Chapter four
John was up early the next morning. He beat Sherlock to the kitchen once more and by the time Sherlock arrived fresh from a shower, John had prepared a mushroom omelette, toast and a pot of tea for them. Sherlock sniffed the kitchen appreciatively and saw with approval that John was wearing new trousers, a red check shirt and the deep-green cashmere jumper that Sherlock had purchased for him (Sherlock had hoped that John wouldn't necessarily recognize the wool as cashmere as it might seem extravagant, but it had been unusually soft and thick and he very much wanted John to be warm and comfortable …). Now seeing him, Sherlock congratulated himself on his wardrobe choices; the warm tones brought some slight colour to John's cheeks and highlighted his attractive sandy hair while the style lent him a quiet sort of dignity that was just right for John.
For Sherlock's part, he intended to go out in the morning if John seemed well enough to be left alone for a short while so he had put on a blue silk shirt and his charcoal grey suit. He had no patience with ties so his shirt was open-necked, giving him a rather rakish air which was further emphasized by his supremely confident demeanour. John was getting used to the large presence of Sherlock, both in appearance and personality, so when he greeted Sherlock good morning his expression held more shy admiration than the intimidation of the previous morning.
As they ate the omelette and toast, Sherlock observed John discreetly and decided that it was safe to leave him for the morning. John had not yet offered to tell him in detail of the events in the church that had led to the traumatic loss of his pregnancy and Sherlock refused to pressure him so he had been pursuing the case using what little information John had provided the first night in the hospital. He had been making progress but the next step necessitated a couple of hours on Lestrade's computer. So after breakfast he took his leave but not before thanking John sincerely for the meal and surprising him by carrying their breakfast dishes to the sink where he stacked them neatly, and pouring John a second cup of tea. Shrugging on his coat he winked at John's nonplussed expression and exited the flat. Downstairs, as an extra precaution he stopped at Mrs. Hudson's to ask if she would mind checking in on John at elevenses.
Sherlock spent a fruitful morning in Lestrade's office, ignoring the DI's grumbling about compromised passwords and security clearance infractions. It was absorbing work, he loved to be on the trail of a killer but he surprised himself with his eagerness to return to Baker Street and John. He was simply worried about John's welfare he told himself, which was perfectly natural under the circumstances…never mind that what he actually found himself thinking about was John's illuminating smile at dinner the night before and how wonderful it felt to know that he, Sherlock, had been the one responsible for it.
So, his research complete, Sherlock went home to Baker Street, detouring only slightly to pick up what he knew were the best chips in Marylebone with which to tempt John's appetite for lunch. Conscious of a strong feeling of contentment he sighed as he entered his flat. John, it seemed, was occupying himself by dusting the bookshelf. He was standing, reading, with a duster under his arm and a book in his hands when Sherlock opened the door. He jumped at Sherlock's entrance but swiftly collected himself and asked politely if Sherlock had had a successful morning.
"I brought you chips…" Sherlock stopped, confused. That had not been what he had meant to say. But John seemed to think nothing of it, for he simply smiled and responded that he liked chips and what a good idea they were for lunch which eased Sherlock's confusion and somehow made everything alright.
John, tired but seemingly not unhappy, retired to his room after lunch and went to sleep. He didn't appear for dinner and was still asleep when Sherlock checked in on him in the evening.
It was when Sherlock was preparing for bed that he heard a cry from upstairs. Knowing this time what was happening, he dropped his toothbrush in the basin and sprinted up the staircase, barefoot and shirtless. He opened John's door to see him by the stream of the light from the hall gasping and clutching his middle in acute distress. He was repeating, "No, no, no, please no," in an anguished chant.
"John, I'm here. I'm right here; I'll help you, alright? Come to me John." Sherlock reached for John as he had before but this time, John reached too, to cling to him as though he were a lifeline.
"The baby, Sherlock! Geoffrey! It's too soon, it has to stop! Please help me!"
Once more helpless and heartsick, Sherlock could only hold and try to comfort John while he fought his way back to the present from reliving the anguish of losing his baby. John seemed to take comfort from Sherlock's hold; he pressed his face into Sherlock's bare shoulder as if trying to absorb his strength and struggled to control his breathing. Sherlock tried to help by stroking his back and murmuring comfort into his ear.
John finally calmed to quiet weeping and then stillness. Sherlock hoped he might sleep as before but instead, unexpectedly he spoke. "I can tell you what happened in the church."
"You don't have to. Only if you want to John."
"I do, I need to, Sherlock."
Sherlock almost wanted to stop him, he was feeling so emotionally raw himself by then. He didn't though, he simply pulled John close to his chest and let him speak as he wished.
After a short silence, John began, "Father Stansell at St. Patrick Church asked if I would meet with him to discuss his proposal for an after-school program for troubled youth. He wanted to talk about what grants might be available from Children's Services, where I work…"
"We arranged a time to meet in the afternoon but then a case-meeting came up so I wasn't going to be able to make it. I couldn't reach him on his mobile so on the off-chance he might be at the church, I stopped by at lunchtime to let him know. When I arrived, the church was empty as far as I could tell; I stood in the foyer for a few moments before deciding that I would leave a note for him."
John closed his eyes. "I was happy that afternoon Sherlock, it was a good day. Harvey had been away for most of the week and I was happy before this happened! The church is old and a bit run-down, but it's nice in a kind of threadbare way and peaceful."
John sighed, "Anyway, I looked around but there was nothing in the foyer to write on so I looked into the nave where I saw a table with some leaflets on it. I stepped in to pick one up and just as I did…"
John started to tear up and his voice trembled, "someone pushed me from behind, very hard Sherlock… I tried to catch myself..." he looked up at Sherlock beseechingly, "I tried to stop myself from falling, I did, Sherlock, but I couldn't and I fell into the little table. It shattered when I landed on it and one of the broken legs hit me in the stomach, then I fell onto the wooden pew beside me before I landed on the floor."
John drew a gulping gasp of air and squeezed his eyes shut as if to block out the memory. "I felt him, Sherlock, I felt Geoffrey!"
He began to sob again and curled up into a ball in Sherlock's lap if to protect his belly. "I knew … that something bad had happened…" He was unable to continue.
"John, I'm so sorry. But please John, tell me you know that what happened was not your fault, please!"
"I can't help it Sherlock! If only I'd not gone to the church in the first place, if only I'd stayed in the foyer when I got there…if only I could have caught my balance before I fell..."
"John." Sherlock said, feeling tears starting his own eyes.
"I lost my mobile when I fell! I couldn't get up but I looked everywhere that I could on the floor around me in the nave and the foyer. When I couldn't find it, I lay there as still as I could, wondering how best to get help and that's when Father Stansell and his curate came in and they called an ambulance."
"I was telling the truth when you asked me about it in the hospital Sherlock, I really didn't see or hear anything the entire time I was there!"
"I know. I believed you, John." Sherlock ran a reassuring hand over John's hair.
John nodded and continued, his voice tragic, "I kept begging Geoffrey to stay with me, promising that I would take care of him and that we would be okay, we'd both be okay, but it didn't work, he couldn't, he just…couldn't…"
As John halted, Sherlock, finally overcome, gave into his emotions and lowered his forehead to John's in silence.
John whispered, "I wish I'd died as well, Sherlock. I wanted to go with him. I keep thinking that he's frightened and lonely without me. I should have gone with him."
Sherlock shook his head. "I…I don't think so John." He was silent for several seconds. "I…am very glad you are here now." And I can help you live, he thought. "I can't bring Geoffrey back but I will help you in every other way."
John gave a sad smile. "You already have Sherlock. I'm grateful for the kindness you've shown me and I'm trying to be worthy of it. I really am. "
"You don't have to try to be worthy of anything John. You are already are. You just need to believe it."