4.
John is asleep - I insisted on it as soon as we arrived back at the house. He was exhausted by the day's emotional turmoil. I was tentative about the situation to begin with and now utterly detest the whole thing, entirely because of what it's doing to John.
He is too sentimental, too emotional, always will be. I hate the things to which it makes him vulnerable, the people to whom it makes him vulnerable. Like Judy Benson, the vile waste of humanity.
Idiot.
Blaming John for her daughter's death, even after all these years. And blaming Stephanie - as if a child - who didn't ask to be conceived - has any responsibility for the actions of her parents, or her mother in this particular case.
It's obvious that Judy Benson doesn't contain her opinions; I have no doubt Stephanie has spent her life hearing about her failings and her inability to live up to her mother. Her dead mother, committing suicide at 19 because a man she loved refused to have her, because she had a child, because she was a coward.
I understand to some degree - losing John would be devastating - but it was her fault that she lost him.
Her loss.
Ultimately my gain.
Perhaps I should be grateful to her after all. Then again, perhaps not.
I sit back on the sofa and examine the photos we took at Stephanie's house today. I took pictures of the rooms, the clothing, the closets, the entrances, everything really. Normally, I am better able to make deductions at the scene, but I had no desire for John to spend any more time in that house than absolutely necessary.
I scan through the pictures again even though they really aren't necessary. I remember everything clearly and it is becoming more and more obvious what happened to Stephanie. The items not in the pictures are more telling than the items in the pictures. I've sent an email to Lestrade to have him check several things for me and then I will have an answer. I won't share anything with John until I know for sure. I am uncertain how he will receive the news. I couldn't care less what the Bensons think.
I sigh and set my phone down; I'm done with the pictures. I am done with this case. I lean back on the couch and close my eyes. I really am ready to leave here. Well, not here specifically, experiencing John's childhood home has been rather enjoyable. I sit up and reach for the box closest to me. There are still more of John's items to search through.
I pull out several items of little interest, rugby awards, football awards, some team pictures. There are some more books emphasising John's deplorable taste in literature. I set these all aside indifferently.
I pull the cigar box out next. I eye it for a moment before setting it on my lap and opening it. Immediately, I'm greeted with a picture of John and Bella. I almost groan, feeling as if I am being bombarded with images of her on this trip. I set it aside though and the next picture is also alarming. It's a sonogram photo, the date in the corner indicates that it must have been Stephanie. It's well-worn in the bottom left corner and I wonder how often John stared at this photo. It hasn't been looked at for at least the last 4 years, because he hasn't been here since I've known him. I wonder if he's missed it.
I set it aside and the next is a photo of John and a man. They are sitting on a bench and the man has one arm draped over John's shoulders. They are sitting close enough so that this man's hand is resting on John's shirt right above his left nipple. With his hand flattened on John's chest I know this is deliberate. I'm annoyed by his openness at touching the man who will be my husband and I am jealous. I cannot sit that way with John because it would hurt his shoulder. This man has done something with my husband that I have not and I don't like that. I wonder if this attractive, young, arrogant man is the one Judy spoke of today. John looks about the right age for this to have been taken not long after Bella. I frown.
I hate him. I don't even know his name.
I set that one aside too and pull out a picture of another woman. She's a brunette and looks older than John. He's older in this photo than in the last, but not much. He has an easy smile on his face and his arm wrapped around the woman's waist. Actually his hand is resting lower, just on her hip. It's just at the point where it is an intimate touch. They are each holding a pint out in the gesture of a toast and based on the goings on behind them it appears to be some type of party. The look on her face is fond, but not loving. This is clearly an intimate relationship, but not an emotional one. I wonder how long it lasted, how long the intimacy continued. I am surprised that this picture doesn't bother me as much as Bella and the man. I am curious as to why; perhaps it is simply Jonh's emotional involvement, or lack thereof.
In the last photo he is in his uniform, full dress blues, hat tucked under one arm. His hair is as closely cropped as I've ever seen it and he is much older than the others. He's probably around 30, still before Afghanistan though. He's standing next to another man in a uniform and they are looking at each other and laughing. They provide an interesting contrast, in such formal attire at a clearly formal event and yet laughing with the ease of old friends. They are clearly comfortable with each other and the true nature of their relationship could probably be easily hidden. He is the only one of the group, apart from Bella, whom I can identify. Not that I have ever met him, but Bill Murray is a constant in the background of John's life. I've never discussed with my husband the true nature of his relationship with this man, but based on the blog comments and the emails it is a long and comfortable one.
My only surprise at finding this photo is that it appears the relationship with Bill Murray was much longer than I anticipated. In my head I had determined that it started during their time in Afghanistan together. This is proof that it predates that. I'm not entirely comfortable with that idea, although I know that John's contact with this man is superficial at best now.
At the bottom of the box is an odd collection of items which obviously hold sentimental value to the people in these photos and others from John's past. There are tickets from the cinema and theater, matchbooks from restaurants and clubs, a wrist band with 'VIP' on it from a concert, a collection of lapel pins, and a flattened, dried rose.
I examine each one carefully, but find them annoying mostly because I am unable to clearly determine the significance of each. In most cases I can't even associate them with a person or a photograph. There is a ticket to a Dave Brubeck concert in Birmingham that I know John attended with his father and Harry and there is a lapel pin in a shade of blue which represents ovarian and cervical cancer. This is the type of cancer John's mother had and he makes regular donations to a cancer research organisation that has this pin on their mailings. This must be one of the last additions to this box; he hasn't been here many times since she died.
The rest are a mystery that I can't easily solve.
I put all of the smaller items back in and am examining the photos again when he comes into the room, scratching his head and yawning. He's shirtless and his pyjama bottoms are sitting lower than usual on his hips, bunching around his ankles.
He looks at me, notices what I am holding, and frowns. Immediately, I wonder if it was acceptable to look through this box; it had not occurred to me before. John had set no limits on my exploration and it isn't as if I would have known what it contained previous to opening it. Perhaps I should have closed it upon realising what it was. I move to put the photos back and he looks back up and meets my eyes.
He isn't angry and I'm relieved about this.
"I didn't think that was a box you'd enjoy going through." I nod, looking down at it. I can't say that I enjoyed it. It's left me feeling jealous and annoyed, feelings I'm not proud of. I continue to stare down at it as I hear him close the distance between us. The picture of him and Bella is still on top and I'm trying not to focus on it, but I don't want to look up at him either.
He stands next to me for a moment, his legs visible out of the corner of my eye. After a moment he runs his fingers through my hair, using his nails to lightly scratch just at the base of my skull. I close my eyes and enjoy it despite myself and my desire to sulk about this.
"Do you want to talk about it?" he asks and I shake my head. That isn't why we are here. He's had a difficult day and I should be supportive, it's what spouses do. It's what I should do. The rest of this can wait until later, until we are home and I feel more comfortable.
"What's his name?" The words are past my lips before I even realise they were forming. I frown at myself and the lack of control my brain has over my mouth. I am about to take it back when I realise I have moved the photo of John and the man on the bench to the top of the pile. I hadn't even noticed.
"Phillip," John answers me tightening his fingers in my hair. "I met him during a lab at Uni. He was beautiful, willing, loud, and fun. I latched onto him as soon as I met him because of everything that had happened with…"
He trails off for a second and I mentally fill in 'with Bella'. This confirms that this is the man Judy was speaking of.
Phillip. What a horribly plebian name.
"We were mates at first, at the pub on Friday nights and such. Then one night it was more. It shocked the hell out of me but not so much him. He was a year ahead of me and we broke it off when he left school. Last I heard, and that was probably 10 years ago, he was in New Zealand. Auckland or something."
I nod, accepting that, still hating him. But obviously John hasn't spent time collecting information on this man. I should find comfort in that.
I notice my hands flipping to the next photo, John and the other woman. His hand moves out of my hair and onto my shoulder. He sets his knee on the sofa and rests his weight on it while still standing. The position moves him subtly closer to me and he places a kiss on my head. "Dr. Elsa Philemon, she was one of the doctors I first worked with when I was a house officer."
"You didn't love her," I say, still not looking up.
His voice has a slight humorous undertone. "No," he answers, "not even close. It didn't last long, but it wasn't supposed to. It was convenient and fun. When I moved to an army hospital we never spoke again." I nod, this doesn't surprise me.
I turn to the next photo. "This is Bill Murray," I say it instead of asking it.
"It is," he replies, placing another kiss. I expect him to say more, but he doesn't.
"It lasted a long time." I fill in the silence.
"It did," he says, "on and off. We filled a hole in the other's life when we could. It was nice and comfortable and welcome. We were friends first though, that was always the unspoken agreement. There were never any strings or commitments." He squeezes my neck lightly. "Bill is married now, had a baby a few years ago. He's very happy with his life."
I set the photos down in the box and keep my eyes on them. "So am I," John adds after a long moment and I finally turn my head to look up at him. He has a simple smile on his face and the day's events are still showing in the creases around his eyes, but he's not thinking about that. He's thinking about me. I know that look. He leans forward slightly and places a kiss onto my forehead.
I close my eyes and feel him shut the box and gently pull it out of my hands. I let it go willingly and I hear him drop it, once again, into the box.
"You do know I am happy with my life now, don't you?" He whispers the words against my forehead and I reach an arm around to settle around his waist. He moves, positioning himself over me, turning slightly and bringing his other leg up so that he's straddling me. He settles his weight on my thighs.
I nod and rest my hands on his hips. The jealousy I'd been feeling just a few moments before is fading, being pushed aside by the stronger feelings John so easily stirs inside of me.
"Say it, please? Tell me that you know how much I love you." He's serious and I'm surprised, but no matter what was in that box I know it.
I nod again. "I know." He smiles at that, just for a second, before he leans down and places his lips against mine. They are soft and he has the slightly unpleasant taste of sleep, but it doesn't matter, it never has. I open my mouth to him and his tongue invades me. He moves his hands around to cup my face and holds me in place while he pushes closer to me.
I take the opportunity to slide my hands under the waist band of his pyjama bottoms and squeeze his ass. He moans into me, spreading his legs just a fraction and pushing against my stomach. I can feel the slight increase in pressure as his erection begins to form. It sends a pleasant tightening up my spine
He pulls back and starts working on my buttons. "You know," he says and I have to focus my mind to actually hear his words. My heart is pounding in my ears. "I keep a box at home with stuff concerning you in it." He doesn't look at me, keeping his attention on my buttons. I'm astonished. Surprised to the point where I pull back slightly to examine him. After a second he meets my eyes again.
"Where?" I ask, determined to go through it as soon as we get home.
A slightly embarrassed smile crosses his face and he shrugs, going back to work. "The linen closet, behind the cleaning supplies. I figured you'd never see it there." I frown and he chuckles. "Feel free to dig it out when we get home; just don't make fun of me for being sentimental."
I roll my eyes and lean up to place a peck against his lips. "That would be like making fun of you for being you. Ridiculous."
That earns me a smile and our lips lock again. It's my turn to push into him and he willingly lets me take control. I always enjoy the taste of John. I press my fingers into his cheeks and dig my thumbs into his hips. He shifts and thrusts slightly in my grip. I groan and he pulls back, allowing me to take his bottom lip into my mouth. I suck on it for a minute before we separate again.
We are both gasping and an image of John on the bench with Phillips crosses my mind in a quick flash. I lean forward, dislodging his hands as they begin to pull my shirt out of my trousers. He accommodates me, but I can tell by the slight tension that he's confused by the change. I open my mouth and press it against his chest, right above where Phillip's hand had been all those years ago. I press my tongue against him and silently and quickly reclaim the spot. And as his fingers settle in my hair again I move down just a fraction and begin to suckle on his nipple.
His sharp intake of breath makes me smile; I'll be the last person to ever hear that noise out of John Watson. I can live with that.