Although Harry had assured John that Willa was sleeping, he had the urge to check on her for himself. He looked down at his sleeping daughter, so tiny and pink and fragile. He gently cupped her cheek, wishing he felt more of a bond, feeling like a failure as a father.
"Good night, sweetheart." That's the sort of thing fathers say, so John said it.
He returned to a sitting room full of chatting adults sipping tea and nibbling biscuits as the evening wound down. As John glanced to the sofa where Victor sat with an arm around Sherlock's shoulders, he hoped both that the evening would come to an end soon and that the guests would linger on so he did not have to be alone with his thoughts and a wife he was not married to.
The sound of Greg's phone interrupted the various conversations. After a quick glimpse of the screen, he made his excuses. "It's Sally. Gotta take this."
Mary indicated Molly with a wave of her teacup. "You let him get called by work while on dates?"
"Let's face it, if it's a homicide, I'll likely be called into work, too," responded Molly.
John smiled. He knew Molly and Greg were a good match, for many reasons, professional compatibility being a big one. His smile slipped as he remembered he'd assumed that about Mary's nursing career. He'd never dreamed the woman he fell in love with had more in common with his past as a soldier than his present as a doctor.
Greg reappeared and gave Molly a wink. "Double homicide in Knightsbridge. No obvious leads."
Molly ran a hand through her hair, instinctively pulling it away from her face as if preparing to view a corpse. "I should probably head to Bart's."
Greg hovered near Sherlock. "I hate to ask you to interrupt your plans, but will you come?"
Sherlock leaned towards Victor, who said, "Oh, please, I texted my driver as soon as Greg's phone rang. You go on. I'll head back to the hotel, as I've got early morning meetings before heading back to Edinburgh tomorrow."
Sherlock squeezed Victor's knee. "Thank you."
Greg pressed, "So, you're coming?"
Impatient, Sherlock replied tersely. "Yes, yes. Text me the address. I will meet you there."
Greg held a hand out to Molly. "Shall I drop you at Bart's?"
She clasped his hand and drew herself up. "Yes, thank you."
John appreciated the gentle affection between the new couple. He remembered that sensation, seemingly a lifetime ago.
Greg pointed at Sherlock with his free hand. "Alright, see you at the scene. You, too, John?"
John was startled by Greg's question.
Sherlock's facial expression would appear blank to most, but John observed a restrained hunger in his eyes.
"Oh, Harry, we're here at the start of a new case!" Olivia clasped her hands and grinned mischievously.
Harry raised her teacup towards Sherlock and John and said, "Here's to the start of something new."
Victor raised his teacup, too. "Well said."
Mary started to say something, but Harry interrupted. "Olivia and I will stay to help tidy up. No worries, John."
"Perhaps we can help with Willa's bedtime?" Olivia and Harry exchanged a few tender kisses. John realized the two women were on the cusp of an important step in their relationship. Good on you, Harry.
Sherlock inhaled deeply and cast a quick look at Mary, who was clearly trying to hide her irritation.
Oh, I see. The two of you are making decisions without me again.
John directed his answer to Greg alone. "Sure. I'll be there."
"Excellent."
Mary's frustrated sigh pleased John, who told himself he should probably feel guilty about that.
Molly and Greg retrieved their coats and quickly bid farewell.
Victor's phone chimed. "My driver is outside. Time for me to go."
As Sherlock retrieved Victor's coat, Victor thanked Mary for a wonderful evening. Then he turned to John, who had already risen from the sofa to escort Greg and Molly to the door. Victor reached out to shake John's hand. "John, it was a pleasure meeting you. I can't wait to read about this case and many more on the blog."
As Sherlock returned, Victor said, "Best of luck to both of you, tonight and in the future."
John watched as Sherlock and Victor exchanged kisses on the cheek. Sherlock said, "Let me see you out. I'll be right back, John."
Sherlock helped Victor with his coat and walked him to the door of the flat. It seemed an eternity before John tore his gaze from where Sherlock's hand rested on the small of Victor's back.
"John, let's get your things from the bedroom, hmm?" Mary smiled at him fondly, but John knew it was an act.
John followed her into their room. As he gathered his coat, gloves, and scarf, he sensed Mary's scrutiny, as if he was a patient and she was determining a diagnosis. From her grimace, the prognosis was not good.
Wanting to get the confrontation over as soon as possible, John started. "What?"
"You lied to me."
John stopped in the act of pulling on his gloves and stared at the ceiling. "Oh, that's something coming from you. What exactly have I lied about?"
Mary advanced towards him and whispered fiercely. "I thought when you chose me, you chose me. Not that you didn't realize you had another choice."
John reeled from the accusation. In all their time together, Mary had never insinuated that he and Sherlock were more than friends, not even in the depths of his mourning. The list of her betrayals was growing ever longer in his mind.
He raised a hand to stop her approach. "Don't. Just don't." Then he strode away and left her alone.
In the sitting room, Harry and Sherlock were saying their goodbyes. John was surprised when Harry hugged Sherlock, and his eyes widened as Sherlock reciprocated.
"You watch out for my brother. He makes stupid decisions sometimes."
Sherlock laughed and assured Harry, "I will always watch over him. He's more tolerable than most of the other idiots."
"Hey, I'm right here."
As Sherlock walked to the door, Harry threw her arms around John. "I like him, Johnny. You keep him close."
In her embrace, John suddenly remembered his younger self who desperately loved and admired his sister. Overwhelmed by a flood of suppressed memories, he said, "Congratulations about Olivia."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah."
Harry gave him one more squeeze, and then let John go, "You'd better not keep him waiting any longer."
John nodded and proceeded to Sherlock's side. "Shall we?"
"Yes."
They set forth into the cold London night. As John closed the door behind them, Sherlock said, "I have no idea how you can live here. It'll take us forever to find a cab."
"And yet somehow I make it to work every day just fine."
The two men walked in silence for several minutes. Finally, John ventured, "So, Victor?"
Sherlock shot John a quick glance out of the corner of his eye. "Perhaps."
"Alright." John hesitated. "It's just, all this time, you never brought a man home."
"Maybe I'm a little lonely."
"And before?"
"I was never lonely when you were with me."
Sherlock's words shook John to the core. Sherlock had been so much more open with his emotions since his return from the dead, yet John was unable to react in kind. His complete devastation over Sherlock's faked death prevented him from opening up to anyone completely, not even Mary. And Sherlock deserved so much more from John, had proven it time and time again since his return. Sherlock's admission of loneliness made it easier for John to share a confession of his own. As they reached the main thoroughfare, John halted.
"I'm not bonding with Willa. When I look at her, I see Mary, and I just don't feel anything. I don't know what's wrong with me."
Sherlock briefly touched John's wrist. "I'm sorry, John. I'm sure you're doing fine, and the bond will come in time."
John nodded in gratitude.
Sherlock's eyes crinkled as he said with a wistful tone, "It's so strange, I look at Willa, and I see your daughter. I can't help but sense a connection with her."
John gazed up at his best friend and recognized the look on his face. Sherlock had shown it during his best man's speech when he congratulated John on his choice of companion in Mary. John was deep into Sherlock's gunshot recovery before he realized Sherlock considered anyone at John's side was a better choice than himself. He was so, so wrong.
"I'm such a horrible friend." John blurted out the words before he realized he was going to say them.
"Of course, you're not. Why would you say that?"
"All this time, trapped with Mary, I tell myself I could go back to Baker Street and to you. Like you're some sort of fucking consolation prize. It never occurred to me that you might not have a place for me."
At Sherlock's bewildered expression, John clarified, "You know, Victor."
Sherlock closed his eyes. "John, I want you to know, allowing for the possibility of a "Victor", if it was a choice between you and… it wouldn't even be…" Sherlock stopped, frustrated at his inability to get the words out. He took a deep breath, opened his eyes, and looked directly at John. "You will always have a home with me, John, always."
Unable to maintain eye contact, Sherlock turned and waved down a cab. He stepped into the cab first, and John followed.
John followed feeling like he had taken the first step on an escape route, like the cab was a haven.
He sat next to Sherlock quietly. Sherlock was texting steadily, with Lestrade, John assumed. He knew better than to interrupt. Instead John enjoyed being at Sherlock's side again. He felt stronger and lighter than he had in weeks. Months. Since Sherlock had been shot, actually. John knew he'd never recovered from almost losing Sherlock again and the shock of Mary's betrayal. If it weren't for the baby, John would have moved out permanently long ago. He was tempted still to flee to the refuge of Baker Street, but believed he owed Willa at least the chance of growing up with two parents. Deep down, he also worried that Mary's past was biding its time to reappear at their flat, requiring his presence to protect Willa from the mistakes of her parents.
"This isn't even a two. I have no idea what Lestrade was thinking." Sherlock stowed his phone in his pocket.
"Well, he's not the only consulting detective in the world. Guess he doesn't know his twos from his sevens."
Sherlock chuckled and stared out the window. The lights of London illuminated his profile, and John found himself entranced. It had been too long.
Too long since John had been at Sherlock's side. Too long since he'd felt the way Sherlock made him feel. Too long since he accepted he had yearnings that the life he aspired to would never satisfy. But he'd had enough of such introspection for tonight. Now he decided just to live in the moment.
With appreciable irritation, Sherlock said. "I've practically solved the case from here. It should barely take any time at all once we get to the scene."
John's stomach churned at the thought of an early end to his time with Sherlock, but was once again amazed at the talents of his friend. Before John express his admiration and disappointment, Sherlock said, "I noticed you did not eat much earlier."
Slightly confused at this turn of conversation, John said, "I didn't have much appetite."
Sherlock chewed on his bottom lip, and then he asked, "Dinner?"
John remembered the very first time Sherlock asked that question. And his response. "Starving."
The two men smiled at each other, and John realized it was true. He was starving. And he knew the time was coming for him to acknowledge the reasons why, but for now it was enough to admit the simple truth. When he was with Sherlock Holmes, John Watson always hungered.