A/N: Some of you guys were bummed out by the last chapter, so I just want to say, in regards to all future angst, bear with me, dear readers. Johnlock is endgame here and as sad/upsetting as things may get with the plot, things will get better in time. This chapter is an example of that! Trust that I will not break your hearts, darlings! :*
Also, a huge thank you to everyone who has stuck with this story for so long/commented on each chapter: you guys are amazing! Here's a virtual hug and a muffin basket for all of y'all :)
Enjoy!
Alter: (verb) to change an aspect of something in order to achieve a new result
...
1.
The first thing Sherlock sees when he wakes up the next morning is John's sleeping face two inches away, bathed in sunlight. His honey-colored eyelashes rest against the swell of his cheek and his slightly parted mouth looks rosy and inviting. The sunshine pouring from the window frames John's silhouette like a halo, setting his silvery blonde hair alight with golds and yellows.
Sherlock could stare at him for hours.
John's hand is lying palm-up on their shared pillow, so Sherlock carefully covers it with own, smiling to himself when John reflexively interlocks their fingers.
On the table to the right of his bed, his mobile buzzes with a new message. Sherlock rubs the sleep from his eyes and turns over to grab it. His heart sinks the moment he reads the words on the small screen.
Don't forget what you have to do, Sherlock. MH
The joy he'd felt upon waking withers in his chest in an instant, and dread crashes through him like a flood. This moment right here, this perfect, domestic, warm moment of intimacy, is about to be shattered. Sherlock is going to have to look John in the eye and tell him to marry someone else. He's going to have to step out of John's life once again and create a canyon of distance between them. He's going to have to break John's heart and his own.
He texts his brother back with shaky fingers.
I know. SH
Forlorn, he threads his hands through John's hair, gently brushing his honey-blonde bangs back from his face. He looks so peaceful like this: unguarded and calm. Years of tragedy and disillusionment are gone from John's features, leaving him with the smooth, untainted visage of a young man who has never endured pain.
Sherlock loves him so much that it hurts.
"Mm, Sherlock?" John mumbles drowsily. His eyelids flutter open, revealing two clear, bright, cerulean pools.
"Oh. I didn't mean to wake you, John," Sherlock whispers in apology, his hand frozen in the motion of stroking John's hair back from his forehead.
John offers a sleepy smile and presses a kiss right above Sherlock's eyebrow. "S'fine," he murmurs, pulling back to nuzzle his nose against Sherlock's. "Morning, love."
Despite the thread of anxiety buzzing through his system, Sherlock finds himself melting at the term of endearment. "Good morning, John," he says in turn, his heart pounding when John throws an arm over his hip and tugs him closer.
"How about a good morning kiss?" John murmurs, his mouth hovering enticingly over Sherlock's.
In the back of his mind, Sherlock knows there is a clear expiration date on what he and John have, but he can't bring himself to ruin this last, perfect moment by thinking about it. So, he ignores the gaping sorrow in his chest and looks up at John, his lips parted and his eyes bright. "Yes, please."
John grins. Without being told twice, he situates himself between Sherlock's legs and lazily slots their mouths together, one hand tangled in Sherlock's hair and the other cradling his hip. "Mm…"
Kissing John is overwhelming. Hearing the sounds John makes, tasting him, touching him, having him so close that there isn't an inch of space between them, is absolutely incredible.
"Thank you," Sherlock says without thinking, in between kisses. He presses the words to John's lips, his chest bursting with affection and love. He feels like crying, because in a matter of hours, he'll no longer have this. John will no longer be his.
"Thank you for what, love?" John asks gently, pulling back to kiss the corner of Sherlock's mouth.
"For this," Sherlock replies quietly. Even to his own ears, his voice sounds shaky and uneven. "For loving me."
"Hey," John says softly, his eyebrows drawn together in concern. "What's wrong?"
Sherlock swallows. Just looking into John's eyes makes him feel as if he's drowning in the sea: losing all logic, losing all reason. "It's nothing. I'm…I'm fine."
John isn't convinced. "You know you can tell me anything, right?"
"Of course."
"Did something happen with your brother last night?" John asks.
"No."
"Well, what did he want?"
"Nothing," Sherlock answers in a rush. At John's frown, he clears his throat and tries again. "I mean, there was a case he wanted me to look into. Nothing special."
John looks him over for a minute, his dark blue eyes boring searchingly into Sherlock's. "Then why do you seem so upset?"
"I'm not," he lies.
A beat passes. "Is this about the talk we've yet to have?" asks John.
"The talk?"
"About, um. About the wedding. About Mary."
Sherlock drops his eyes to John's chin, another wave of pain crashing over him at the mention of her name. "A bit," he says eventually, because he knows John won't let this drop if he keeps avoiding the subject.
John nods and rolls off of him, leaving Sherlock feeling terribly cold at the loss of contact. "I thought so," John says quietly, sitting up in bed. "Do you want to talk about it right now or over breakfast?"
Both sound terrible, but he supposes he doesn't really have a choice. "Breakfast."
John nods and gets out of bed. Irrationally, Sherlock feels a jolt of panic shoot down his spine. "Wait, John," he blurts out.
"Yes?"
"Could you, er, could I have…" Sherlock pauses and tries to articulate himself. "Can you kiss me again?"
It feels ridiculous to say it out loud, but Sherlock wants to get every bit of affection he can before this perfect thing between them falls apart.
John's eyes melt at Sherlock's request and he immediately gets back in bed. "Of course, you git," he says warmly, fondness glinting in his eyes. "Come here."
2.
"So," John says, over his cup of morning tea. "Is now a good time to talk?"
Sherlock swallows the lump of dread forming in his throat and drops his gaze to the chemical-stained table before him. "I suppose."
John sighs. "There's that look again."
Sherlock glances up at John and then back to the tabletop. "What look?"
"The one that makes me think you're upset." John's eyes travel over his face, assessing. "This isn't just about the talk then, is it?"
He drums his fingers nervously against his placemat. "It is."
"Sherlock, I know you think I'm clueless when it comes to observation, but even I can tell something's bothering you. Just talk to me, okay? I want to help."
Sherlock's chest feels constricted and the room suddenly seems far too small. Anxiety bubbles under his skin like lava. He'd love more than anything to tell John the truth, but he promised Mycroft he would keep quiet and 'go along with the plan.' There is far more at stake here than just his love life if he doesn't adhere to that promise. People's lives hang in the balance, and he cannot choose to simply cast aside all logic and rationality, just for the sake of preserving his own happiness and peace of mind.
But. The way John is looking at him right now, so open and trusting and eager, makes Sherlock want to spill his guts about every single thing that's happened in the past twenty four hours.
"It's okay, Sherlock, breathe," John says a minute later, reaching across the table for his hand. Sherlock exhales shakily, unaware that he'd been holding his breath. "It's fine," John soothes. "If you're not ready to talk about it, we don't have to. For now, I'll just say my piece, okay?"
"Okay," he replies quietly. No matter what John says to assuage him, Sherlock will still have to tell him to stay with Mary, and that's going to hurt like hell.
John curls his fingers gently around Sherlock's. "Last night was…incredible. I know we didn't technically do anything, but the intimacy of it and everything we said to each other was nothing short of a bloody dream come true." John huffs a soft laugh and meets Sherlock's eyes. "You're so wonderful, you know that? You're exciting, brilliant, clever, kind, and absolutely beautiful. You mean more to me than anything, Sherlock. More than anyone, actually." He drops his gaze to their joined hands. "And I…er, I want to tell you that, um," he shakes his head at his own tripped up words and clears his throat.
Sherlock's heart stutters and comes to a halt. Is John about to say what he thinks he's about to say?
"I just want you to know that if you'll have me, I'm yours," he finishes. He smiles warmly and squeezes Sherlock's hand tighter. "I have no intention of marrying Mary, Sherlock. I just want you."
"Oh," Sherlock replies in a shaky exhale. He wishes he didn't have to stare into John's bright, hopeful blue eyes and break his heart. He wishes he didn't have to crush that loving, affectionate look on his face. He'd give the world to keep that smile in place. "John," he says quietly. "You can't do that."
"What do you mean?"
Sherlock bites the inside of his cheek and forces himself to look up. "I mean, you have to marry her."
John blinks. "You…you want me to marry Mary?"
The lie tastes like poison, but Sherlock forces it past his lips anyway. "Yes."
A beat passes before understanding flashes across John's face like a neon sign. In an instant, the joy drains from his eyes and he dejectedly pulls his hand away from Sherlock's.
"I see," he says quietly, avoiding Sherlock's gaze. "I guess I misread things then, didn't I?"
No, Sherlock thinks frantically. No you didn't. I want to be with you more than anything.
John pulls out his chair and starts to stand. "Right. Okay then. Well, um, don't…don't worry about it. I suppose we don't want the same things. That's…that's fine. I'll just—"
"John," Sherlock interrupts desperately, his throat aching. "John, sit down."
"No, really, it's fine," John insists, but his voice sounds strained. "I guess I was overstepping some boundaries. So, er, I think I need to get my stuff and go. Yeah." John rubs the back of his neck and starts towards Sherlock's bedroom, his eyes still cast to the floor. "I'll just go."
Unable to take it any longer, Sherlock leaps out of his chair and stops John in his tracks, his hand fisted in the material of John's jumper sleeve. "John, wait."
He doesn't shrug off Sherlock's grasp, but he doesn't turn around either. "I get it, Sherlock," he says quietly. "No need to spell it out for me."
Sherlock's mind is moving at a million miles an hour. This moment and every action that follows will either make or break his relationship with John. If he lets John believe that he doesn't want him or didn't mean what he said last night, John will gather up his things, leave the flat, and in a mere two weeks, Mary will be his wife. He and John won't get their happy ending. Sherlock will be alone, and John will be in pain. Technically, things are progressing exactly as they should be, but Sherlock can't bring himself to stand by and watch everything he's ever wanted fall apart.
"John, please don't go," Sherlock begs. He isn't sure what his next move will be if John does decide to stay, but he can't be bothered to worry about the future right now; all he knows is that he can't let John walk out that door thinking Sherlock doesn't care about him. "Just stay for a bit. Please?"
John exhales through his nose and finally turns around, his expression hurt and confused. "Why, Sherlock? It's clear as bloody day that we don't want the same things, and I…I can't hold that against you. You never signed a contract promising that we'd be together, or anything, it's just..." He meets Sherlock eyes and gives him a wounded look. "The way you were talking last night, the things we said to each other, made it seem like you wanted to be together. I thought that we were on the same page. I thought you…" he swallows hard. "I thought you wanted to be with me."
"I do," Sherlock blurts out, still holding onto John's forearm. "Of course I do, John."
The hurt on John's face quickly melts into confusion, then anger. "Don't play with me Sherlock."
"I'm not," Sherlock replies fervently. "This isn't what you think, John. It's not that I don't want you, because I do. More than anything."
"Then what is it, Sherlock?"
Dread curls in his chest like cigarette smoke. "I…I can't say, John. As much as I want to tell you, I can't."
John clenches his jaw and turns his head away. "Right. Well, you enjoy your secrets, Sherlock. I'm leaving."
"John—" At loss of what else to do, Sherlock surges forward and captures John's mouth in a deep, desperate kiss, hoping he'll understand what Sherlock can't put into words. When John responds in kind, Sherlock loops an arm around the small of John's back and pulls him even closer, his other hand cradling the side of John's face as he angles their mouths together into another searing kiss. John sighs and tugs his hands through Sherlock's hair, his fingers tangling delightfully in the detective's dark, messy curls.
"Christ, Sherlock," John groans, nipping at his bottom lips.
Sherlock doesn't realize John's been backing him up until he feels the edge of the kitchen table against his lower back. Obligingly, he hops onto it and parts his legs, and John wastes no time in moving into the V of Sherlock's thighs and winding his arms around Sherlock's waist, tugging him so close that he nearly slides off the table altogether. There's hardly a breath a space between them.
"Don't go," Sherlock says at last, against John's lips. "Please."
John pulls back, his mouth rosy and wet, and stares at Sherlock with bright, impossibly blue eyes. "Tell me what you want, Sherlock, and I'll give it to you," he says desperately. "I love you so bloody much. I don't need you to make any promises to me, I'll take whatever you're willing to give."
"Everything, John," Sherlock replies softly, dropping his hands to frame John's hips. "I want to give everything to you. I want to be with you. I love you." He takes a deep breath and drops his gaze to the table. "But as much as I don't want you to marry Mary, you have to."
"Why?" John cries, exasperated and confused. "You—you keep saying how much you want to be together, yet you think my getting married is a good plan? I don't get it, Sherlock, explain it to me!"
A war rages inside of Sherlock. If he tells John the truth, he'll potentially be putting John in even more danger than he already is. But, if he lies to John about something this big, John might resent Sherlock for it even after the dust has settled and Mary has been taken care of. Their relationship will perhaps never be restored.
He's tried to lie to John for the sake of protecting him before, and it only resulted in heartbreak and pain. Sherlock still hasn't forgotten how broken John looked when he realized that Sherlock wasn't dead all those months ago—when he discovered Sherlock's suicide had been an elaborate trick and everything he'd said wasn't true—and he knows with complete certainty that he never wants to see that betrayed look on John's face ever again.
It's time to trust John instead of protecting him. He's clever, he'll know what to do, and he'll play the part perfectly. He'll help them make this mission a success.
Having made up his mind, Sherlock steadily meets John's eyes and takes a breath. "There are a few things you need to know about Mary."
A/N: Thanks for reading, darlings! Let me know what you think in the comments, your feedback means the world! xoxo