you a say in anything."

"You did."

"When?" John sounds incredulous.

"When you told Mary to sit down. I quote, 'because that is where they sit and then we decide if we want them'. You said 'we', John."