Chapter 9:
John gave up following Sherlock after a few hours. When he found him again, it was completely by accident. On a green way bridge in Hyde Park, looking down at swans on a new pond.
Sherlock stood on the rail, hand trembling over thin air. John froze. His heart was in his throat. Even in the knowledge that the swan pond was no such great distance as St. Bartholomew's epic tumble, he still tasted tears. It was beyond fathoming how much John hurt for Sherlock now. His friend who had died for him in all the ways that counted. This dear man was on the ledge again.
"I've been looking for you...oh, everywhere. Looks like when I come to catch my breath, finally, there you are." John let out a relieved sigh. If he pretended like everything was fine, maybe the ruse would, at last, convince them.
Sherlock swallowed. His violin case hung precariously over his arm, upsetting his balance. John rushed to him and caught his wrist. They stood there on the ledge, staring at each other with wide eyes.
John swallowed. Sherlock hadn't said a word to him directly in days. When would the silence break?
"That's a good thing you did for Raz. Didn't know you could sing…"John thought he might as well get to the point. Sherlock looked down at John's shaking hand as it clasped his wrist for dear life. The doctor's finger had subconsciously moved to take the detective's pulse. Death hung in the air between them with the same perfume of roses. The same humid weight of funereal tears. They'd known grief for far too long. It was eating them like acids. It chiseled them into a sculpture caught on this bridge as if paused in time.
"That's just it, though, isn't it? A swan song...One last dying attempt at music before the light ends…"Sherlock's eyes trained to the pond. John watched the swans swimming in infinity loops through the quiet waters.
"You know what I've learned, Sherlock, from being broken?" John's voice dropped an octave. The doctor's hand subconsciously slid to lace his fingers with the detective's. As if to shake on some preconceived agreement, the two felt strength pass down their arms. John eased Sherlock back onto the pavement and stood holding his hand for dear life. They truly looked odd now to the passerby, but neither had the presentness of mind to register their appearance for what it was.
Sherlock was decidedly silent, waiting for John to speak. John cleared his throat.
"I've learned that no one breaks alone, is what. I've found that if your pieces are jagged, then mine are blunt and rounded off. It's almost as if I've had my heart carved out by something soft as cotton. Like the unforgiving pain of torture happened to me vicariously in you. You saved me so much trouble and ruined me all at the same time. And I thank you." John smiled. Sherlock gave him a look of complete bafflement.
"Whatever do you mean?" Sherlock swallowed and his wrist quaked in John's grip. John felt his thumb trace the back of his friend's hand in small circles. As if he was trying to guide that shallow pulse to follow the right current. As if his touch could change the tempo of Sherlock's life force and give him back a portion of himself.
"I mean that if you're losing your mind to all the little breaks then so am I. And I think the only way you'll ever find some realm of normalcy is if you stop trying to gather the stray pieces of you and rather match the puzzle to the stray pieces of me. That we could be broken together...Does that make any sense?" John took a step around Sherlock, putting himself between his friend and that lonely ledge again.
"You mean...We could use the point where torture riveted the two of us as some sort of relational fulcrum?" One of Sherlock's brows arched up as if punctuating his question. John smiled at his friend. Felt truly grounded now as the shaking in their hands subsided.
"Yes...More or less." John pulled his friend gently closer. Sherlock stepped closer, peering downward into John's eyes with thousand interviews to frame. John was patient, ready to answer every question.
"How do you establish a balance between the completely unbalanced?" Sherlock shook his head, eyes fluttering. John swallowed.
"You add weight to counterweight. You died for me. Now, it's my job to help you live. What do you need to make that happen? Let me get it for you, somehow…" John pointed his index finger to Sherlock's heart.
Sherlock swallowed and licked his lips.
"You wouldn't judge me? Because what I might need to ask for...It just seems like too much." Sherlock gritted his teeth. John gently scoffed.
"Could it possibly equal the same amount as the blood you shed?" John's voice broke up. It raised a bit in volume and dropped as a lady and her young daughter walked by, wide-eyed to have overheard something like that.
Sherlock tilted his head.
"Well,...If I told you I needed you...To never leave my side. Would that be too much to ask?" Sherlock frowned. John shook his head, jaw having gone slack.
"What makes you think I'd settle for anything less?" John was afraid he didn't want to hear the answer.
"I hear the way that people talk about you. About us...You know, with what happened to your relationship with Mary being sabotaged by me. The public didn't know the details and... Well, I think that most everyone thinks I've just used you. That you have so much more potential than to live out the rest of your days in the macabre shadow of Baker Street. I...I've imposed so much of my lifestyle on you. You have the conducive potential to draw in a wife, raise a family, leave a stellar legacy on the domestic face of England…"Sherlock looked back at the water, eyes shining with his painful thoughts.
"And yet, I have drawn you into this life. With the murder and madness that I entertain daily. The jeopardy of my caring for you in the midst of the warfare I never leave behind. Mycroft said I would get you killed and that would be payback for all the agents I could have gotten killed trying to save you…"Sherlock tilted his head and sighed bitterly.
"But God help me, John...I can't bear the thought now, after all that...I don't think I could be alone."Sherlock shook his head.
"I mean if I needed to. If it was better for you...But...That would be more torture than-"Sherlock shuddered, freehand fluttering to his middle. He sucked his teeth.
"I don't know if it's just more want than need, but...I could be okay with being myself now, it's just….God! I don't want to be alone...Not anymore." Sherlock looked away.
John firmly turned Sherlock away from the bridge and started pulling him deeper into the park. Sherlock followed along at his heels, silent now, confused. John led him out of earshot, off the path and under the trees. There he motioned for him to kneel beside him in the grass.
"What?"
"Humor me."
Sherlock got down where he and John were eye-level. John was shaking. He nodded and cleared his throat.
"Before you...I was the one who was alone. Now...Now, shh! Listen, here. I don't ever. Ever! Want to hear you say anything like what you just said again. Understood? You're not...You won't ever be. Alone. You will never be alone again. And HANG what people said! I'm not as much the sissy people frame me up to be. If I didn't want to be part of your life, it was on me to walk away. Your lifestyle is our lifestyle. You are my family, you completely clueless creature!" John shook his head. Sherlock tilted his head as John pressed both of his palms against his chest.
"You are my family and you are the only family I mean to have. After everything, I've decided. No more adventures in domesticity for John Watson. You, sir, you are more jealous than any wife and certainly enough maintenance for 12 babies." John's eyes rolled and they both started laughing. John took him under his arms then and held him so they both would stop shaking.
"In all honesty, I mean that. You've been the one vine to replace all the branches of my family tree. Never forget that. I have some practical advice for you, brother. Come home...We'll get take out. You need to eat, for God's sakes. Take a shower. Get some sleep. Resume some sense of domestic life to give you the strength we need to get on with the primary importance of saving the world all the time." John laughed because Sherlock was extremely perplexed.
John ushered him to his feet. Sherlock reached in his pockets and started looking for cab fare.
"Right, well, I...I think I left most of my things in the flat so...My wallet." Sherlock shook his head, annoyed at himself for his absent-mindedness.
"I've got the cab, okay? Hey...Look here, Sherlock. Friends protect people. Family shelters and builds people. That's what we are now. It'll take work on my part, not yours. I've got you now, alright? I've got you. Come on." John laced his arm through Sherlock's. They quietly walked back to the road where John got the cab. He practically carried Sherlock to it and set him down in it.
"As far as the sheltering goes, I'm going to have to set some rules up for you. Some family rules, you take my meaning?" John wrapped an arm around Sherlock and nodded to the cabby to drive off, ignoring the look he was giving them. Sherlock swallowed.
"Rules?"
"Right, because see families have rules. It's the sort of peculiar thing that frees people up and structures them. It means we fit. If we're family now, we need some of those. And I've got one in particular in mind." John nodded. Sherlock frowned, fearful for a bit. Then he nodded.
"Right, so whatever's going on in your head, I can infer it had something to do with what people said about the Mary Morstan scandal? I don't want you reading the junk papers. I mean it, Sherlock. No more press for you. Nothing but the daily MarketWatch or the crime reports. And we can get those straight to your phone." John stared at Sherlock for a long time. Sherlock smirked after a while and pulled a large wad of newspapers out of his violin case. One had plastered across the front:
A Fake Genius' Love Triangle! The saga continues.
"Very well, Mum." Sherlock winked. John snatched up the paper and wadded it into a large ball, tossing it out the cab's window into a nearby rubbish bin they were stalled by.
"And no more wandering off...Okay? You scared the hell out of me." John jostled Sherlock's shoulders.
"You would have made an excellent mother, really." Sherlock purred with half-hearted maliciousness. Then he did the unexpected. He reached over and kissed John's cheek like someone would their mother, patting him on top of the head. This whole act was meant to be teasingly patronizing but really translated his raw endearment. Then he leaned against the cab's wall and almost instantly fell fast asleep.
John chuckled and shook his head. He stared out the window a strange feeling of peace filling him from head to toe until they turned down Baker Street again.
