Chapter 18

The Gravity of Love

One year later

"What do you think about a baby?"

He choked on his morning tea. Mary giggled and sat in his lap, wrapping her arms around him and removing the cup from his hand with ease. After setting the tea cup on the table, she returned her attention to him. She ran fingers through his hair like she knew he liked. He gazed into her eyes like he knew she liked.

"A baby, huh?"

"Yes. We could name him John Jr? Or..your middle name-"

He held up his hand. "Let's not go there."

She laughed and he laughed a little too. Then she suggested a name he'd really rather not hear.

"Ooh, James is a lovely name. What do you think of James?"

"Not the greatest memories when it comes to the name James."

Her hand flew to her mouth. "Oh dear. I'm so sorry. I wasn't thinking."

Mary knew all about James Moriarty. A man he had not seen, heard from, or heard about for over a year. When he requested both of his geniuses leave him alone, it was Moriarty he thought the most probable to break his wish. Instead, Sherlock was the one to come see him, intercepting him just after he'd left Tom Kingston at the university following lunch. This encounter occurred when he'd been gone three months from London.

"John."

John's head was filled with thoughts of the conversation had with Tom over the man's lunch break. Since his move, he continued to correspond on a semi-regular basis with Mrs. Hudson, Lestrade, and even Donovan. Nothing work-related, although it was impossible to avoid Sherlock-related when it came to Mrs. Hudson. She didn't understand why he left and truly believed he would be returning to Baker Street one day. He tried to explain London wasn't his home any longer, but Mrs. Hudson believed what she liked.

His relief over Donovan's recent decision to seek out a therapist for her increased propensity to resort to anger was one topic covered with Professor Kingston. This topic was on his mind when he heard his name. They talked on many things whenever meeting for a social visit, brain overloaded with ideas. The thoughts fled hearing him.

He turned, pushing down the warm feeling that instantly filled him when he heard his voice. John made sure his face became stone, giving nothing away but perhaps a look expressing he was not happy to see him. Distance was what he wanted. This was what he told Sherlock he wanted.

"Sherlock. What are you doing here?"

"I... I wanted to see you."

John swallowed what he wanted to say and prepared something else in its place. "I asked you not to."

"I miss you."

He clenched his fists. What the hell was this? He had given him opportunity to stop him from leaving and Sherlock hadn't bothered. Sherlock didn't love him the way he wanted so getting away from him was the best move. A life with a woman who did love him was the best move.

"Someday everything is going to be alright," Sherlock told him. "Things will be better... As they should be."

He sighed. "What does that even mean?"

Sherlock was averting his eyes, looking anywhere but at him. What was this? Things will be as they should be... What? Did the man always have to speak in his own language, the language nobody else understood?

"Do you love her?"

John stared hard at him and spoke the honest truth. "I do."

Fuck. Sherlock was staring back like he was reading his soul. He shifted awkwardly where he was standing on the side of the road. They didn't feel quite like strangers just yet, but he could tell already they would be. A few years on and they would be perfect strangers. It was a disquieting thought.

The taller man stuck his hands in his pockets and started to turn away, in the direction he came. He didn't see a car. There had to be a cab or a rental waiting round the corner. John started to turn away himself but then he noticed Sherlock turning back to him. He waited.

Sherlock's gaze swept over his entirety, lingering on his face. "How did it end up like this?"

John shook his head and shrugged, shoulders slumping in a defeated motion. He didn't know how it got like this either. He just knew this was what had to happen if he didn't want his heart to completely break from leaving Sherlock behind.

"John?"

He abandoned the memory. "What?"

"John, you went somewhere else there. Is everything okay?"

He smiled at her. "Of course it is. I'm with you."

"Are you?"

That was unusual. He maintained his sincere smile. "Yes, I am. I love you."

She started smiling but her eyes were welling up with tears. He wasn't sure what he did wrong.

"Today, I believe you."

Mary slid off his lap and walked out of the room. He watched her go knowing full well why she was upset and his role in it. A year together they'd been happy and content. They each of them deserved to be happy and they found it with each other. At least he thought they had.

It was a good life with something missing. He never stopped feeling it. His life with Sherlock had been a great life. His life with Sherlock filled a void. Life with Mary was good and empty. It was a lie. Every time she looked at him with that sad, faraway gaze. When she could sense him pulling away, never giving all of himself to her, he should have known. She wasn't an idiot. Mary knew, but his lie was so good he didn't see how transparent he'd become as time went on.

/

"What do you think?"

"I think you're fully capable of thinking for yourself."

"I know... It's just..you always seem to know what to do and right now, I'm at a loss."

Professor Kingston pushed his glasses farther up his nose and leaned forward on his elbows. John knew that look. Tom was trying to read him. It was the same kind of look Sherlock and Jim would give him when they really wanted to know what was going on in his head. There was one thing he hadn't missed in the year moved away from London. Too many things happening in his mind as it stood. He didn't need other people working their way into his mind.

"She loves me." John felt he had to validate his position here somehow. The sentimentality leaked in by accident. "Her eyes can be so blue when she tells me she loves me. The deepest blue I've ever seen. She deserves to be happy."

"And how bright do his eyes look when his attention is fixed solely on you?"

He glowered, clenching and unclenching his left hand. "Even a year on, I still think of that bloody idiot and what he would think in any given situation at least ninety percent of the time."

"You need to see the reality of your situation."

John groaned and dropped his head in his hands. Tom was always talking about the "reality of things" and how he needed to understand situations in his life by recognizing the facts, understanding the truth of the matter. In many ways, he was similar to Sherlock. How did he befriend and gravitate to these highly intelligent characters? It was a lot harder to get them to agree with him when they insisted on acting logical.

"Tom," he grunted. "This, Cardiff, is my life now."

"Is that the reality?"

"What?"

Kingston straightened in his seat and smiled smugly. "Seems to me you haven't left your past behind. You forget I've met Mary. Your wife is not blind. She can see you, John. The question you have to ask yourself, is if you can see her."

"I don't think-" John stopped.

He was stuck. Denial would probably be a more accurate term, but since he was busy being in denial, he ended up wordless. Tom seemed to read this off of him and repeated the point he was making.

"Do you see her?"

/

John sat staring across the table at his wife in disbelief. He hadn't seen this coming. Maybe he should have. Didn't change he had been caught utterly off guard.

"I'm sorry, John. I can't do this anymore."

"I know what you're thinking, how you're feeling, but-"

"No!"

He shrank back slightly from the conviction in her voice, startled by the sudden increase in volume.

"You say you know, but you don't. You say you will do better, but you won't. How could you? I can't let you keep doing this to yourself."

"Is that why you brought me here? Didn't want me making a scene?"

John stood abruptly and the chair scraped on the floor, causing a few glances his way. Another scan across the restaurant at their potential audience and he looked at Mary. She was standing too.

"Do you love me?"

He'd been expecting the question and was prepared. "I do. Yes, I do. I love you, Mary. Why can't you seem to believe me?"

"I believe you, John. You do love me, but not in the way you love him."

"Who?! What? You mean Sherlock. Sherlock?! I chose you over him. I left my best friend behind to be with you. I chose you!"

"It's why I have to leave you, John. You're a good man and you'd never leave me because you are. I know you're being completely honest when you say you love me, sometimes, and that's why it hurts so much."

She put money on the table and leaned down to place a chaste kiss on his lips. "I love you, John Watson. Don't wait too long to tell him how you feel, okay?"

She apparently wasn't expecting an answer. She left the restaurant, glancing back at him before slipping out the door. He watched her go feeling lost and stunned by the conversation that just happened. John was an idiot to be surprised. Maybe because of how badly he didn't want this to happen. He loved Mary, even if it wasn't enough love to keep her with him.

"John."

He practically jumped out of his skin when the man said his name. A very familiar voice. A man who must have been watching him to arrive at his table in such a timely manner.

Jim Moriarty slid into the seat Mary vacated mere seconds ago.

"Hello, John."

"Oh fuck."

"Well that's pretty fast but I'm game."

He rolled his eyes. "Why are you watching me? Isn't your obsession with Sherlock? Go and bother him."

"I've done that. Now, frankly, it's become boring. You've never become boring."

His teeth clenched, jaw tightening to a painful degree. Mary left him. He was not in the mood for games.

"What do you want, Moriarty?"

"Please, call me Jim."

He slammed his fist on the table, volume rising out of control. "What are you playing at?"

The man smiled cheerfully across the table. What could he possibly want with him? Why would he come here? Why now? Oh no.

"Is Sherlock okay?"

The sigh was audible and frustrated on purpose. Moriarty impatient never boded well. Leaning back in his chair, the criminal mastermind regarded him silently for a long moment before speaking again.

"Must you always speak of that man? I have better things to do than obsess over a solitary man."

John couldn't prevent the start of a laugh, managing to cut it off with a wipe across his mouth. He placed his hands flat on the table in front of him wondering if he should be worried. There was always trying to run, not that it was his style. Moriarty wasn't fooled by his attempt to hide the scoffing laugh. Well, honesty would be a start.

"Sorry, Moriarty, but you completely obsess over things. Too many brain games can be quite unhealthy. You might have forgotten. I haven't forgotten what you did to Sherlock."

The air about them almost seemed to grow still as the man opposite leaned forward in his chair. His hands folded together in front of him and he looked at John, carefully. "Please, call me Jim."

Warning bells in his head. Moriarty spoke the request differently this time. He used a low and serious tone. It hinted to comply or be sorry, and Moriarty didn't mess around.

He leaned back in his chair, if only to put a bit more space between them. "What do you want, Jim?"

"It's more what I can do for you."

"Oh?"

That didn't exactly sound bad. It sounded inviting.

"You'll be needing a place to stay, won't you?"

How in the-? Oh, never mind. He didn't think he wanted to know how Moriarty knew things. And even though it was probably, most definitely a bad idea, it appealed to a part of him where Jim was going with this conversation.

"As a matter of fact I do."

Sometimes it was best not to dwell on thoughts.