It had been so long since John had set foot inside 221B, but it was just as he remembered it. Mrs. Hudson never rented it out again and apparently only came to do some basic cleaning to ensure that the dust didn't gather. He set down his overnight bag. The plan was simple, he'd pretend that he'd welcomed Sherlock back with open arms and moved back in with him, temporarily. Lestrade and the boys would remain at their home which was under constant surveillance. This was all so that Moran would get the idea that Sherlock and John were once again a couple. Time would only tell if it would work.
John opened the door to what was once his bedroom and plopped down on the bed.
"John, why are you in here?" Sherlock asked walking in behind John.
"Figure it out, genius." John snapped without even opening his eyes.
"We're supposed to be fooling the world into thinking we're a couple. Wouldn't that be an easier task if we went back to sharing a room?"
"No, Sherlock. It would not."
"Really? And why would that be?"
"Because hearing your voice, seeing you before me...after everything you put me through, it makes me furious enough to want to do terrible things to you. Terrible things."
Sherlock just sighed.
"Perhaps I didn't explain clearly enough why I did what I did. John, there were snipers trained on you, Lestrade and Mrs. Hudson. I had no choice, but to..."
"Yes, you've explained all of that. Numerous times. I'm not as dense as you make me out to be."
"Then if you're not, why are you still so angry with me?"
"Because you put yourself in that situation. Why? Because you needed to prove your genius. You had to win 'the game'. Like you said, 'genius needs an audience'. I'm angry because you let me think you were dead for three whole years and you expected that you could just magically come back and everything would be fine. That I spent all of this time lost without out you. I'm angry because you don't seem to understand the gravity of just what I went through just because you went thorough things as well. And finally, I'm angry because you said that you loved me and now I can't trust that you even did that. I feel as though as I was nothing more than an experiment in human emotions for you. After all of this time, you still didn't trust me enough to help you with all of this. That is why I'm angry, Sherlock."
"So I let my pride cloud my decisions, that's not new. I behaved like an insensitive boar, again, John, not news. But do you actually believe I could go through everything I went through, if I didn't love you? I've seen and done things that...granted I may have done before, but never with the sense of urgency that I had this time. I always knew I would be coming back to you, I just never imagined that it would take so long. I didn't expect for you to get over me so quickly, if I'm honest, I didn't think you'd get over me at all. Before I left on the mission, Molly asked me what I would do if you'd learned to live without me. I'd never had an answer for that, because I had never considered that to be an option, because I knew I couldn't live without you."
"Wait...Molly? She knew?!"
"Yes, she assisted with faking the autopsy reports. I fail to see how..."
"Is there anyone else who knew? Anyone else you trusted more than me?"
"John, that's not what this is about!"
"Then enlighten me Sherlock, Tell me what this is about."
"This is about the fact that I still love you! The fact that I can't stand the fact that after all of this I've lost you to another man. The fact that that man is raising my children. Children we created together."
"Greg has been not only a wonderful father, but a wonderful human being since you left. This has nothing to do with him. Own up to your own shortcomings. This is all your fault, Sherlock. You expected me to just go on living in misery on the off-chance that you would return from the deadly mission that I'd no idea you were on. You led me to believe that there was no coming back for you. That's what death is Sherlock, no turning back. So now if you do die, there'll always be a part of my mind expecting you to show back up again. I'll be trapped in that realm of false hope and sorrow. This stunt has changed everything between us Sherlock. Even if by some miracle I was able to forgive you sometime down the line, there would be no chance of us getting together. Greg is the other father of my children."
"So that's it then. I save your life, and this is the thanks I get. You always accuse me of not caring enough, but when I finally do, it's...you know what, John. Fine. We'll take out Moran and go our separate ways. I think you've proven my point that emotions lead to nothing but pain."
"When you're involved...yes." John hissed. Sherlock turned and retreated down up the stairs. John let out a loud sigh and picked up his mobile from the bed.
"Hullo?" Greg responded on the other end.
"Hey, how are you guys doing without me?"
"Terribly, the boys and I miss you dreadfully. How are things on your end? Sherlock behaving?"
"Like a child, as always. I do feel bad though. He's apparently risked his life a few times for us, but I still can't forgive him..."
"This situation is a bit more complicated than that, John. Yes, he's saved us, but at what cost? And now our lives are on the line once again, because he couldn't ask for help. I'm not saying you should work yourself into a rage, but I'm also not saying you should forgive him without caution. Your emotions count, too."
"...thanks." John almost whispered. This is one of the reasons he'd fallen in love with his fiancé, he was so level-headed and wise. "The boys still up?"
"Of course, which would you like first?"
"Surprise me," he chuckled.
After quite a bit of shuffling and hear Greg explaining who it was a little voice became audible.
"Papa?"
"Yes, my special boy. It's me." He replied, not certain which of the two it was. He felt like if their hair weren't different colors he'd have that problem with them in person as well. They looked and acted so similarly it was almost spooky at times.
"Papa. No here."
"I'm staying over with a friend for a few days, ok?"
"K."
Then there was silence. John finally knew which of the boys this was. Nigel was the least talkative of the two. He said what he needed or wanted to say then he was done. Lucas would go on a bit further before running out of topics.
"Ok, munchkin. Can you put Lucas on?"
"K."
"I love you."
"Luvoo too."
There was more shuffling, then the second little voice came on.
"Papa? Where you?"
"I'll be gone for a few days, ok?"
"No k. Come here!" he whined into the phone. John had to fight back tears. It had only been a day, but he'd no idea how long he'd be gone. Of course, because they'd be fighting a trained sniper, part of his mind wondered if he'd be coming back at all. He pushed those thoughts away and tried to placate his son.
"I can't right now. But when I come back I'll have sooo many presents for you and your brother."
"No want pesents. Come here peese."
"I'll be home soon, ok. I promise. Can you give the phone back to Daddy? I love you, munchkin."
"Wuv you too"
"Don't mind him, love. They just miss you is all." Greg answered as soon as he got the phone back.
"I miss you all...so much. I wish I didn't have to do this."
"Hey, cheer up! When you come back we can go ahead and set the date for the wedding, put the finishing touches on your office, and take the boys to every zoo in the UK! Just...be sure to come back, all right? No matter what."
"Wild horses couldn't stop me." John countered. "I'm going to head to bed now, long day tomorrow. Give the boys extra kisses from me."
"Will do. I love you, Dr. Watson."
"And I you, Chief Inspector Lestrade."
With that, they hung up. John plopped back down on the bed and stared up at the ceiling. He finally allowed the tears to fall. This was a game of life or death he was being forced to play, and it affected so may people. He just hoped that he'd once again come out a winner.
Sherlock was standing outside of John's bedroom door. He listened to the entire exchange and was now listening to John quietly sob. 'John was right. I've made a right mess of things...like always. I have to fix this.' He resolved and quietly made his way back to his bedroom. He had a lot of thinking to do.
John awoke and sleepily looked around his room. The dark night sky had given way to the typical bright grey sky that London is known for. He looked at his watch and saw that is was nine in the morning. After a quick shower and shave, he headed downstairs preparing to go out for breakfast. He found Sherlock Holmes in his dressing gown in the same spot on the sofa, sitting silently and not moving. Having become very accustomed to Sherlock's frequent 'mind-palace' visits, he continued to the front door, completely ignoring the man, until his baritone voice called out.
"John..."
"What?"
"It's occurred to me that I may not have...apologized for my actions and their unintended consequences."
John's head whipped around as it Sherlock had just grown a foot from his forehead. "Excuse me?"
"It was wrong of me to not expect you to go on living. It was all I wanted you to do after all. I'm also sorry that you're stuck here, but we'll soon stop Moran and you can return to your family."
Completely stunned by what was being said, John stood there and stared at the man who wasn't making eye contact, as he was just staring at the ceiling.
"I-I appreciate your words, Sherlock. I know that can't have been easy. I also should have displayed a bit more gratitude to your efforts to save my life. For that, I'm sorry."
An uncomfortable silence fell upon them that seemed to stretch on and on, until Sherlock broke it.
"Off to breakfast, I see."
"Yes...would you...would you care to join me?"
It was Sherlock's turn to be surprised. He slowly rose from the sofa and stared at John in disbelief. "If you'll have me."
"Well, you should probably think about changing into a proper pair of trousers then..."
Sherlock nodded and went upstairs. John leaned against the door and sighed. He'd spent so much of that time wishing Sherlock was here and here he was...he was still furious with Sherlock, but he can't let that stop him from trying to make peace with the man. If there was one thing he was sure of, second chances, especially ones of this nature, are hard to come by.