Beginning of Part Two
This was it.
There was no turning back.
John held onto Mary's hand, he breathed steadily as he looked out the cab window. The familiar road was coming into view. His heart was beating swiftly, he wondered if Mary could feel how fast his pulse was.
This is Baker Street.
I'm coming home.
This is actually happening.
The cab came to a slow stop in front of Speedy's, right beside was a large door with 221 in gold lettering. Nothing was different. Nothing seemed to change during the time that John had been away.
Had it already been almost a year?
John swallowed the thick lump in his throat, Mary was waiting for him to exit the cab. The driver looked disinterested, and a little impatient. Gripping the cool handle of the car door, John pushed it open and stepped out onto the sidewalk. Mary stepped out right behind him, she held onto his shoulder.
I can do this.
Looking back at Mary, John smiled. Having her with him was going to make this a lot easier. She returned a bright smile, the street lamps reflected against her hair and turned it to gold. Breaking the gaze, Mary was the one to open the boot of the cab and begin to take out their luggage. John took both suitcases from her as she paid the cabby.
It was very late by now, almost mid-night. They had left Harry's a little after sundown and the drive had been a little longer than expected. But John was relieved that they could quickly settle in and sleep before completely assessing the flat. John looked for his keys, they had to be somewhere. But before he looked through his bags, Mrs. Hudson was at the door to greet them. Shock was evident by her expression.
"Hello, John!" she began after recovering. She clutched her dressing gown over her body, feeling exposed in the open doorway. There was a brief silence before Mrs. Hudson continued, "Come in, come in! You must be Mary Morstan," Mrs. Hudson looked at Mary, all smiles and kindness. Mary shook her hand to return the greeting, "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Hudson. John has told me all about you!" John admired the kindness in Mary's greeting, he knew that they would get along fine.
"I hope those were good things that he's told you," They both laughed, John just smiled at the two of them and felt pride overwhelm him. If Mrs. Hudson approved of Mary this quickly, things would go well. Mrs. Hudson had had a knack at approving or disproving John's past girlfriends. If Mrs. Hudson had a bad feeling about someone, John trusted her, he'd break off the relationship. John looked up to her as a second mother, and he valued her opinion over any other woman.
John looked into the entrance as Mrs. Hudson and Mary held a nice conversation in the doorway. Nothing had changed, nothing at all. It felt as if John had never left. This place was so unique and familiar, it smelled of tea and biscuits.
This was home.
"How about we have some tea. I have water on the boil, we could have a chat before you settle in. I know it's late, but pleasant surprises don't come to my door everyday." The couple followed Mrs. Hudson inside, leaving their luggage by the stairs and following her into her little kitchen.
The kettle was whistling, the room was warm from the steam and the hot element from the stove. John and Mary settled down in chairs at her little table and shed their coats from their shoulders. John patted Mary's hand and she smiled back at him in return. She liked Mrs. Hudson, he could see it in her expression. John watched as Mary looked at her surroundings, she was taking everything in, memorizing it.
"There now," Mrs. Hudson brought tea cups and tea bags and placed it on the table before them. Pouring the water into their cups, she asked Mary about herself. As their tea steeped, Mary told Mrs. Hudson about working as a tutor at a small school near her house. Mrs. Hudson asked about the children she worked with and Mary obliged, already comfortable with her new acquaintance. Mary then mentioned her love for gardening, something that Mrs. Hudson was pleased to hear. Mrs. Hudson beamed and mentioned that she had a garden out back, that Mary could assist her in caring for during the warmer months. Then Mrs. Hudson asked about how John and Mary met. Mary told the story with a little of John's help. It started on Mary's front lawn, that cool late-autumn morning. They spoke about having tea at Mary's house, the daily visits, the walks through the park.
Mrs. Hudson loved the story, she watched Mary give the recollection, but shared small glances with John from time to time. She gave John a look that said "I'm so happy for you." And John smiled back at her in return, still holding Mary's hand.
Before long, it was almost midnight. Mrs. Hudson glanced at the clock and quickly started putting away dishes, dumping the leftover tea in the sink. Mary and John helped her clean up the kitchen and then parted with her for the night.
Going up the stairs to John's old flat, Mary moved closer to him. "Mrs. Hudson really is a lovely woman, I can see why you love her so much. I feel bad that she's been on her own so long."
"Yeah, I didn't realize how much I missed her until she brought us in. Though I feel bad that we came here so late. She's probably exhausted." John pulled the luggage up another step and left them at the top of the stairs. Pulling out his key, he unlocked the door to the sitting room. Mary stepped inside, looking around her. John came behind her, feeling weary about the memories and emotions that this place would stir up inside him. Mary gave him a reassuring look and pulled onto his left arm.
The only light that came into the room was from the two windows across from them. The light from the street cascaded over each surface. The sofa and armchairs, the table, the floor. John could see the yellow smiley face on the right wall, there was still a few bullets lodged into it, tearing at the wallpaper. Mary didn't say anything, she knew that John would need some time.
This wasn't easy, of course it wasn't.
John breathed a shaky sigh, he bit onto his lower lip and tried not to express the conflicting emotions inside.
Sadness.
Relief.
Anger.
Guilt.
Rage.
He tried to keep it all inside, he wanted to tell Mary that he needed to be alone.
He needed space.
But he needed her.
The more that John wanted to push her away…
The more he wanted to hold onto her.
Mary seemed to understand, she held onto him, her face somber and patient. John ignored the flood of memories and emotions as he looked at Mary.
Mary was his future.
Not Sherlock.
It was time to face this.
To move on.
Live life.
Sherlock was gone.
He wasn't coming back.
"John, I'll take the luggage to our room… Where is it?" She was still patient in her tone, understanding. John was thankful for that.
"Upstairs, it's an attic room. I'm fine now… let me help you." John took a last lingering look at the sitting room and the took their luggage towards the staircase. Mary helped him up the stairs, his limp had gotten worse again, so he leaned onto her and the railing for support.
When they got to the top, John stumbled towards his old bedroom door and slowly opened it. Mary rolled their luggage into the small room, revelling at the ordinariness of it, it's simplicity.
John hadn't left much behind here. A few papers and news articles were still in his drawer, collecting dust. He pulled onto the chain from the old lamp and a dim light brightened the room. Mary sat at the edge of the bed, she watched John as he took in every corner, every surface. Everything had remained the same here too.
Why had he expected it to be different?
Why had nothing changed here?
He sat at the edge of the mattress beside Mary, he could feel the warmth from her body against him. He wanted to lean on her, cry into her shoulder, but John wasn't one to cry.
He couldn't.
He wouldn't.
Mary pulled her arms around him, held him close. She didn't say anything, she wouldn't make it worse for him.
John needed this.
He needed her beside him, holding him.
He needed silence.
He needed to let everything go.
"Thank you," his voice was rough, it was worn, tired. Mary kissed the skin beside his mouth, a chaste kiss. He felt a sob shake him and he closed his eyes.
He felt the barriers break down.
He couldn't breath.
Couldn't think.
He missed Sherlock.
He needed Sherlock to come back.
He wanted Sherlock to be alive again.
Why didn't he save him before…
He'd stand beside Sherlock, on that roof, if he could.
He'd hold his hand, who cares what people would say.
He'd have given Sherlock a reason to stay.
But what was that reason?
Why did he want Sherlock to stay?
…
Because he loved him.