Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock, but Sherlock owns my heart! This chapter was a joy to write, I hope everyone enjoys reading it too! Things are about to get interesting! And if you have been following and reviewing, thank you. I really appreciate it all.

Chapter Ten

"Two Paths"

" You are in every part of me, every corner of my reality, my mind, my heart. My very cells are built around you."

Those words circled inside his mind, echoing. John was lost, so completely without anchor he had nothing but gravity holding him together. The words resonated inside of him, striking a response from every cell of his being. He had no control, and so he sat in his armchair next to the unlit hearth on a sunny autumn day, listening to his best friend confess everything. Sherlock bloody Holmes, the most amazing human being John Watson had ever met, had just given a confession worthy of a priest. Sherlock Holmes was a man who pulled off miracles like the average man made a cup of tea. John's belief in the infallibility of Sherlock had always been a constant, so to hear this man confess to needing him, of all people, left John destroyed. The vulnerability and strength of the man who had just bared his soul to him left John struck dumb.

For the first time in a long time, John felt a few tears escape, rolling down his cheeks, and over the hand he still pressed to his mouth to hold back a sob. He hadn't taken his eyes from Sherlock once during his entire speech, and he found he couldn't look away now. Sherlock's eyes traced the trail the tears made down his face.

"So yes, it was hard for me to do what I did. Leaving you was the hardest thing I have ever done in my life."

John couldn't breathe, his lungs freezing, muscles tightening across his body. A small part of him was afraid he might be having a heart attack, but his heart raced on in his chest. He felt the room close in around him, spots dancing in his eyes.

"John, please breathe! I don't want to explain to people why you fainted in my flat." Sherlock's tone was amused, but his eyes were wary, as if he were afraid of John's reaction.

John dropped his hand, realizing he'd inadvertently been choking himself. He dragged in a lungful of air, coughing. His vision cleared, and he tried to find words. Any words, really. "Oh God, Sherlock..."

"Not quite, people always get us confused. Understandable, really." Sherlock quipped, his regular arrogance returning like a shield. His eyes glittered suspiciously, but he smirked at John anyway.

That snapped John back from the brink. I'm not going to let you play this off! It's too late, I heard it all. You just broke my heart and put it back together again!

"Oh shut it mate. I'm not going to let you play this off, just gimme a minute to recover. I can't wrap my head around it. And no idiot comments." John said, his voice harsh even to his own ears. John stood, his sudden movement making Sherlock flinch, the barest tightening of the skin around his eyes. He walked to the center of the room, his back to the hearth and the young man who sat there. His hands hung at his sides, clenching and releasing in nervous habit.

Does he realize what he's just done to me? No one has ever... He needs me, Sherlock bloody Holmes NEEDS me! Everything he just said, those are the most important words I've ever heard in my life. He has to know that! I have to tell him, I have to tell him how much he matters to me, but I don't have the words. It was that thought that made John stiffen up, his spine straightening. He would not fail to let this man know how much he mattered. How much he had always mattered. John turned back to Sherlock, to see him pretending to be totally fine, picking invisible lint from his sleeve.

"Thank you." John hadn't meant for the words to just slip out like that. Sherlock had been all eloquence and sophistication, and John wanted to at least try for something close to that. But he couldn't - he wasn't built for grandiose statements and flowery speeches. He was blunt, to the point, he appreciated simplicity. Sherlock looked up in surprise. John walked back towards the hearth, stopping at the side of Sherlock's chair. John looked down at his detective, and tried again.

"I'm not, you know I'm not good at this. So I'll just say it. Thank you. For telling me. For being honest. For saving all of our lives at the risk of your own. You literally gave up your life to stop a madman, to save us all. To save me." John paused, gathered his words. "You may not have died in body, but you still gave up your life. I understand that kind of sacrifice." John felt a twinge of pain from the scar on his left shoulder in response.

John took another deep breath, and looked Sherlock deep in his eyes, trying to impart just how he was feeling. He would say the next part if it killed him. It just might, if Sherlock reacted badly. He would be brave and say it, he could do nothing less.

"I need you too." John was terrified, but he couldn't make himself stop. "You make me feel alive, whole. You make me feel something I have never felt before. I don't know what it is, but I need you to know I feel it. Having you in my world again gives me purpose. I had routine, I had structure, a career to fill my time and days. But a sense of purpose? A reason to be alive? I get that from you."

John reached out his hand, slowly. He stopped just shy of Sherlock's hand where it rested on the armrest. He held it there, unable to keep reaching. "Having you back, it hurt almost as bad as having lost you. You came back just as suddenly as you left me. My life had a single path ahead of it after you left. One I wanted, and chose, as there was nothing left to choose from with you gone. I can try to deny that I settled for the lesser of two options, but you were gone, my life with you was gone. I had to survive losing you, so I chose a path that gave me back some sense of living again. A shadow of what I had with you in my world, but enough to keep me together."

Sherlock was paler than he usually was, his eyes glittering in the sun that shone through the windows on his face. His hand closed the final distance between them, lifting to grasp John's hand. John felt that emotion he couldn't name rise up in him at Sherlock's touch, his pulse racing. He knew Sherlock could feel it, his fingers rested lightly on his wrist.

"Now I have two choices, and I am terrified. I never expected to have this choice, so I never thought about the consequences of choosing. I don't know what to do, I need you to help me now." Sherlock's grip was stronger now, and his eyes latched onto John's. "What I feel for you is stronger than anything I have ever felt before. It's so strong I can't control it, Sherlock. I felt it like a punch to the gut in the restaurant, I felt it the other morning here in your flat, I felt it when you held me in your arms after pulling me from the fire. I have never felt this before for anyone, much less a man. It's a puzzle driving me insane, Sherlock. Help me solve it. Tell me what I'm feeling, please. I need you. I need you."

It was a roaring beast in his ears, that nameless emotion. It gave him no peace, pulled him from his comfort zone and dragged him behind it. He had the sense to keep holding onto Sherlock, as the realization hit him. It was need, basic and primal. He had the experience to know it was attraction, desire, but at a level beyond anything he had ever felt. And it came out only in response to the man before him. It was more than desire, too - it was love. Love beyond what one felt for a friend or colleague. Love so strong it felt like he was being remade, like a river bed beneath flood waters.

It crystallized together in a cohesive whole in an instant in time, every little thing that had never quite added up. Once the pain and betrayal of the first couple of days had faded, this love had grown fast and true. It had made him wake up every morning feeling more alive, put energy back into his body and heart. He felt like himself again, how he felt he was supposed to be. But he had felt restless, like he was missing something the last few mornings. Once he saw Sherlock that morning, and the reaction Sherlock had to Mary's ring, that feeling had grown faster, stronger, alive in him so much so he was helpless beneath it. Sherlock's confession broke down the last wall of defense he had been using; denial. He had been denying what he was feeling, denying its existence because it wasn't what he was supposed to feel. It seems he had always felt it, from the first moment Sherlock had deduced his whole life and asked to use his mobile. But with Sherlock's return, this love took its chance to grow again, and didn't stop. He was in love with Sherlock Holmes, had been forever, and would always be.

John knew he loved Mary. It had been a soft, powerful love that caught him from his grief and pushed him back into the feeling world. He knew Mary had saved him in no small way, teaching him to be a person again. And he had wanted to have a future with her, a family. If Sherlock reciprocated in any way, John knew he couldn't continue with Mary. He would let her go, it was only right. He would hate to hurt her, but what he was feeling now was too much. Even if Sherlock turned him aside, he didn't think he could ever go back to Mary. What he was feeling now, for Sherlock, was akin to being struck by lightning twice in a lifetime. It just never happened. And he didn't want it to go away, leaving him a burnt ruin of a man.

What path you take now rests in Sherlock's hands. What your future is going to be. He has control now. I just hope he understands what I'm trying to tell him, if he doesn't understand, or if he reacts badly, I'm done. Broken. What if he doesn't understand? Oh God, I suck at this I really do... He didn't know what to do next or what to say. He was terrified Sherlock would never understand what he wanted, or if he did, would rebuke him. In all their years together, Sherlock had never shown romantic attraction to anyone. The Woman was the closest John had ever seen him get, but that relationship was broken from the start. He had never expressed a desire for anything beyond friendship, and what they currently shared. In his confession he hadn't mentioned love at all, in fact he had chosen almost every way to express how he was feeling but love. And that left John stuck, no option but to leave the choice of what his future would be in Sherlock's hands. Screw it, I going to try...

"Sherlock... I need you. Save me again, please." John backed up slowly, gently pulling the unresisting detective to his feet. He faltered, standing next to this man he needed so much, holding tightly to his hand. He felt the current rising in him, that charge building beneath his skin. Its heat grew in his stomach, like he had just downed a fifth of whisky in seconds. He was on the edge, so close. John was shaking, breathing erratic, heart racing, skin flushed. He looked up into Sherlock's face and met his eyes. And waited.