The Charred Remains
Chapter 14: Who We Are When We Arrive
A/N: So sorry this took so long guys, but moving and having a new puppy is lots of work as well as an impromptu trip the hospital, but I am alright now…though I do have to have surgery sometime soon to get my gallbladder removed, but until then, I shall write! Many gracious thanks to grizzliesmom for her amazing beta skills!
John looked up at the house, well cottage more like, in front of him. He had thought the structure would be much larger and grandiose from the way Jim had spoken about their obvious difference in financial backgrounds, but rather it was modest looking. Green vines climbed the front facing wall, artfully curling around two large windows and a white door. The cottage was made from red brick with a stone path leading from the front door to a gate in a rickety looking fence. A variety of different coloured flowers dotted the front yard, bisected by soft, vibrantly green grass. The sight alone calmed John, made the nerves he'd felt upon being released calm.
He and Jim had left the hospital not even an hour before, and already John was feeling infinitely better. He wasn't sure if it was accredited to the fresh air, or the feeling of freedom. He'd been given the typical parting speech by his doctor, but paid no mind to it, already knowing what to expect and what to do when at home. There was still a faint ache in his skull, but nothing compared to what he'd experienced on waking fully nearly a week before. He shifted his weight, leaning more fully on his left crutch, letting out a slow breath as his ribs began to protest the short walk from Jim's hired car to the entrance of the cottage.
Jim tsked, pulling a key from the pocket of his jeans, "Why is it that doctors make the worst patients?" he muttered under his breath, casting a sidelong glance at John before unlocking the door.
John merely rolled his eyes, "I wasn't expecting such a quaint cottage," he stated, changing the subject, feeling uncomfortable at being fussed over.
Jim turned back, dropping his key into a small blue and white bowl on a table next to the door, he smirked, looking around the small entryway, "You insisted our holiday home be something…pedestrian…" he uttered the last word almost distastefully, but covered it up with a sweet smile, ushering John inside.
John looked around. The floor was scuffed wood covered by a red rug where a few different pairs of shoes resided as well as a silver umbrella stand. A few brass hooks hung on the wall opposite the door, three of them occupied by light spring jackets and a dirty looking jumper. John smiled, picturing himself in the dirtied jumper, hunched over in either the front or back yard planting various plants. It was a hobby he had discovered back when he'd first moved in with Harry. She'd been so distressed by her impending divorce with Clara that her home and the garden she and Clara had taken great pride in had began to suffer. John loved Harry and Clara's garden; it had provided a quiet space for him to be alone with his thoughts in his first few months of being home. Since Harry ignored the plot in favour of a bottle, he'd taken it upon himself to keep it alive.
Jim moved to stand beside John, taking in the things he was seeing. He curled his hand into a fist to keep from reaching out for John. John felt the action, and instead of commenting on it, he shuffled forward, sighing heavily.
"God I am so ready to be in a comfortable bed and eat real food!"
Jim grinned, shaking himself before following John into the cottage.
"Go on then, I made up the guest room for you…I didn't…there's no pressure, John…it's the second door on the left, just down that hall. Get settled while I make a quick lunch," he forced a smile before heading off to the right and into the kitchen.
John watched him go before returning his gaze to the hall Jim had indicated. He sighed, still feeling like some sort of failure in being unable to fully return Jim's feelings. It was still an odd sensation, knowing he had married this man, yet experienced little to no attraction to him. He hoped, mostly for Jim's sake, that it would come back to him. He felt awful thinking of what the man must be experiencing, seeing the man you love, the man you devoted your life to look at you as if you're some sort of stranger. John looked at the kitchen and heard silverware clinking against glasses. He rid himself of the thoughts and hobbled towards the guest room.
The inside of the cottage was simple. The furniture in the main room was rustic, dark wood with deep red cushions, a television on an oak TV stand, soft white curtains billowing in a delicate breeze coming in through the open window. John would have loved to sink into the sofa and watch some mindless telly, but the thought of lying in a bed and sinking into the mattress made his body sag all the more. He continued through the main room and down the hall until he'd reached the guest room. The door was already open. Sunlight flooded the room making the beige carpet glow. He placed his crutches against the bedside table before gingerly lowering himself to sit on the plush mattress. He smoothed his hand along the light blue duvet, his bones already feeling tired.
"Not so young anymore, Johnny boy," he grunted to himself as he struggled to pull his legs onto the bed. He'd worn sweatpants and a loose tee shirt home from the hospital, so he had no need to change into pyjamas. He maneuvered his casted foot until he was comfortably cushioned by the pillows and mattress. He sighed, allowing his body to sink into the softness under him. He allowed his eyes to flutter shut, a content smile gracing his lips.
It couldn't have been twenty minutes later when a soft rap at the door woke him from his shallow slumber. John blinked his eyes open, turning to regard Jim. He kept a serene smile on his lips when the man—his husband entered with a wooden tray held in front of him. John struggled to sit up a bit.
"You looked really peaceful, I almost didn't want to wake you, but then I thought you'd enjoy some human food," Jim admitted with a shy smile as he approached the bed and set the tray on the bedside table.
John chuckled, accepting the glass of water and painkiller from Jim's palm, "God, yes! I've missed normal, especially the food," he sighed wistfully after gulping down the pill and water.
Jim beamed, handing John a white china plate with a simple sandwich on it, "Well it's just something simple for now, when you're up to par, I'll start cooking more satisfying things for you. How are you feeling?" he asked, his head tilting to the side, the sun catching and sparkling in his deep brown eyes.
Shivers of something…not quite lust, but not quite disgust either, slid down John's spine at the sight. To save himself from being a bumbling fool, he took a bite out of the sandwich. Jim chuckled quietly, shaking his head. Jon narrowed his gaze at the man, swallowing the food in his mouth before lifting a finger and pointing at Jim. He grinned.
"You just did that thing didn't you? The thing where you read me just by looking at me and knowing exactly what I'm thinking or feeling; I know you wrote about it in your letters, but I thought you were just trying to be a pompous git and win me over with something so extraordinary," he accused, his voice playful with a hint of awe. Somehow the feeling of being read at a glance made his heart thump in familiarity, which he supposed was due to the fact that Jim had been reading John since the moment they'd met, years ago.
Jim merely smirked, "I did, yes. Does it bother you?"
John shook his head, "No…it actually felt…well it felt familiar, which makes sense given our history, but it's the first thing, since waking, that's felt like home."
Jim's smile curled, looking almost cruel, but only for a second before his lips smoothed out into a warm smile. He placed his hand on John's thigh, squeezing very softly, "It will all come back soon John, just give it time and be patient."
John rolled his eyes. He'd heard that phrase more than enough since waking and frankly, he was sick of it. He picked up the glass of water, taking a small drink before setting it back on the table.
"I don't think I can keep myself in bed much longer Jim, I'm going to go stir crazy. Would you mind helping me up, giving me a bit of a tour?"
Jim pursed his lips, obviously thinking it was a bad idea, but swallowing his response in favour of standing instead. He straightened the red polo shirt he was wearing and shot John a very put-upon look.
"I really think you should stay in bed and recuperate, but I suspect if I refuse, you'll get up yourself and wander about on your own," he muttered.
John grinned cheekily, letting Jim know that was exactly what he planned to do should Jim refuse to help him. Jim let out an annoyed sigh, but the light smirk on his lips did little to help the façade he tried to hide behind.
"You know me too well," John teased, shuffling so that he could gently move his legs to dangle over the side of the bed.
Jim huffed, shaking his head again as he bent to slide his arm around John's waist and help the man to stand on his one good leg. He handed over one of John's crutches, which allowed the shorter man to lean on Jim as they moved out of the room.
"I should hope to know you intimately John. We are married after all."
John chuckled, shaking his head, "Let's just get on with it, you git," he muttered.
An odd feeling laced through John as he'd spoken to Jim, an almost familiar, warm sensation, something that made John think he'd uttered the same words before in a similar, teasing manner. He glanced over at Jim, studying the profile of his husband's face. There was still an odd weight in the pit of John's stomach each time he'd study the other man, but it was something he couldn't quite categorize.
It had taken an hour to shuffle John around the small cottage. It was cozy, warm colours, dark wooden floors bisected by deep, soft rugs, simple, abstract paintings hung on the walls, a few potted plants rested in corners, light filtered in through windows making the whole cottage look alive with sunlight. John felt relaxed within the walls, his lungs expanding and deflating with the fresh air. He could almost imagine holidays in the cottage with Jim. In the colder months he could see an orange, warm fire would crackle in the fireplace while the two men snuggled up under the fleece blanket draped over the back of the sofa, steaming mugs of hot cocoa cupped in their hands. John had grinned at the thought before Jim led him towards the back patio.
"I've saved the best for last. Out here is all your influence. It took you a whole summer to get it just right," Jim slid the door open, a blast of warm air caressed John's face.
He had to blink a few times against the intense sun. The day had been abnormally clear and warm. John wanted to take full advantage of it. He stepped out onto the deck, the wood creaking faintly under his foot. Vibrant colours greeted him. The deck itself was rather small, holding a table and chairs, outdoor fire pit, and a grill. Three steps led down to a path of cobblestones that disappeared into tall, green shrubs. Faint sounds of trickling water sounded from behind a cluster of rose bushes. John inhaled deeply, wincing slightly at the protesting of his lungs, but enjoyed the mixed aroma of roses, hyacinth, hydrangea, orchids, and various other flowers.
"Not sure what this says about my manliness," John joked, scooting along to lower himself gently into one of the chairs on the patio.
Jim chuckled, sitting himself in the chair next to John, "Well, it is quite beautiful. It was something you said helped to calm you, an art you'd picked up from when you stayed with your sister after coming home from the war. You told me it helped to quiet the voices…after spending time out here, you'd sleep without nightmares," Jim's voice was soft, wistful even.
John looked over at him, his breath catching when he'd made contact with warm, brown eyes. He smiled, reaching over, resting his hand over Jim's. He smoothed his thumb over the bumps of his knuckles. Jim flipped his own hand, his palm meeting John's, their fingers curling together.
"That sounds like me…it is beautiful."
Jim hummed in agreement, relaxing into the chair, letting the afternoon sun bathe them both, their minds moving along different tracks. John closed his eyes, allowing himself to drift off into a light sleep, helped along by the birdsong, his hand pleasantly warm where it was linked with Jim's. Somehow, this all still felt wrong, but he couldn't think of a place he'd rather be. Occasional memories of chemical aromas and gun powder would filter into his subconscious, a deep ache palpating his heart, but for the life of him, he couldn't place the memories of the smells.
Jim glanced over, smirking as he took in the relaxed, sleeping face of John Watson. Oh, everything was going oh so smoothly. In a matter of time, he would destroy Sherlock Holmes, make the man burn, crumble, and char. It would be so simple, and the lead up was the best part. Playing with the doctor, manipulating him, making him believe he had a happy life here, with Jim, oh the look on his face when the truth of everything would come crashing back would be so very delightful. Jim could hardly wait. Soon, very soon, Sherlock Holmes and John Watson would be nothing more than smoldering piles of ash.
A/N: Thoughts? Comments? Let me know please! I live off of reader comments!