John stared at the phone in his hands for a good ten minutes.
He understood the words he'd just read; it was the context that his brain seemed to be having the problem with.
Yeah... Okay.
He got the part where Mary was a lying bitch who had married him as some sort of long term plot. And that the child he'd been so concerned that he'd be a bad father to, was in fact, not actually his. It was the part that seemed to imply that the baby was Sherlock's that seemed to be his stumbling block.
How the fuck had that even happened?
John's mind immediately went where he very much didn't need it going. Just the mental imagery of his wife and Sherlock locked in anything even resembling passion, was enough to make his stomach turn over in disgust.
His mind stuttered in disbelief, even as he recalled all the times Sherlock had defended Mary. The times they'd seemed extra chummy? The way Sherlock treated her far better than any other of John's previous girlfriends. His determination to make sure that John didn't leave her or the baby, even after she'd shot and nearly killed him.
A horrible thought popped into his head.
Had the real reason she had shot Sherlock been because she was carrying his child; was she afraid he'd tell John?
Had Mary and Sherlock really had some tawdry affair, and inadvertently conceived a child?
When would this even have happened? And more to the point; why would a man who had never seemed even remotely interested in any sort of sexual relationship, suddenly decide that sleeping with his best friends fiancé was the thing to do.
Well that isn't strictly true; a nasty little voice whispered in the back of his mind. He has been interested before, just not in you.
What about Irene Adler? He seemed pretty interested in her. And then there was that whole thing with Janine?
Maybe all that stuff she told the papers about him was true. Maybe it wasn't a coincidence that Mary shot him the same night John had told her that Janine and Sherlock were seeing each other?
John felt his stomach churn, as he remembered the way Mary had seemed so accepting of Sherlock when they first met, and yet when she and John had come back from their honeymoon, she'd suddenly turned mocking and more than a bit contemptuous, practically overnight.
My God... It wasn't possible... was it?
No. He refused to believe it. Sherlock was his friend, he wouldn't, he couldn't do something as cold as what John was thinking.
John ran a hand through his hair and scrubbed wildly at his face in an effort to shake himself loose from his thoughts.
But the thoughts refused to leave him, as did his doubts.
Sherlock had been absent from John's life for a very long time, and since coming back some of his actions at times were those of someone John nearly didn't recognize. Case in point; he'd shot Magnusson. The Sherlock he'd known before his fall from Barts would have never taken a life; not for something that wasn't a matter of life or death at the very least.
Did he really know Sherlock Holmes, or was he so blinded by the memory of the man he'd loved that he'd refused to see that the Sherlock he'd known no longer existed.
Had Sherlocks' hunting down and the destruction of Moriarty's web remade him into a different person? One that was far closer to the sociopath that he'd always claimed to be.
John was rudely shaken from his thoughts when his own mobile phone started to ring.
Pulling it out of his pocket and looking down at the caller id he saw a vaguely familiar number come up on the screen. Still shaken by his thought's, it took him a moment to recognize that the number displayed on his phone was that of the clinic where he worked.
He was even more startled when he noted how much time had gone by since first entering the flat.
Cursing under his breath he pushed his worry aside and deliberately ignored the call.
Right then... he had to get out of here before Mary noticed that her phone was missing.
After deciding that and tucking his own phone away, he wrenched the back off Mary's and removed the sim card just to be safe.
He couldn't be sure that she would head straight for the clinic after her appointment, but he was damn sure that if she did notice the phone's absence he really didn't want to be at the flat.
If he caught a cab now, he might just be lucky enough to get to the clinic before she discovered he hadn't arrived on time for his shift. And if he was extra lucky she might also assume that her phone had been lost in her morning travels.
Yeah, he should be so lucky.
John felt jittery and knew it was his body's reaction to shock, but he also knew he didn't have time for any more wallowing. He had to get out of the flat before she got back, and as much as he hated it, he'd have to go to work and act completely normal.
He wasn't sure what the phrase 'terminate the marriage' meant, but he sincerely doubted that David was talking about divorce.
And above all else, he had to decide what to do next.
He knew he would have to talk to Sherlock at some point as well, but at the moment he didn't think he could face the other man without either breaking down, or punching the bloody fuck out of him.
And if his earlier thought's hadn't been torment enough, just the fact that it was Sherlock he was more torn up about, rather than his wife and her poisonous actions...well that really said it all, didn't it.
He had to laugh. Just this morning, he'd been torn with guilt because he couldn't stop thinking about his feelings for Sherlock. And now it seemed that guilt was the last thing he should be feeling, for either of them.
Fuck it. Just get through the day. You were a soldier and a doctor on the front lines, how hard can it be to get through one day.
Do your fucking job and don't think about it.
Tonight though... well tonight he was going to have a conversation with a certain consulting detective. And if he didn't like the answers... well he'd just have to see, he supposed.
Thirty minutes later John finally made it into the clinic.
Unfortunately for John, Mary had beaten him there.
He'd deliberately ignored all calls to his phone on the way in, worried about what he'd say if it was her on the other end.
He really wasn't sure he could give a believable performance of the loving husband, not when his blood was still boiling over the text on her phone.
Now as his eyes met hers, he had to forcibly remind himself not to check on the location of her phone in the pocket of his coat.
He smiled and tried to seem happy to see her, while at the same time attempting to gauge if she had any idea that he knew the truth about their marriage, and the baby she was carrying.
"Hey love, what a nice surprise. Everything all right with the little one?" he asked leaning down to kiss her on the cheek.
She smiled up at him, and John felt a shiver of expectation as he waited for her response.
"Everything's fine sweetheart, Doc said everything looks good so don't worry. I just finished a little early because of a cancellation, and I wanted to see if we were still on for lunch? I must have left my phone at home this morning, silly me. Thought I'd just nip by before heading home in case you'd tried to call. You're awfully late darling, was there a hold up on the tube?"
She peered up at him, her gaze guileless, and John immediately flashed back to a lecture that Sherlock had given him after a particularly convoluted case, on what he'd termed; the art of lying.
According to Sherlock, the best liars often got away with their deceptions because the really good ones stuck to as close to the truth as possible.
He'd also gone on to explain; that if you were going to tell an untruth it was best to hide it by minimizing the details, so as not to get caught out by some outside factor or a lapse in memory.
Ironically; considering the current circumstances and the two people involved, John now found himself following this advice.
He scratched the back of his head and did his best to look sheepish.
"Yeah suppose I am a bit late. I got nearly the whole way here, and realized I'd forgotten the bloody keys to the drug cabinet. Had to turn around and go home to get them, and then got caught in rush hour of course." He shook his head and tried to look annoyed rather than panicked.
He knew he was a crap liar at best, and the woman he'd married was a very observant person.
She huffed out a laugh and gave him a fond smile.
"And you think I'm forgetful you great duffer. Well I suppose we make quite the pair really, what with me forgetting my phone and you the keys." She frowned and looked thoughtful.
"I don't suppose you saw my phone when you popped home, I can't think how I managed to forget it, really."
John stilled internally, as the expression in her eyes flickered with some emotion he couldn't read.
He paused before answering, as he would have if he really was trying to remember whether he'd seen her phone when he'd gone back to the flat.
"Well...I don't recall seeing it in the bedroom, but I was in a bit of a hurry." He offered. "Don't worry love; I'm sure it will turn up. You probably had one of those moments that I'm not allowed to mention... seems to be the day for being a bit absentminded." He grinned, hoping his comment would annoy her just enough to derail any suspicion.
She frowned again before sighing, and John felt himself relax for the first time since he'd arrived at work.
"You're probably right; I expect I left in the kitchen or something." She allowed dismissively, before changing the subject.
"So lunch today?"
He smiled apologetically; relaxing internally as he made his very real excuses. The last thing he wanted to do was spend time in his wife's presence. Especially not after what he'd just found out.
"Sorry Love, afraid I can't today. Part of the reason I went home for the keys actually. Both Patel and Clarke are out sick, so it's just me on. Raincheck though? Next week? We could try that new place that's just opened up on the high street; make a real date of it?" He studied her expression; keeping his own carefully pleasant, he did his best to keep what he felt from surfacing and giving away just how 'not happy' he really was.
So far she had seemed mollified by his words, but it didn't stop him wondering if she'd gone home for her phone first; that perhaps all her casual questions had been an attempt to catch him out in a lie.
Well he was sure he'd find out, one way or the other.
Mindful of the role that he was playing, he waited for her to answer; doing his best to seem like the contented husband and expectant father.
"That would be lovely John, assuming our daughter doesn't decide to make an early entrance. The doc did say everything looks fine, but he seemed to think she might turn up any day now."
John chuckled and squeezed her hand, while inside his stomach was roiling with a combination of nerves and revulsion.
"Be just like a Watson to be early to the party yeah. Both Harry and I came early, according to mum. Bloody embarrassing for mum the way she told it. Harry decided to make her appearance in the middle of Bainbridges on a Saturday arvo. Caused quite a fuss."
He laughed again.
"Course, I was much less trouble... it was the pub for me and fortunately, unlike Harry, I actually waited to arrive until she got to the hospital."
He watched her face carefully as he spoke, wondering if she'd slip and give a hint of the truth, if there might be a flicker of guilt brought about by his words.
"God John. Perish the bloody thought." She huffed scoldingly. She swatted his hand lightly as she edged forward in her seat in preparation of rising.
"Well, best be off then. I was supposed to meet some of the girls for afternoon tea later, so I expect I'll be a bit late tonight. You know how we girls do love to gossip." She offered with a grin.
Carefully shielding his relief at her words, John reached down and helped her up from the chair she'd occupied while waiting for him. Kissing her lightly on the cheek, he guided her towards the clinic doors.
"Give us a ring or a text when you find your phone. I might pop round to Baker Street after work if you're going to be late. Bit concerned, Sherlock hasn't been in touch about the M situation." He offered with a deliberately concerned frown.
"I'll text you if I get held up, but I should be home by nine at the latest. And don't forget to take the phone with you this time." He added in a teasing manner.
Something in Mary's eyes flickered at the mention of Sherlock's name, and just for a split second John found himself hard pressed to keep up his casual cheerfulness in the face of his wife's perfidy.
She smiled at him.
"Will do sweetie." She agreed, blowing him a playful kiss.
John's smile melted away the moment she disappeared out the door and he found himself counting to ten, as his rage surged up and threatened to choke him.
What a lying cheating cow he'd married. And a far better actress than he'd given her credit for.
Less than an hour later, John got the call he'd been half expecting. His performance might not have won him a Bafta, but he prayed it was just good enough to keep him breathing a little while longer.
When she'd told him about the apparent loss of her phone, he'd been sympathetic with just the right amount of annoyed at the expense that she'd expect. And then suitably apologetic when she in turn reminded him of the two times his phone had been destroyed; both while on cases with Sherlock.
All in all, he thought he'd done a pretty good job at appearing clueless. And considering that Mary must think that it was his default setting anyway, he thought he might be in the clear.
Of course, that would last as long as it took for her to get a new phone, and for David to send another text. After that, all bets were off.
Now he just had to get through the rest of his day and work out what he was going to say to Sherlock.
It was the bit that came after his talk with Sherlock that he wasn't clear about.
Six o'clock that evening saw John Watson alighting from a cab at his former address; Two twenty one b Baker Street. Pausing outside the door to the flat, John took a deep breath and tried to calm his nerves.
He didn't hold out much hope that Sherlock wouldn't read him like a bloody newspaper, but he didn't want to face him without at least some element of calm on his side.
In truth; John was actually a lot calmer than he'd been earlier after reading the text on his wife's phone.
Fact; John Watson had always believed in Sherlock Holmes. So if faking his death and disappearing for three years hadn't shaken that belief, then he refused to let one text from his lying wife's dodgy ex do it.
Sherlock was his friend, and John was going to choose to believe that the man he'd lived with and saved more than once, was not capable of hurting him in that way. And until he heard differently, he was going to keep calm and carry on in true British form.
Resolve firmly in place, John rang the buzzer and waited.
When the door opened to Mrs Hudson's wary gaze, John found himself half relieved that it wasn't Sherlock. As much as he had decided to trust in his friend, he would very much prefer having this particular conversation in private. And to be honest, John wasn't at all sure he would have been able to wait until they got upstairs to have it.
He smiled at Mrs Hudson.
"Hello Mrs Hudson, is his nibs in? I was..."
"Oh John dear, I'm afraid this isn't a good time." She cut in apologetically. "Mycroft is here and they seem frightfully busy. I was told to inform you that he's not taking visitors at the moment, no exceptions."
John scowled.
"First up, I'm not a bloody visitor, I'm his best friend, and secondly Mrs Hudson, if his lordship wants' me to bugger off he can come down here and tell me himself, the great git."
He shook his head and tried reign in his temper. There was no use going off at Mrs Hudson, it wasn't her fault Sherlock was being an arse.
"Sorry...Bleeding cheek, sending you down, the lazy cock. And Mycroft can go sod himself, if you'll pardon the language. It's not like I don't know what they are up to, the pair of nobs." He smiled his own apology.
"Look sorry, I'm just going to go up there and tell them you tried and failed to send me off. I need to talk to Sherlock and unfortunately it can't be put off until it's convenient."
Mrs Hudson shot a worried look towards the stairs, but she did step back and allow John entrance.
"Oh dear, he's been in such a mood lately John, but I suppose It won't hurt if you pop up for a quick visit. Just mind that I did warn you and come by before you leave, I've some lovely scones that are just about done and some of that blackberry jam that you like." She patted his hand absentmindedly and with a last glance towards the upstairs flat she disappeared into her own.
John grimaced.
Well something was obviously up. It wasn't like Mrs Hudson to seem so cowed and there had been genuine concern in her eyes, though John wasn't sure who it was for.
Sighing heavily, he straightened his spine and headed up.
Approaching the door of his old flat, John was startled to hear raised voices.
Sherlock yelling at his brother was not entirely without precedence, however Mycroft's raised voice was not something John had ever experienced and with a brother as trying as Sherlock, that was no small feat of control.
John paused; deciding that a bit of eavesdropping might just be in order. After all, anything that had Mycroft Holmes angry enough to drop his ice man facade was bound to be of interest.
"Oh do calm down Mycroft. I have told you more than once, that I confirmed it myself. Moriarty is very much a corpse, and whoever has set up the latest game, it is most definitely not James Moriarty.
There was a huff and an exaggerated sigh.
"Sherlock you are not listening to me. The broadcast may not prove that Moriarty survived, but it does suggest there is a deeper level of play involved than we first suspected. Your mission to Serbia was not common knowledge, and I think that even you would admit that the timing of it was highly suspect."
John leaned closer to the door; straining to hear more as Mycroft's tone dropped back to normal levels, becoming more like the reasonable man that he worked so hard to project to the world.
"Moriarty was a master at what he did, and we cannot simply rule out the possibility that he too faked his demise. You, who had the bare minimum of resources and very little time to plan, managed to do it; and to continue the farce for a considerable amount of time thereafter. Why is it so hard to conceive that a man with Moriarty's skills and backing could do the same?"
"God, you are insufferable." Sherlock huffed. "Listen to me brother mine, James Moriarty is dead. Molly herself did the autopsy and substituted his body for mine. He is not coming back and I find your unnecessary paranoia tiresome in the extreme. Yes I will admit that on the surface, this seems without a doubt to be Moriarty, but what you seem unable to grasp is that whoever orchestrated this is not playing the same game at all."
John could hear the snarl of frustration in Sherlock's voice, and he found himself grinning as he pictured the expression he must be directing towards his brother.
"Yes the tape and the taunting were designed to keep me from the mission; that much is obvious. But you were not on Bart's roof that last day brother dear. James Moriarty, while undoubtedly brilliant was also quite possibly clinically insane, and consequentially quite easily bored. He would not have the patience for such a long game. Especially not one that involved the destruction of the bulk of his criminal network."
As he waited with baited breath to hear Mycroft's reply, John could practically hear the eye roll accompanying Sherlock's words.
He was doomed to disappointment, when instead of yet another attempt to reason with Sherlock, Mycroft's voice was raised for an entirely different reason.
"Doctor Watson, perhaps you would like to join us and give your opinion on the matter. I rather thought lurking was more Sherlock's raison'de entre, but it appears that as with most things, he has managed to corrupt even you."
"Oh for goodness sake... "Sherlock snarled.
He threw the door open and scowled at John.
"Really John, I expected better of you than to be caught snooping by Mycroft of all people."
He smirked at John's deliberately exaggerated eye roll before stepping back to let him pass.
"Well if certain people bothered to let other people know what the actual hell is going on, then there wouldn't have been a need for lurking snooping or any other form of covert spying, now would there".
His statement was met by two eerily similar raised eyebrows, and John found himself once again trying to control his temper.
"Okay, no use pretending I didn't hear some of that, so what the bloody hell is going on? Is Moriarty dead or not?"
The simultaneous yes and no that he received was rather comical, but the obvious tension between the two brothers was far from amusing.
"Right" John sighed. "Well that clears things right up."
His mouth turned down as he met Sherlock's angry look, and he belatedly remembered the actual reason for his visit.
"Look Mycroft, if you two can't even agree on something as simple as the pricks death; then maybe it's time you were off. I need to speak to Sherlock, and frankly I don't feel like standing around watching you two stubborn arses argue all night. So how about you go and do your super spy thing, and maybe make absolutely sure that all your ducks are in a row, and then you and Sherlock can continue yelling at each other tomorrow."
Sherlock directed a smirk at his brother. It was his... that's telling you grin, and John couldn't help the snort of amusement at the air of smugness that was radiating from the detective.
Honestly; sometimes he really did act all of five years old.
Mycroft's eyes flitted the length of John's body, and a brief frown crossed his face. And though whatever he deduced from his inspection wasn't readily apparent; at least not to John, he did rise from his perch on John's chair to give a brief nod, before turning to face his brother.
"Just so Doctor Watson, then I will leave you to try and talk some sense into my brother. He is treating this far too lightly in my opinion. Perhaps you will have better luck in persuading him than I. Good day John, Sherlock."
Sherlock's glare didn't leave his brothers back as he left the flat, and John winced internally at the expression on the detectives face when he slammed the door behind his brother.
"Bloody Mycroft and his tedious theories." He muttered. Sherlock turned back to face John, his mouth turning up in a derisive smirk.
"He claims I am the dramatic one in the family, but his obsession with this most recent business, rather effectively decries that particular claim. He's done nothing but witter on about Moriarty ever since we left the tarmac." He offered disgustedly.
His expression softened as he met John's gaze.
"Regardless of what I may have indicated earlier to Mrs Hudson, I must at least thank you for driving Mycroft off, even if it's only for an hour or two. He's been absolutely obsessed with the idea that... well you know, you heard him. "
Sherlock sighed heavily and with a shake of his head he swept past John and headed for the kitchen.
"Tea?" he inquired, reaching for the kettle.
John is abruptly hit with two very separate and opposing emotions. One is a wave of homesickness that makes the back of his eyes burn with strain, and the other is a renewed rush of anger at the man in front of him.
"Sherlock, we need to talk."
Sherlock's hand stilled on the kettle and John felt his heart lurch in his chest as Sherlock raised his eyes to meet his John's.
The wariness in his friends' expression immediately sets off alarm bells in John's head, and he had to fight very hard to remain calm as he watched the normally unflappable Sherlock Holmes swallow heavily, before deliberately averting his gaze.
"I suppose it was only a matter of time, but I had hoped that you would leave well enough alone." The words were a low rasp that John barely caught, but John felt his stomach drop down to his shoes all the same.
He moved towards Sherlock hesitantly. Part of him wanted to tell the other man that he'd changed his mind; that they could talk later, that he'd love a cuppa and maybe some Thai from around the corner. The other part was a hard pulsing knot of emotion that just wanted to have it out and done with.
He reached for Sherlock's arm, but before he had a chance to make contact Sherlock slid away and backed up against the kitchen cupboards.
"Don't". Sherlock ordered.
He wrapped both arms around himself; his body language along with his one word entirely defensive, and John felt something in his heart strain as if to break.
John took another step and Sherlock flinched and it was the final straw.
"Oh my God... It's true... isn't it"? John gasped.
"How could you do this to me Sherlock? I thought we were friends. Why would you keep something like this from me? Were you afraid to tell me or did you just get off on the thought of fooling me yet again?"
John's teeth were gritted with anger as he spat his questions at Sherlock and his fists curled so tightly that his nails were cutting into his own palms.
"Fuck! You and Mary must have been laughing behind my back this whole time. Poor clueless John and his tiny brain will never work it out, yeah. Well fuck you both Sherlock Holmes... I know now, so you better explain to me how the hell it happened before I knock your teeth down your throat." He barked out.
Sherlock raised his stricken gaze to John's, and for the first time since he'd set eyes on him in Barts lab all those years ago John was shocked to see pain and anguish barred, without any attempts to mask it.
"I am deeply sorry that I have upset you John, but I did not intend for it to happen..."
"Well I bloody well should hope not!" John spat.
"I didn't think even you would be that much of a prick. But it doesn't really matter whether you intended it, does it? It still bloody happened."
Sherlock frowned at his words before speaking.
"John, I understand that you may find my feelings abhorrent, but I fail to see why you are being unnecessarily cruel. I did not think that you would welcome the news, but I had thought that you would be a little more understanding considering your family situation. I apologize if I have offended you. I can only promise that I will not inflict my presence upon you again after tonight, and since I so obviously disgust you, I can but assume you will be relieved to hear it."
It was John's turn to frown.
Sherlock's tone and demeanor was not what one would expect to find in a man that had just been confronted with cuckolding one's best friend. The language was formal and stilted, but there was a layer of hurt acceptance that was very much out of context for the conversation that they were having.
Were they even having the same conversation?
He shook his head as though to clear it, then he deliberately took a good hard look at his friend.
Sherlock was flushed and his body language was defensive. Not the type of defensive that came from guilt, but the type that came from embarrassment and hurt.
Oh.
Okay they were obviously not talking about Sherlock sleeping with John's wife... so what the hell had Sherlock so upset?
And John could see it now. Sherlock Holmes was really very upset. He was also on the verge of tears and barely holding his own anger and hurt in check.
Well Fuck.
John ran a hand over his face and shook his head again.
"Right then... Look Sherlock, I think we've got our wires crossed somewhere. What the bloody hell are you on about because I'm a bit lost mate."
He folded his arms and gave the other man his best I am a soldier and a doctor with infinite patience stare, and waited for Sherlock to answer.
Sherlock's eyes widened and much to John's complete consternation he was then treated to seeing Sherlock pale before blushing a shade of red that John hadn't known he was capable of.
Rather than reassure John, Sherlock's state only alarmed him further.
What on earth could Sherlock be hiding that would cause such a reaction?
John licked his lips nervously, and when Sherlocks gaze zeroed in on his mouth, he felt his own face flush as his heart leapt in his chest with a sudden unexpected rush of hopeful understanding.
Rewinding Sherlock's part of the conversation in his head, John zeroed in on the other mans statement about John's reactions to his feelings and he frowned with concerned realization.
"Sherlock... What did you mean when you said that I might find your feelings abhorrent? What feelings are we talking about?"
As his gaze met Sherlock's, John found himself suddenly alive in a way he hadn't felt in years.
It was the same feeling he got after a particularly brilliant case; one that usually ended in a frantic chase, the two of them giggling like mad as they made their way up the seventeen steps to their flat.
His heart pounded, and for the first time since he'd read the text on Mary's phone, John was absolutely positive that Sherlock Holmes did not sleep with his wife.
"John I..."
Sherlock trailed off and John found himself freezing at the suddenly resolute look on his best friends face.
He was still frozen, when Sherlock moved forward sans any of his usual customary grace and without hesitation, dipped his head down and took John's mouth in a somewhat clumsy but passionate kiss.
Notes: