Northbound on the Piccadilly Line X
"Don't leave again, please," Sherlock whimpered; all his deductions and knowledge thrown out the window, becoming an echo of the man John had made him.
Mark tutted internally and put on a small, reassuring smile.
"I'm not leaving you, I promise," he said, rubbing Sherlock's back gently.
After a few minutes Mark steered Sherlock to the bed, arranging both of them in a way in which meant that Sherlock could curl into Mark's embrace.
"Why didn't you come home sooner? Why didn't find me? Tell me you were okay?" Sherlock said peering up at Mark's face, he looked like a child in infancy, big eyes wide in fear of Mark dissipating into the ether but also inquisitive.
"I was found on the tracks, by a man, paramedic. I was taken to hospital, I had severe amnesia, I couldn't remember the past five years of my life," Mark started "I couldn't remember you, I found your ring in my jacket pocket, remember, that was the day I was going to have your ring adjusted to fit. I got mixed up in the whole explosion, my bag got torn to shreds and thrown across the carriage, burnt and unclaimed I didn't realise it had my ID in it so when they took me to hospital I had no sense of identification so I was confirmed dead, no-one knew that I was alive but I couldn't remember anyone to tell them I was in hospital so I was lost, like driftwood I was moved on to a new home, I tried to remember but I couldn't so I lived a new life, new name, new everything, I had nothing to go on and I started again. And then, about a month ago I started to remember, I remembered certain things, me proposing to you, your name, and from there I went to finding where you were now. I'm sorry that you did what you did, for me, because you thought I'd died."
Sherlock let the tears fall down his cheeks, he wanted to hate Mark but he couldn't let himself. Mark couldn't help it if he had amnesia. But what about John? John, the man who had come to help, who'd made his world better and clearer and so much worthwhile. John had given him so much love and things that Sherlock couldn't possibly give in return, so much love that Sherlock wondered if any of it had been real. Why had John gone? Why didn't John say anything? Sherlock's brain was so confused his head had started to throb ever so slightly.
Mark could sense Sherlock's discomfort and sniggered quietly to himself, but carried on with his main incentive.
"As you can understand I'm rather low of money, can I borrow some money from you? I wouldn't ask if I wasn't desperate, I've been working in temporary locum ever since my memory went and now it's back I'm hoping to get back to my banking job in the City again," Mark asked, trying to look as innocent as possible.
Sherlock nodded shortly and nuzzled back into the warmth of Mark's chest.
His plan was working. This was going more smoothly than he'd anticipated, Mark had prepared a full-on pathetic speech about how much he loved Sherlock and how he knew that it would take time for their wounds to heal but Sherlock hadn't needed any of that. As soon as Sherlock had set eyes on Mark he'd forgiven him.
And that was exactly what Mark wanted.
A/N: Short chapter, but better than nothing. X x x