Sorry, dudes and dudettes, for this chapter being late. Evidently the Mickey D's in the counties surrounding mine have caught on to my game of sitting outside and using the Wi-Fi. I start swearing every time I have to use it, but it's one of the few places with a half-way reliable connection around me. On the bright side, I've gone back and fixed some unintentional errors that I missed looking over the chapters isolde-blue sent me. Any mistakes left over are mine alone. That and this whole winter break has been spent improving my vision. I go back to school on Monday, so I'll have more time to work!
Anyways, the story's almost halfway through and I've begun typing out the second part. I'll begin posting that when I finish it. I'm going to keep posting it under this title, though, because it's just simpler. I'll make a few changes when it comes time for that. Fair warning! If you don't like slash, you shouldn't read past the first part. Once Sherlock comes back so does the boy-love that I so enjoy writing!
Also, this chapter hasn't been betaed. Isolde-blue and I both go to college and everyone who's gone through at least a semester knows it can get pretty hectic.
Justice.
Chapter Six.
John had passed tipsy a while ago. Shortly after, he'd achieved pleasantly drunk and kept going. He was well on to his way to a drunken stupor, when he heard the door below shut. Minutes later the door to the flat opened and shut and a figure soon stood in the doorway of the kitchen.
"John?"
John dropped his head down right before Mary flipped the light switch on.
"John?" she said once more as she knelt beside him. "What's wrong?"
He slowly raised his head and blinked at her. She gasped, eyes wide, and stood before walking away. But she was soon back, handkerchief in hand. She wiped his face carefully and he realized, for the first time, that he was crying.
"What happened?" she asked when she was done and had sat beside him.
"I went to his grave," he said thickly. "She," he grimaced, "The Woman, was there."
She nodded and he continued.
"She was supposed to be dead. She told me that Sh… That he saved her and faked her death," John pressed the heels of his palms tightly to his eyes. "I thought that he might have lived somehow. He'd be the only one capable to fool everyone…But I was only fooling myself. He was just a man, though a brilliant one. There's no way he could live through that fall."
Mary wrapped an arm around his shoulder. "It's okay to grieve, John. You've been closing yourself off from it for months. If you don't allow yourself to grieve you'll never feel whole again." She tilted his head to her as his hands fell away. "But grieve in healthy ways." She tilted her head to the bottles lying beside them. "Don't make yourself sick."
She lowered her hand and he dropped his head to her shoulder. "How'd you know to come?" he asked wearily.
"A man called me. He said his name was Mycroft," Mary answered.
John groaned. "That was his brother. I should have known that there were still cameras here."
"He filmed the two of you?" Mary asked, shocked.
"Him more than me. Mycroft said he was always concerned for him," John answered.
"O-kay," Mary said slowly. "So that adds more questions than answers."
"Such is life when you've become involved with the Holmes!" John replied. Mary laughed lightly.
"Okay, let's get your philosophical arse off this floor," she said, squeezing his arm. Mary helped him to his feet and led him (albeit unsteadily as he was taller, heavier, and much more drunk than her) to the couch.
He sank down onto the couch. Mary covered his legs with the blanket and sat down beside him. His head fell once more to rest on her shoulder. They sat together in silence.
"Where's Joe?" John whispered, afraid to speak too loud. He did not want to disturb the peace of that moment after the storm of emotions that had overwhelmed him and driven him to the bottle.
"He's in that bedroom again. I couldn't leave him alone, even if a mystery man calling told me that he would keep him safe," Mary answered.
"I'm sorry," John said.
"It's okay, John," Mary said, squeezing his wrist. "I said that you could call me. This time someone else did for you."
John nodded and shut his eyes. Mary smelled like citrus fruit, especially her hair. The shoulder beneath his face was warm and soft.
"John, I've been meaning to ask you something," Mary said hesitantly. "It would stay between the two of us, but…I'm curious."
"Mm-hmm," he mumbled.
"Did you love Sherlock?"
John shut his eyes as his stomach seemed to drop. He bit his lips shut, suddenly feeling sick.
"John, are you okay?!"
He nodded and sat up slowly on his own, breathing deep and slow. "Why?" he rasped.
"I'm sorry! It's just—I remember the two of you. You were different with each other than with the police. It doesn't mean if you were together! There are many levels of love—" Mary rambled, words stringing together in her anxiety.
"He was my best friend," John said and Mary's jaw snapped shut. "In a way…I guess I did love him, but I don't know how. It doesn't matter now, though. He's gone and only a fool thinks himself in love with a dead man."
John looked away at the window that Sherlock had often stood by playing his violin. "One of the last things I said to his face was that he was a machine. I can never take that back and he will never hear my apologies. I wish more than anything that I could tell him that those were the worst, most meaningless words I have ever spoken. And that I'm sorry."
And that's all folks! If anyone's still reading this, I hope you've enjoyed this! Sorry about the long note at the beginning. Now I must be on my way. Too much planned for today. Don't forget to review!