Author's note: Thanks to GoSherlocked, Katzedecimal and Grizzi. You are the best. 3
Sorry for the delay. Real life and stuff ... :-(
I know that getting off the ferry was John's giant leap back to life but it hurts to watch how slowly he progresses from here.
He is still literally moving very slowly. But it is no longer the sluggish walk of an exhausted old man. It is the careful walk of a cautious soldier. He still expects hell to break lose any second because he allows himself to stay with us.
If he would admit to himself how much love he still feels, he would surely be even more cautious.
In the morning, he always has breakfast with us, sometimes at home, sometimes at a café. He obediently eats and gains weight.
Afterwards, he spends time with Emmi and whoever would join him (usually me) until his nerves run out and he has to retreat into solitude once more. On good days, he manages to stay until tea time. On bad days, he makes his exit right after breakfast.
From the dirt on his shoes and the growing strength of his legs I deduce that he walks the island, just like I did.
The longer he stays,the more people greet him when we go out for breakfast. I can tell that his radius increases over time. First, he is greeted by the people living in Wittdün, but after some weeks inhabitants from all over Amrum welcome him.
I wish he would let me join him, or come along when I take Emmi for a stormy walk in the rain-protected push-chair but he insists on being alone. Most of the time I manage to be reasonable about it. Not always but most of the time.
I am longing for him to be all right so he can be the reasonable one again.
###
After a while, the nightmares start.
It is a good sign, I try to tell myself. It shows that John's mind is trying to come to terms with what happened to us. Yet, they are shaking me to the core.
It is easy to deduce their content, as they usually end with John crying someone's name in despair, weeping hard, only to wake up and come for me or Emmi or (less often) my parents to check that we are still alive.
Though after the first three times he barely ever has to come to me for checking. He usually finds me standing in front of his door, or near his bed, ready to comfort him should he want me to.
He never does. Not yet.
The worst times are when he dreams of Harry, and you can see that for a second he is relieved at it being a nightmare, right before he remembers that Harry is really dead. This always breaks my heart.
For the first time since smashing my violin against John's chair back at Baker Street, I am longing for a new one. The sound of my playing used to dispel his nightmares about Afghanistan. It might work again now.
But somehow, ordering a new one is a step I am not yet ready to make. I do not understand what is holding me back. Maybe the fact that all my former violins have been presents from Mycroft. Buying myself a new one means admitting that I will never receive one from him again.
It is highly illogical, but I am not ready to take that step right now.
###
After a while, John's nightmares start my own.
It is a good sign, daddy tries to tell me. It shows that my mind is trying to come to terms with what happened to us. Yet, they are shaking me to the core.
They are always about John leaving or dying or being in pain. More than once, when he finds me standing in front of his room, I am not taking vigil over his sleep but need to check for myself that he is still there.
Mary might be gone from my mind palace for good but she finds a way to sneak into my dreams now.
One night, I have the most gruesome nightmare of all. Nothing spectacular happens, no dramatic scenes take place. I am simply walking through the streets of London, alone. I know that I am alone because John and Emmi are gone. I pass through crowds of people but whenever I get closer to some of them they move away. I am isolated amongst the masses (the way I was before John). Mary is always somewhere to be seen in the distance, watching me wordlessly.
The dream is endless. The feeling of loneliness and loss intensifies with every step I take. My heart is squashed, my chest compressed by a force I fail to observe. I walk and walk and walk.
When I wake up, my legs are feeling sore and my pillow is wet. I am so exhausted that I can barely raise my head. But I have to. Because there is someone present, standing next to my bed. When I manage to open my eyes, I see John.
He is apparently caught between reaching out to comfort me and running away. We are both holding perfectly still for a while. Then his fear wins over his compassion and he turns away wordlessly.
In the morning he skips breakfast. At noon he does not show up for lunch. When he is still nowhere to be seen in the afternoon, I sneak out on my own when Emmi has fallen asleep while talking to her teddy bear about the unfairness of a world that forces her to wear socks.
My first impulse is to go and find John but then I decide against it. Instead, I sit down on the bench where I found him the day he did not take the ferry and text him.
"Your presence would be welcome," I write, hating how formal it sounds but unable to find better words to expose my sore heart. Then I continue staring out to the ocean, trying not to feel as lonely as I did in my dream. It is hard but every once in a while I manage to do so for a few seconds.
I do not hope for him to show up. Better start working on not being disappointed.
The cold wind is smelling of salt and algae and the coming of frost and snow. It is the last week of November, I remember suddenly. Christmas time will begin next Sunday. Mummy must have bought tons of decoration already.
And then, to my surprise, it turns out that it is not too early for a first Christmas miracle.
For John really joins me after a while. He sits down wordlessly and stares out at the ocean. For once,it is a strangely comfortable silence.
When John finally speaks, his voice sounds calm but serious. "You have been waiting for me," he states.
I know that he is not just referring to me sitting here on that bench. He means the last months as well. "Yes," I simply answer to both.
John nods and falls silent again. After a few minutes, he goes on, his voice soft and sad, "This is hard for you, isn't it?"
How do you react to a (true) statement like that? I do not know so I stick to plain honesty. "Yes," I say again.
John nods once more. His whole body tells me he wants to say more (clenching his hands, pursing his lips, keeping his back erect) so I wait as patiently as I can. I am sure he wants to say sorry.
"Thank you," is what he says instead.
And he means it, that much is clear. His heart is entirely in this tiny little phrase. How is it possible that two little words warm my heart so quickly?
I am at a loss for words now myself, so I simply nod in return. We continue sitting there, side by side, the way we were always meant to be. We don't touch, though. I am longing, desperately longing to hold his hand but I am scared that might break the spell of this peaceful, open moment.
"Sherlock," he says after a while but his voice trails off. (No, being patient is still not my strength. But I manage to be silent. Somehow.)
"What if … " he starts again. Purses his lips once more. Clenches his hands once more. Is about to say something seriously important.
"What if I am broken?" he asks.
Any possible answer to that gets caught in my aching chest. "You are not broken. Just bent," I tell him when I can breathe again.
"What if not?" he insists. "What if I am broken into so many pieces that even you can never put them together again?"
I cannot help but snort, "I have fixed you before, John. I can fix you once more."
He looks at me (for the first time since sitting down next to me) and I can see in his eyes that he knows I am not convinced of it at all. He gives me a sad smile and (to my utter surprise) places his hand on mine.
"And what … " (Again, patience is not my strength!) He draws a deep breath. "What if I will never be able to love you again?"
I adore him but sometimes he is a stupid idiot.
"John," I say, as politely as possible, "you never stopped loving me."
His gaze is directed to the ocean again. His face does this funny thing where it expresses three emotions at once. In this case they are lassitude, realisation and hope.
He wants to say more but does not. Just like me. But we stay like this, basically holding hands, for another thirty-six minutes before a shower of rain drives us home.
Author's note: I am so grateful for all the readers, comments, kudos, subscriptions and bookmarks. You guys are brilliant. 3