The next evening, Sherlock's phone buzzed with a text message from John.
Hey, can I come over tomorrow? I need to talk to you. Something kind of weird but kind of good happened. -J
Sherlock had no idea what to make of that message. Of course you can come over. Is anything wrong? SH
No, not really. I don't think so. It might actually be good.
That didn't clear things up at all. Still, John's gut instinct was rarely wrong, and if he thought something good was happening, then Sherlock had good reason to believe him.
The next day, John came with Billie, strapped to his chest again, diaper bag in one of his hands, around noon. This time, she had a little black hat on and a fuzzy pink jacket and jeans and pink shoes.
His lips quirked up into a grin. "Good morning," he said to them.
"Hey, Sherlock," John greeted, shutting the door behind him.
Billie was sucking on her fist.
"Uh," John cleared his throat, "so, I don't know what to make of this."
"You're going to have to be more specific, John," he said, his nerves making him slightly annoyed.
John gave him a look. "Sherlock."
"Continue, John," he folded his hands behind his back.
Billie made a soft sound around her fist.
John gave him a half-hearted glare. "A couple days ago, I left with Mary, and she was unusually quiet on the way home, and didn't talk to me much for a few hours. I knew something had to be on her mind, but didn't want to start a conversation with her. When we went to bed, she turned to me, and said, 'This is never going to work, is it?'"
Sherlock's eyebrows rose, and John nodded. "That was basically my reaction," he said. "I told her, no, 'cause I don't love her."
Sherlock's eyebrows rose even higher, going beneath his fringe. "You told her that?"
"Was I not supposed to?"
"No, no," Sherlock said weakly, pulse hammering in his throat. "I just didn't expect you to be so...forward with her." He was pleased about it, though.
John huffed, but he didn't seem very upset. "I just got sick of it, you know? After actually telling you what was going on, actually getting the words out? I guess it truly hit me how fucked up it all is. It was kind of liberating, in a way, to finally tell someone."
"I wish you'd told me sooner. But, what about Mary?" he pried. "How did she react?"
"She seemed like she was expecting it, honestly. She just nodded and said we'd talk about it in the morning, and went to sleep." He sounded as confused as Sherlock felt. "That was weird, too, and I was worried she, I don't know, wanted to lull me into a false sense of security and take Billie that night, but she didn't. The next morning, we talked. I suspected you two had some sort of discussion, and she confirmed it." He stopped. "What did you say to her?" he asked.
"I told her I knew what she was doing and if she ever attempted to harm or kidnap Billie, she would have to answer to us and my brother," he said truthfully. He left out the part about Mary accusing Sherlock of having an affair with her husband. So, he was telling the truth of what they argued over, just not the whole truth. "I also told her that you wanted to leave her, it would be her fault."
John breathed a laugh through his nose. "Damn right. God, I wish I had been awake to hear that conversation. How did she react then?"
"She was angry, for sure, but then calmed down suddenly. I wanted to talk to her more, but Billie started crying, and you woke up."
John made a humming sound in his throat. "So, she got calm then? Maybe she didn't think you would get involved? But, she should have known I'd tell you eventually."
"She should have known I would get Mycroft involved," Sherlock said.
"Yeah. I-Did you actually call Mycroft about this?"
"I sent him a text. He should know what she was planning to do."
"I agree. Thanks for that. But-" there was a deep wrinkle between his eyebrows. "I don't get the way she was acting at all."
"I don't either," Sherlock agreed. "What did she say the next morning?"
"She said she saw no point in trying to, and these are her words, 'save our marriage anymore.' Yeah, because threatening to kidnap my child was a great way to do that!"
Billie whimpered.
"Sorry," John mumbled, wrapping his arms around her and bouncing her. "I've got to stop talking about Mary with her around," he joked.
Sherlock didn't smile. Something was not right about this at all. "So, Mary admitted your marriage is beyond salvaging," (which felt amazing to say out loud), "and then?"
John shrugged as best as he could with Billie strapped to him. "She was just so calm, like she was accepting defeat, and said I don't have to stay with her anymore."
"You don't?" he asked warily. He wanted to feel joy, but he couldn't believe it. "So, after all that, she's letting you leave?" he asked dubiously.
John shook his head, incredulous. "That's what's bothering me. I want to get Billie away from her, but I don't trust her."
"With very good reason," Sherlock asserted. "She's letting you take Billie?"
"Not exactly. She agreed to a divorce, but wants joint custody. I want full custody. I don't trust Mary not to take off with Billie on the days she would have her."
"Mycroft could get you full custody," he assured.
John didn't look very pleased. "That would be great, but that could make Mary angry and she'll try to kidnap her anyway." He looked lost. "Christ, I don't see an easy way out of this. What do I do, Sherlock?"
Sherlock wanted to comfort John, but he, for the first time, was just as clueless as he. "I...don't know." He looked away from John's gaze and walked over to the window, just for something to do. Mary had them stuck, and she had to know it.
"You don't know?" John asked, a hint of anger bubbling in his tone. "Sherlock, I can't sit around and do nothing. I'm coming to you for any sort of direction-"
"I don't know, John!" he snapped, his hands balling into fists. He leaned his head forward, pressing his forehead against the cool glass. His head was starting to pound. John was right; even after a divorce, it didn't matter how much custody Mary would or would not get-she could still find a way to hurt them. Sherlock wanted John and Billie here, at Baker Street, so he could keep a watchful eye over them. But, Mary could try to hurt him as a form of revenge. She knew Sherlock was in love with John, and firmly believed he was the sole reason why her marriage crumbled. She hated him for it. She could hurt him. The image of Mary breaking in and killing him in the night flashed back into his mind. Was he being irrational? Could she really do that? His thoughts were spiraling out of control, making less sense by the second, and he felt a hand on his shoulder.
"Sherlock, what's wrong?" John's concerned voice was right behind him. "Jesus, what is it?"
Sherlock realized his head was in his hands. When did that happen? He lowered his hands and turned around, noticing the baby carrier and diaper bag was on John's armchair, and Billie was propped against the back of Sherlock's chair. He must have really gotten lost in thought.
"Sherlock," John looked at him with a stern gaze, his doctor voice emerging, "you need to breathe. We can talk in a minute, but breathe."
His chest did feel tight. He took a few deep, slow breaths through his nose. His pulse gradually slowed, and he mumbled, "I'm sorry, John. I want to help, but she's always one step ahead of me." He hadn't felt so much like a failure since the era of Moriarty. He was a genius. He was supposed to use his brain to make use of himself and help others, and he couldn't figure out how to protect his loved ones.
John's hand was still on his shoulder, squeezing lightly. He looked guilty. "No, I'm sorry. It's not your problem-"
"Yes it is," he cut him off immediately. "This is absolutely my problem, John."
John swallowed, removing his hand. "What just happened? Why did you freak out like that?"
Sherlock looked down, face coloring. This was humiliating, but John opened himself up a couple days ago. Sherlock owed him the same. "She frightens me," he confessed in a small voice.
He kept his gaze down, but he heard John react with an intake of breath.
"You are?" he asked.
"She tried to kill me." He wished he had his dressing gown on, so he could wrap it around himself like a security blanket, but he only wore a suit.
"I know, but I didn't think…" John trailed off. After a pregnant, uncomfortable silence, John apologized again, "I'm sorry. I'm being selfish. I didn't think about how you felt-"
"John," Sherlock said in exasperation, looking up, "how many times must I tell you? I want to help you. I want to remove her from your life more than anything."
John bit the inside of his cheek. "Have you always been afraid of her?" he asked softly.
Sherlock resisted the urge to look away again. His face had to be red. "It's increased within the past few weeks. I believe she blames me for your impending divorce."
John put his hands in his pockets, clearing his throat. "I think so, too."
Sherlock pursed his lips. "Has she said anything in particular to indicate that?"
"Like I said before, she wasn't happy when the airplane turned around, and-yeah." The tips of John's ears turned pink.
He's still hiding something. No, there were more important things at hand. Sherlock had to protect them from Mary in every little way he could. John would definitely want to move out of there, but Sherlock didn't like the idea of John and Billie living alone in a dingy flat. "Stay here," he blurted out.
John cocked his head to the side. "What?"
"You and Billie-you can stay here. I know it's not really a solution to your problem, but I could help. With Billie." For god's sake, he wasn't this awkward when he first invited John to move in with him. Then again, Sherlock hadn't been in love with him then.
John blinked a couple times. "You want that?"
"Of course," he said briskly.
John gave him a lopsided smile. "Really? You want a baby here?"
"She's not any baby, she's Billie."
John's lopsided smile widened into a toothy grin. "Yeah? Are you sure, Sherlock?"
"Absolutely. You can move back into your old room and keep Billie in there. With the situation with Mary, we shouldn't leave her alone."
"Yeah," he nodded, grin dimming slightly at the mention of his wife's name, "you're absolutely right." His eyes softened. "You want me back?"
God, John's wording would be the death of him. "I always want you back."
John's lips parted slightly, and he stared at Sherlock. His hand rose, and he cupped Sherlock's jaw. "Thank you, Sherlock," his voice was rough. "And I didn't get to say it, but you look so much better without that awful scruff."
"Oh, please," he rolled his eyes, fending off another fierce blush, "it was nowhere near as atrocious as your mustache."
"Oi," John glared at him, and Sherlock chuckled. They shared a lighthearted moment for the first time in months, looking at each other with John's hand on Sherlock's jaw, thumb moving across the smooth skin.
"Is Billie okay?" Sherlock asked.
John turned around, looking at the chair. "Yeah, I think she's fallen asleep against the arm of the chair. Ah, yeah. She did. I'm glad." He turned back to Sherlock, hand slowly falling to his side, eyes flickering down to somewhere on Sherlock's chest. "I'm sorry I brought Mary into our lives."
"Stop being sorry," Sherlock insisted. "You didn't know she was like that when you proposed."
"Did you know?" he asked. "Did you ever see her for who she really is?"
He bit his lower lip. "I knew she was a liar the night I met her," he revealed, "but I didn't know she was that much of a liar."
John's eyes flickered up to his, confused. "You would send away all my girlfriends, naming every tiny reason why I shouldn't date them, so why didn't you do that with Mary?"
He felt a chill roll down his spine. He looked straight at John. "I already caused you enough grief. I didn't want to get in the way of your happiness, and I thought Mary was a right fit for you. By the time I found out how dangerous she was, well, it was too late."
The corners of John's mouth twisted unhappily. "But even after that, you tried to convince me Mary saved you, and the shot was surgery. Sherlock, that's bullshit. You know it, and I've known it since the moment you said it. Why did you want me to stay with her then?"
Anxiety curled in his stomach. "I still thought she was what you wanted. You're addicted to danger, and she's dangerous."
"Fuck, Sherlock, I'd never want to be with someone who hurt you!" he raised his voice. He looked back quickly to Billie, but she was still asleep. He lowered his voice back to its normal volume. "You wanted me to go back with Mary, the woman who tried to kill you, just for my happiness?"
"Yes," he said, voice thick with the wave of emotions he was desperately holding back.
John huffed a harsh breath out of his mouth. "You've got to stop doing that, Sherlock. I don't want you to ever sacrifice your well-being for me. I-" he shook his head, roughly rubbing his eyes. "I care about you too much for that."
Sherlock's throat was so tight he couldn't swallow. "John," he croaked.
"Come here," John said and hugged him, one hand around his neck, the other arm around his shoulder, like on his wedding day.
They never hugged this much, but Sherlock needed it badly. He shook in John's arms. "I've done nothing but mess up," his voice quivered. "Ever since I returned, Mary has outsmarted me every single time. I hate it, John. I don't want her to run our lives anymore. I don't want her to hurt you, or Billie-"
"It's going to be okay, Sherlock," John said in his ear. "I shouldn't have gotten angry earlier. We'll be okay. We always win in the end." He pulled back, but had both arms around Sherlock's back. "We'll do it together. The two of us against the rest of the world, remember?"
Sherlock gave a wobbly smile. "I remember." His smile dropped. He needed to get this off his chest. He was going to break down if he didn't. "I think she might try to kill me again before she tries to hurt either of you."
John's expression turned to stone. "You think so?"
"Since she blames me for the end of your marriage, yes. She tried to kill me for discovering her secret, even when I offered help. Do you think she'd let this go so easily? That's why I want you and Billie here, John, but I don't trust her. Mary suddenly agreeing to a divorce does not sit well with me at all."
John's eyes turned bright and fierce. "She will not harm you, Sherlock," he nearly growled. "I promise you that. You can't-" he sucked in a breath, releasing it in a short huff, "you can't die again."
Sherlock wanted to be reassured by John's words, but another ripple of fear made him tremble.
"None of that," John murmured, hugging him again.
Sherlock hugged back, his chest heaving. As he hugged John, something dawned on him: this was his fault. If he weren't in love with John, Mary wouldn't hate him, and threaten John and Billie by proxy. His heart beat in his throat.
"This is my fault," he whispered.
"What?"
"If it weren't for me, Mary wouldn't have done any of this." He stupid god damn emotions did nothing but hurt the people around him.
"No," John said firmly, holding him closer. "That's Mary's voice in your head. Nothing is your fault. Why would this be your fault?"
He swallowed, shame washing over him. "Because she's always known. Since your wedding, at least."
John pulled back, confusion written all over his face. "What are you talking about? Hey," he touched his cheek, "calm down. Just tell me what you mean."
He closed his eyes, gulping, his skin burning beneath John's hand. John had the right to know why this was happening. He deserved the full truth. Sherlock saw that now. He was afraid John would get angry with him, because his big, stupid heart caused them so much pain. But then, Sherlock remembered Lestrade's words, just a few days ago. Dare he hope? "She knows how I feel about you," he whispered, almost inaudibly.
John's hand stiffened on his cheek.
Sherlock didn't open his eyes.
"What?" John whispered.
Sherlock's face contorted in pain. "I'm sorry, John. I never meant to feel this way, but it just...sort of happened." That had to have been the worst confession of all time.
John didn't move his hand. He didn't move at all. He didn't speak.
Sherlock risked opening his eyes.
John's chest was heaving, his mouth open, eyes huge and bright with moisture. "You," his voice was scratchy. His mouth closed, he swallowed, and shakily went on, "Sherlock, you…" His hand went higher on Sherlock's face, thumb against his cheekbone. "Tell me, Sherlock: what does she know? Please tell me, Sherlock. I need to hear it," he pleaded.
John didn't seem disgusted or angry at all. Alarm bells went off in his head. Was Lestrade really right? Sherlock wanted to do this before he got on the plane all those months ago, but fear and insecurity took over. Now, with John cupping his cheek and begging to hear what he had to say, Sherlock could do it. "Mary knows I love you," he confessed.
John gasped, and before Sherlock could react in any way, John's mouth was on his. Instead of freezing in shock, Sherlock was so relieved that all of the tension in his muscles melted away and he kissed back, his right hand cradling the back of John's head, steadying himself with his other hand on John's hip. He kissed back as best as he knew how, sliding his lips with John's, remembering to breathe through his nose.
John's thumb stroked his cheekbone, and his other hand played with the curls at his nape. He opened his mouth and Sherlock did the same, deepening the kiss. John's lips were warm and soft on his, like a blanket, and Sherlock finally felt like his anxiety was truly going away. John was kissing him, how could he not feel better? His heart fluttered. John was kissing him.
John lightly sucked Sherlock's bottom lip, drawing a small, involuntary moan from his throat. John broke the kiss, and they panted, breathing in each other's breath, dazed. John's lips were red and his hair was mussed from Sherlock's hand. He was beautiful.
John stroked his cheekbone again, eyes shining with passion Sherlock never dreamed of receiving. "I love you, too, Sherlock," he whispered hoarsely. "I really do."
Within a second, Sherlock's vision went blurry, and John had a watery smile. "Don't you start," he laughed. "I'll start crying if you do!"
Sherlock couldn't help but laugh, and a tear ran down his face. He couldn't believe any of this was happening. John said he loved him. John said he loved him. John said he loved him. John loved him. John loved him. John loved him. He ducked his head, hiding his crimson cheeks, resting his forehead on John's shoulder. They laughed through sobs they refused to acknowledge, arms tight around each other. Sherlock breathed him in, John's cologne filling his nostrils. If John loved him, Mary probably knew that, too. Things were becoming clearer.
"Does Mary know about you?" he asked when their laughs died down, lifting his head.
John still had a trace of a smile. "She does. She's known since before you came back."
Sherlock's mouth dropped open. "Really?"
"Yeah," he said dreamily. "I should sound less pleased, shouldn't I? But, god, Sherlock, you really feel that way?"
"I do," he said. He felt like a giant weight was lifted off his shoulders. "I've loved you for a long time, John."
John's stare was filled with enough adoration to make Sherlock's heart feel full. "Jesus Christ, Sherlock," he pressed a quick kiss to his lips. "Why did you never say anything?"
"You were married," he explained simply.
John snorted. "Okay, but still."
"Why didn't you?" he countered.
John cleared his throat. "I didn't know you felt that way. I always thought I was seeing things, misinterpreting signals and such. You always said you hated love and sentiment."
"I was afraid to feel this way," he recognized. He pressed his lips together, placing his hand over John's on his face. "I never allowed myself to feel any of this. I always thought it was too dangerous." The light mood diminished. "I was right. Mary sees me as a threat because she knows I love you."
"And she knows I love you," John said. He took Sherlock's hand in his, lowering their arms. "Maybe she wants a divorce because she knows she lost control of the situation," he said, thumb stroking the top of his hand.
Sherlock looked down at their joined hands. "Perhaps," he murmured, saving the image to his brain.
John chuckled. "You listening, Sherlock?"
"Of course," he looked up.
John smirked and leaned forward, kissing him again. Sherlock didn't think it was possible, but it was even better the second time. Their kiss was slow, deep, and turned wet when John's tongue slid across his bottom lip. Sherlock inhaled sharply through his nose and opened his mouth. John's tongue slowly licked inside, hot and wet inside of his mouth. Sherlock stiffened, and John's tongue slowly retreated, turning the kiss softer. He pulled back, pressed a firm kiss to his mouth, then kissed his cheek, his jaw, and moving up to his ear. "So glad you shaved," John whispered in his ear, "you're gorgeous as you are."
Sherlock's jaw dropped and his knees felt weak. "John," he gasped weakly. John kissed below his ear, and Sherlock wrapped his arms around his back, head tipping back and eyes closing. God, John's mouth felt good.
Billie's cries made them jump apart.
John jogged over to the chair, and breathed a sigh of relief. "She's okay," he told Sherlock. "I think she's just hungry."
Sherlock was still processing everything. John kissed him. John loved him. John called him gorgeous. He thought John's love was from his personality only, but John called him gorgeous.
John got a bottle from the bag, snorting at Sherlock. "You all right over there?"
"Yes," he said, monotone.
John laughed and held Billie, sitting in Sherlock's chair, putting the bottle to her lips. Sure enough, she started sucking and quieted down. "There you go," he smiled down at her.
Sherlock walked over to them, wanting to be near John.
John smiled sympathetically. "Sorry, Sherlock. She kinda ruined the mood."
"I don't mind," he said, and he really didn't. "John. We need to think about what we're going to do."
"I know," he said, soft grin falling. "I want to be here with you. She's safer here, and I just want to be here. That's okay?"
"I want you here," he said. "You belong here."
John hummed. "Yeah, I do. I'm-glad we're on the same page now."
Sherlock kneeled in front of the chair. "Me, too." He looked up at John and Billie. John loved him. John was coming back. He and Billie were going to live with him. "I love you," he said.
John beamed. "So you've said." His smile turned wistful. "I wish we had figured this out a long time ago."
"I do, too," Sherlock agreed. "But, if you never met Mary, Billie wouldn't be here. If we can find peace, then it'll be worth everything we've been through."
John blinked rapidly. "That's true." He looked down at Billie.
Expressing emotions never came easily to Sherlock, but on the high of John's kisses, he said, "I'll do everything to ensure we can find that peace, with no Mary, no more threats: just the three of us here, in Baker Street."
John looked down at him. "God, I want to kiss you."
Sherlock licked his lips. "You can after you're done with Billie."
John removed the empty bottle from her lips and set it next to his hip, lifting Billie up on his shoulder, turning her around, and burping her. "So, Billie and I move in here. Then what? We live in fear for the rest of our lives?"
Sherlock's good mood decreased. "No. I still don't trust her to simply get a divorce and leave us to live our lives. She must have something in mind, some sort of revenge plot."
"And she's not laying a bloody finger on you," John said darkly.
Sherlock felt touched. He liked this protective side of John. "We need to be vigilant. We should lock all of the doors and windows at night. Mycroft and his men are on it, but we must live in anticipation, because she will act in some way."
John sighed heavily. "Waiting's the worst part."
"It always is."
John sat Billie down in his lap, holding her in both of his hands. Her dark blue eyes blinked at Sherlock, and she stuffed her fist into her mouth and started sucking. He smiled at her.
"I love how much you like her," John said.
"I don't just like her," he glanced up, "I love her."
John's eyes became bright again and he rubbed his eyes roughly. "Jesus, you have to stop making me cry today."
"I'm sorry," Sherlock apologized, but he was smiling.
John bit his lip. "I'm going to sound like an awful father, but I really want to put her down and kiss you."
Sherlock giggled nervously. "I can certainly wait."
John stood up with Billie in his arms. "I don't expect Mary to carry out whatever she's planning the day after she agreed to a divorce, do you?"
"No," Sherlock said, eyebrows furrowing. "I think she wants us to think we're safe and catch us off guard."
"Right. So, I think it's safe if Billie visits Mrs. Hudson for a little while, don't you think?"
Sherlock's toes wiggled in excitement. "I think she'll be fine."
"Great," John winked, and walked across the room, leaving the flat and going downstairs.
Sherlock stood up, brushing the dust off his trousers. Butterflies fluttered in his stomach. John was the first kiss he ever had that wasn't for a case, and the thought of John wanting to spend time alone with him, kissing him, filled with giddy anxiety. (Was that possible? Who cares?)
John came back upstairs alone. "Mrs. Hudson was more than pleased to watch her for a bit. I told her to lock her doors, just in case." John shut the door behind him, locking it.
"That's good," Sherlock said, rocking on his heels.
"It is," his voice lowered. He walked over to Sherlock, took his hands, and kissed him sweetly. Sherlock's hands turned sweaty in his. John broke the short kiss, rubbing their noses together, and Sherlock felt warm everywhere. He didn't expect to enjoy something so simple, and he nuzzled back, too happy to feel ridiculous.
"Sherlock," John breathed, kissing him gently, their lips making wet sounds, "oh, Sherlock," kiss, "we've waited so long." Kiss. "Let's have some time to ourselves," he murmured against his lips. "I'm sorry you've been so on edge lately. Let me help you relax. Let me love you."
Yeah, Mary's not going down quietly