Song: Love Led us Here from Muppet Treasure island

Summary: The dream is dead; long live reality.

Warnings: John/Sherlock slash

Spoilers: Minor for A Study in Pink

Disclaimer: Unfortunately, I own nothing.

Author's Note: Second part. Thanks again to everyone who has reviewed, it's so nice to hear what you have to say. Hope you enjoy this next part.

I confess it's sad but true,

I lost myself when I lost you,

But I held your memory through each lonely night.

Let's forget what's gone before,

Now we both know so much more,

And we've been given another chance,

To make it work out right.

The years continued their relentless march, carrying John along with them. He finished his medical training and went straight into the army. The man who had found his heart in a dream now sought to lose it in the bitter reality of war. He immersed himself in a world that was too hot, too red, too real for memories of that summer to intrude. But some nights, when the eastern wind was warm and the stars were bright he felt Loki's ghost beside him, tasted the long forgotten taste of his skin, heard his haunting voice whisper his name. He feared and treasured those nights in equal measure, hoping each one would be the last but clinging to every moment like a miser clings to his gold. He enjoyed what he was doing; he felt that he had a purpose, a reason for living in the world. He needed to believe that there was a reason his summer dream had been shattered like glass, stolen from him in a moment. And for the most part he was content, if not happy. Then the world titled again and he fell down, down, into the abyss where madness is king.


Pain, blood, sand in his mouth and eyes, shouting from a distance, movement, blue sky and scarlet blood twisting his mind, blackness. Awake again. Pain, white, blinding bright, smell of disinfectant and death, throat hoarse from screaming, running feet, blackness. Awake again. Mind fuzzy, morphine haze, eyes open but unseeing, mind trapped in the woods with a figure from a long lost dream, blackness once more.


John returned to England with a wounded shoulder, a psychosomatic limp and a tremble in his left hand that had nothing to do with what he had left and everything to do with where he was going. He dreaded the thought of returning home; it was too ordinary, too real for him to bear. He sat in his bedsit, holding his gun in his hands, feeling the cool metal against his palm, trying to shut out a lifetime of intolerable memories. He was back to drifting now, with nothing to keep him centred and fixed in the present. The world outside his window was bleak and grey, the bitter heart of winter so far from the scorching heat he had left behind. But still, Mother Nature called and John fulfilled a habit of a lifetime by listening. So he walked to the park, sat on a bench and waited.

His patience was rewarded.


He knew the moment he saw him. It was as if the real world and his dream world shifted and coalesced into one another, centred on the man leaning over a Petri dish. John's breath caught in his throat but he gave no outside sign. He knew how much he had changed, how much the years had stolen from him; there was no reason to believe that the man he had once known as Loki would recognise him. So he played his part to perfection, pretended he didn't know the exact tone of this man's skin, the sounds he made when he was touched, the smell of his hair. There was only one thing he did not know, that he had believed he would never know, until it was given to him freely with a wink. Loki's true name. Sherlock Homes.


Neither of them said anything about the past. Sometimes Sherlock looked at John as if he was trying to place him, but most of the time it was clear he did not recognise him. Sometimes it was physically painful for John, watching Sherlock dance around crime scenes and glide around the flat, watching his grace and remembering exactly when he had scene it all before. But he couldn't tear himself away. For the first time in so many long and lonely years he felt alive, in the moment not stuck in the past. So he stayed, and more than stayed; he followed Sherlock, helped him, killed for him. He began to believe he could be happy with that, until his world tipped again and he was thrown off once more among the stars.


John should have known better then to chase a man off the edge of a building with a knife wound in his arm. He clung on by his fingertips, legs dangling over the void, arm pulsing blood out with every beat of his heart, praying to whatever gods were listening to not let him fall. Suspended in space, he felt gravity pulling him inexorably down towards the unforgiving ground.

He slipped.

He fell.

Sherlock caught him.

Of course.

"John!" Sherlock cried. "Hold on!"

"Well what else am I going to do?" John shouted back, but already he could feel his grip slipping.

"John, grab tighter!"

"I'm trying, but I can't…my arm…I'm not strong enough."

"Oh yes you are, my Sirius, you can't give up on me now!" John reacted instinctively to the sound of the name he hadn't heard in years. He clung on tighter and was pulled up from the brink of the void, and into the arms of the man he'd loved all his life.


There was little time for talking in-between the hospital and the police interviews. Throughout it all John clung to Sherlock's hand as if he would disperse into mist if he let go. When they eventually returned home John immediately disappeared into the kitchen to make tea. Sherlock called to him,

"You have questions John. If you don't object I'd rather you asked them now, so we can get this conversation over with." John stood still for a moment, considering, then flicked off the kettle and walked back into the living room. He asked the question at the front of his mind.

"Why did you leave?" Sherlock wouldn't meet his eyes.

"I was afraid," he said, discomfort clear in every line of his body. "It was all too much. I felt like I was losing control of who I was and I couldn't accept that, or understand what was happening to me." John sighed,

"Basically, you were an idiot."

"I suppose you could put it that way, yes." There was a momentary silence, then John asked,

"So what now?"

"I don't know," Sherlock admitted with rare frankness. "I don't have much experience in this area. But I am certain we were brought back together for a reason."

"We can't go back," John said. "We can never recapture what we had that summer. We're both too old; we've seen too much." He saw the despair in Sherlock's eyes. "But…we could try to create something new. Something real." He steeled himself for the confession that could save his heart or damn it forever. "I loved Loki from the moment I saw him, but he wasn't real. He was a dream. But you are real, Sherlock Holmes. You are so beautifully real and, god help me, I love you." He smiled at the shock on Sherlock's face. "I love you, more than I ever loved Loki. Because you are real." For the first time in his life Sherlock's silver tongue deserted him. He couldn't find the words he needed to keep John with him. So he acted instead. He crossed the living room in three long strides, pulled John too him and kissed him as he had kissed him once before, by a duckless duck pond during a hazy, love-soaked summer, so many years ago.


It felt like returning to a childhood home after a lifetime away. The furniture was different and the place was older, but the walls were the same, the memories still clinging to them like photographs. There was passion in the kiss, but also warmth, love. They were both older and perhaps wiser. Both had seen far too much of reality to every truly return to the dream, but maybe that was for the best. Every year has four seasons; every human has a heart that can be broken. Loki had broken Sirius' heart but Sherlock had fixed it. Loki had thrown his heart away, but John had helped him find it again. So they held hands and watched the sun set over the dramatic London skyline and remember the dream with fondness but no regrets. They had lost their dream love, but the love they had found was better. It was real.

Love led us here,

Right back to where we belong.

We followed a star and here we are,

Now heaven seems so near.

Love led us here.

So take my hand,

And have no fear,

We'll be alright,

Love led us here.

Author's Notes: Thank you for reading. I rewatched A Study in Pink yesterday and couldn't stop grinning all the way through :D I think I scared my mum, but she already knew I was crazy. Please review, until we meet again, Fireheart93.