Last part!
Thank you for the reviews, I am impressed you found my story, it seems like there are several pages of new fics everyday for Sherlock! Well, can't blame people, I can't think of anything other than that either :b
I wrote this at the same time as chapter 2, but decided to make it a chapter by it self, though it is a bit short… I was actually supposed to write an essay, which had taken me all day to just write 1½ pages, and then I write these two chapters just after dinner! Says something about where my intrests are, hah! Anyways, hope you like the conclusion (:
"John? John, please say something now". Sherlock sounded quite worried. It had been several minutes since he had finished his explanation, explained all about why he had to leave, why he had to die, and why he couldn't make contact in the past three years. And yet, John just sat in his chair, looking out the window with his hands folded under his chin. Yes, his chair. They were sitting at 221B Bakers Street, where nothing had changed.
"I… stopped living, Sherlock" he finally said, slowly, turning his expressionless face to the other man. "I know, and I am sorry, John, I really am. I just couldn't risk it…" he jumped from the table where he had been sitting and crouched in front of John, the tall man almost being at eye height when John sat in that low chair. "My death might have been faked, John, but I have not been alive for the past three years. I need you" Sherlock said, voice slightly shaking. The two men held eye contact, until John finally broke the silence "Okay", he said. And that is when John was brought back to life.
This was also the time Sherlock mentioned the ring on John's hand. "Yeah…" John trailed off, almost apologetic. What did he have to be sorry for? "Sherlock, you can't disappear for three years" three bloody years, John thought, getting angry and shocked that he had actually survived that "and expect everything to be the same when you return. I am married now, to Mary. You should meet her", he added, almost as an afterthought. "If you care about her at all, I don't think I should" Sherlock answered, a sting to his voice. Hurt? Jealousy?, John thought. Sherlock knew he had no place to judge John on confiding in someone else.
What John had forgotten, was how well Sherlock could see through the most private arrangements people had, and especially, how he knew John better than he knew himself. Sherlock had seen what it had been like for John the second he locked eyes with him, and his refusal to meet Mary was actually an attempt to spare the poor girl.
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John jumped up the last step to his flat. He had just been at Bakers Street, where he and Sherlock had cracked another case. A small puzzle compared to some of the thing they used to do, but none the less it had been a wonderful déjà vu to the good old days. He swung open the door: "Hey Mary, what do you say we get some take-outs from…" his voice trailed off: three boxes labelled "John" sat by the door. "Mary?" he asked into the flat. He walked into the bedroom, where she sat in the darkness. He sat down beside her "Mary, what is going on?". She took a breath before speaking in her monotone voice, the one she used with other people "I packed your clothes. I don't suppose there is much else you would like to bring. If there is, come get it tomorrow, when I am at work". She didn't look at him. In fact, it seemed to cause her pain that he was even near her. "But… Mary, where am I going? Why?" She let out what might have meant to be a laugh "To Bakers Street, of course, to Sherlock. And why? Isn't it obvious? Your soul mate is back, all you have longed for, for the past years, all your life really, is waiting for you just a few streets down. I cannot think why you are even here"
John was slightly hurt now, he had thought she knew him better by now. "I am not going to leave my wife, Mary. He is just a friend, I am here for you, don't worry". She sniggered again "Friend, yes, but 'just' is hardly an accurate description of the value he has to you. And I am not offering you to leave. In fact, I am leaving you." She recoiled under the hand he placed on her shoulder to comfort her. "I don't want you. I can't stand looking at you." She turned to him, none the less, as if to prove a point. Tears filled her eyes as she flicked on the lights. John was shocked. She was so different. The woman who had been his mirror of his emotions for the past years was like a stranger now. Her skin looked paper-thin, her eyes red from too many tears, deep purple circles forming under her eyes, and pupils with no light. Then he realized, she hadn't changed. He had. The recognition of his own face in her features was gone, because he wasn't broken anymore. "I am not leaving you for your sake John, no. When you're drowning, you do whatever you can to keep your head above the surface, you should know that, John, you have been drowning with me for the past years. That's why I have to leave you. I can't stand to see my mirror, becoming… 'happy', while I am still left in the same despair. I cannot see the grief I am still carring, disappear on someone else, on you. And I cannot see you, having you one wish, you last hope, fulfilled, and knowing that it will never happen to me." She stood up and straigtned her skirt. John still sat on the bed, taken aback. "Besides, where do I fit, when your puzzle is now completed by the right piece? Lock yourself out, and just put the key in the mailbox" she put on her jacket. "I am very…" she paused, looking for the right word, "…'happy', that you survived, John"