The Charred Remains
Chapter 17: Walk One Foot in Front of the Other
A/N: Alright, I have a very good reason why this is so late, and that is because I really buckled down and wrote a ton of new chapters and started new fics before posting this one so that I can be on a more regular schedule. Your comments and bribes will help me post a lot faster! Oh, and I bought a house, so that was kind of a big deal. Grizziesmom will always be the best beta ever!
The morning of the fifth day John spent with Jim found him sitting in the garden. He'd risen only minutes before the sun, and not remembering the last time he could experience a true sun rise, he'd hobbled out into the garden. He settled himself into a cushioned chair, his leg propped up on a low table to ease the ache thrumming along his bones. He let his shoulders melt back into the plush cushion as he blinked out at the horizon. His cerulean gaze skipped along the dew covered plants, a light smile pulling at his lips. He still couldn't fathom his hands creating the gorgeous, plush garden that surrounded him. He was still loathe to admit it was a guilty pleasure of his, a little niche he'd formed for himself after coming home from the army. He sighed, content in the moment, his eyes beginning to sparkle as the first rays of the sun began to crawl over the horizon.
The rays soon started to bathe John, washing away the lingering webs of crippling sadness clinging to his bones. He'd been plagued, yet again, by The Dream. He still could make no connection to the happenings of his subconscious to what Jim had told him of his real life. He wanted to look into what the dream might mean, but at Jim's insistence that it'd quit soon enough, he'd kept it bottled. Now, when Jim would ask about his nightmares, he'd dig out the memories of sand, sun, blood, cries, severed limbs, and broken hope to placate Jim's inquisition. He didn't want to make the man worry more for him than he already was, but John had no control over the avenues his sleeping mind would take. There was something too, telling John to keep from Jim the fact that a small, hardly there, trickle of memories was coming back to him.
John remembered more of his life after staying with Harry and Clara. It didn't differ much from what Jim had written to him, but some it felt a bit altered. John couldn't quite put his finger on what exactly it was that made him think Jim had fabricated what was in his letters, but with the emerging memories, what Jim had told him didn't seem to fit. John shook the feeling off, however, chalking it up to time infringing on what someone could fully remember. Besides, John was the one who was suffering memory loss; he didn't quite think he was the most reliable well of information. Not remembering much of his past was an annoying hindrance, but at the same time John had a future, and despite the jumbled memories, he wanted to focus on that.
He spent another half hour in the garden, collecting his thoughts before he reached for his crutch. He remembered his hated cane, and swore, after his leg was healed, that he'd never rely on another stick to help him stand or walk. He pulled himself from the chair, one last look at the awakening flowers, before limping back into the cottage. He gently closed the door to the patio before making his way towards the kitchen. He was craving some toast and jam, so he set to making some quietly. He had just depressed the lever for the toast when he heard someone yawn behind him. He turned, smiling, to see a sleep tousled Jim.
"Good morning," he greeted, grinning, moving to the stove to click on the burner for tea.
Jim grunted in reply, slipping onto a stool at the counter.
"Tea? Toast?" John asked as he moved to retrieve the toast that had just popped up.
"A bit of both please, I'm heading into town for some business today," Jim muttered, his voice still rough with sleep.
John grinned, nodding, "It'll be nice to do something normal rather than look after me for a change," he teased, slipping a few more slices of bread into the toaster.
Jim grunted, the corners of his lips turning up into a ghost of a smile. "I'd much rather be here, less demanding, though it can be a bit boring," he confessed, accepting the mug of steaming tea John slipped to him.
John chuckled, "I don't blame you, I'm going crazy myself," he said with a wink.
Jim tipped his head in thought, the cup of tea resting against his lips, "Maybe in a few days we can see about going into town for an hour or so, get you a change of scenery," he suggested before tipping a small bit of the contents of the cup into his mouth.
John smiled at that, his teeth crunching down into the piece of toast he'd made up while Jim was talking.
"That sounds amazing; I can't wait to get out of confined spaces. I've had enough for a while I should think," John muttered with a chuckle, wiping the back of his hand across his lips.
Jim nodded, smiling lightly, "I'd rather not have you go barking mad from being cooped up. Having you like this is more than I thought I'd have after you woke up. I'll do anything to get the real you back to me fully, as you should be, and if a short walk in town does the trick, well who am I do deny it."
John grinned, edging along the counter so that he could slip onto the high stool next to Jim.
"Well, if I do go mad I'll just drag you along with me," he teased back, using his elbow to nudge Jim's breakfast closer.
Jim took the hint with an exaggerated eye roll. He picked up the toast, eating it while John pulled the newspaper across the counter to read it. Jim watched the other man, trying to see if he could actually see a tell of John's blacked out memories returning. There were times throughout the day that Jim would question his plan of finally getting to Sherlock. Sometimes he wondered if it was worth it to draw it all out. However, the thought of what he could do to the detective when the end finally came spurred him on more than any murder could. He continued to eat and drink in silence next to John before making a show of looking at his watch. He set his cup down and scooted back off his stool. He made a move to kiss John's temple, but pulled up short.
"Sorry…uhm, I've got to go now before I'm late and they decide to fire me…feel free as usual to anything in the cottage. Call if you need anything!" Jim called as he hurried from the room.
John looked up, blinking, catching the aborted move to place a kiss against his head. He frowned, wondering if his husband would ever feel comfortable being affectionate with him after what happened to him.
"I'll see you at dinner time then," he called just before the sound of the front door closing reached his ears.
John sighed once more and set about slowly straightening out the kitchen. He found the small chore relaxing; it felt like something he used to do all the time. His limbs seemed to move automatically without him even really giving the task much thought. He smirked to himself as he set the last dish in the rack to dry. No wonder he hadn't seen a maid about, John did all the cleaning it seemed. It wasn't such a bad job, but in his current situation he found the thought of going around the cottage and tidying up a bit too taxing.
Instead he made his way into Jim's bedroom, the one he assumed they had shared, and scanned the floor to ceiling bookshelf. There were a few dry titles, textbooks, journals, and computer coding tomes. After a few minutes of searching John found an old mystery novel. He pulled it from the shelf and went into the sitting room where the light from the garden washed over him. He lowered himself into a plush armchair and opened the book, settling in to read for a few hours.
"221B Baker Street," a deep baritone nearly purred before a dark set of curls vanished behind a black barrier.
John stood in the middle of a lab, confused. He looked around. The lab table was the only solid piece of furniture within the room. Everything else was black and a bit foggy at the edges. He furrowed his brows in confusion.
"What…who…what did you say?" he called.
His hand gripped the handle of his cane tighter as he made to step forward.
Just as his body pitched ahead, the room he was in began to spin. As the scene began to settle John was standing on a sidewalk. He jumped, his heart racing as he looked around. There was nothing happening. No traffic, no people, no noise at all. He tipped his head back, eyes squinting against the sun. He was looking up to the roof of St. Bart's. A sudden wave of panic and nausea washed over him. He had no idea why he felt like the center to his very world was about to implode, but then he saw something. There was a figure in a long, dark coat. He couldn't see the face, but the man's arm was stretched out towards John, as if he wanted to take hold of John for some reason. John flinched at a sudden cool, wetness on his cheeks. He reached with shaking fingers to find tears slipping down his face. Suddenly his heart gave a great, painful burst as the figure stepped off the edge. A great pain shot through John's ribs, his knees giving out as he fell to the pavement. He couldn't tear his eyes away from the falling man.
Just as the body hit the pavement, John gave a great gasp, jerking himself awake. He had shot up in the chair he'd dozed off in, his eyes blinking. He reached up to rub the lingering sleep from his eyes, only to be surprised by the wetness on his cheeks. He took his fingers away, studying them. He had no clue why such a dream would affect him so, or why he'd dream of a figure jumping from the roof of t. Bart's. Suddenly the name Sherlock pulsed in his head. He clenched his eyes shut again before levering himself out of his chair. He hobbled a little to reach his crutch before making way towards the kitchen.
John had no idea when Jim would be home, but he figured that getting a jump on something for dinner wouldn't go amiss. He was still quite unfamiliar with the small house, something he'd figure out in his current down time, so it took him a few long minutes to gather together a few supplies and dishes to begin a simple salad. John wasn't an amazing cook, but after leaving Harry's he'd had to fend for himself somehow. He couldn't afford takeaway, certainly not as much as he ate when he had lived with-and then the thought stopped. John had no idea where he might have been going with the thought, but he knew Jim wasn't part of it. He sighed, again cursing the lost memories his mind taunted him with constantly.
It was a few hours later when John, lost in the mechanics of searing chicken breasts with chopped vegetables, failed to notice the front door opening. It wasn't until he felt a hand on his lower back did he realize he wasn't alone. The sudden, and unexpected contact made him jump, cursing as pain radiated through his casted leg.
"Jesus Christ, don't sneak up on me like that Sh—" John cut himself off when he saw it was just James.
He smiled sheepishly, wiping his hands on the towel he snatched from the counter near the stove, "Sorry Jim, you just startled me there a bit. Welcome home."
Jim cocked his head, eyes narrowed, curious as to what John was about to say, but smothered the look in a large, forced smile, "I don't think you're supposed to be doing such strenuous things like cooking," he muttered, pursing his lips.
John rolled his eyes, "I can't sit still any longer. I'll go crazy if all I'm allowed to do all day is just sit around."
Jim chuckled; moving to take the spot John was occupying and stirring the contents of the pan, "Doctors really do make the worst patients," he chided before setting the spoon down.
John shot him a look before hobbling back to retrieve his crutch leaning against the counter, "I'd like to see how you'd cope with a broken leg," he muttered on his way to one of the stools at the counter.
Jim turned towards him, chuckling, "Touché doctor, but sit down now and I'll finish dinner then we can figure out what to do with you."
John smirked, "How was your day then?"
Jim shrugged his shoulders noncommittally, "It was fine, nothing I'm not used to. Same old, same old. How about you? Anything exciting happen around here?" he asked, turning to look at John with a raised brow.
John shrugged as well, shaking his head, "Nothing exciting happened and I'm willing to bet that nothing exciting will ever happen to me here. We're in the middle of the country, nothing ever happens out here."
Jim grinned, "Exactly why we're out here. We're in the middle of nowhere with all kinds of open space and yet, it's like no one even knows we're here."
John cocked his head, humming in response, "It is nice to get away from the city, but I miss London. Please tell me we are going back soon."
Something flashed in Jim's eyes before a curving smile could hide, "Not too soon, I don't want to tempt you with the big city and have you going out and injuring yourself all over again."
John sighed, deflating a little into the stool, "Right, because the cabs and crowds are great incentives to get out and bustle along with them."
Jim ignored the comment and instead turned to the fridge where he pulled out a bottle of wine, "We'll go home in a few more weeks. My job in town isn't quite finished yet," he offered by way of an excuse.
John didn't feel like getting into it so soon since his husband had arrived home so he ignored it and instead started up some small talk while Jim finished with the dinner John had started.
An hour and a half later John was sat on the sofa, glass of wine still cradled in his hand. He was leaning against the couch arm, his leg faintly throbbing, making him regret his decided upon activities from earlier in the day. Jim stocked a few logs in the fireplace and settled down next to John. Things between the pair still felt a bit odd to John, but he forced himself to relax with the other man. He owed it to Jim to try and find the link that they shared before the accident, which brought John's train of thought to his dream from earlier in the afternoon. He sipped slowly at his wine, wondering how to word the topic he wanted to bring up.
Jim turned towards John, a brow raised inquisitively, "What is it you want to know?"
John blinked, almost spluttering into his glass, "Er…I'm not sure how to really ask you about…well…about that Sherlock fellow you wrote about."
Jim blinked slowly, keeping a tight rein on the sudden turmoil that name churned up in him. He swallowed down the anger before plastering a small smile onto his face.
"That's a rather…why do you bring him up?"
John shrugged, turning his gaze towards the orange and yellow flames licking up into the chimney, "Because he was your biggest enemy, threatened me, and…and I think I'm beginning to dream about him."
Jim fought the urge to close his hands around John's neck, knowing that who Sherlock truly was hadn't come back to John.
"He's not a topic I enjoy talking about Johnny. He was a dark spot in our past and we no longer have to worry about him. I would rather we not speak about him."
Jim's voice was icier than he'd intended, and he didn't miss the way John flinched at the tone.
John moved a little further away from Jim, knowing he'd struck a chord, "I…I'm sorry. I didn't realise it'd still be a sore subject. I was just trying to understand…and hoping that if we could talk about it a little bit then maybe…maybe I could start to remember."
Jim pulled out his mobile and tapped out a quick text before turning towards John, fixing a sad smile on his face.
"I promise we can talk about anything else you might question but…but let's just leave that subject buried in the past where it ought to stay. There is so much more to our lives that means so much more to me. This is like a chance to start over, but with only all the good parts."
John let the words roll around in his head for a moment before shifting closer to Jim again. He sighed, letting the tension uncoil from his muscles. He let his head drop onto Jim's shoulder.
"Alright, yeah…that, that sounds fair," he let out a soft breath, smiling as he let his eyes drop closed.
Jim grinned, the corners of his mouth curled as he turned and pressed a kiss into John's hair.
"That's right Johnny boy, we've got a whole new future ahead of us and it doesn't have room for Sherlock Holmes in it."
Verging on the edge of slumber, John missed the definite edge of malice to Jim's tone, only humming in response as he nuzzled into the warmth of the man next to him. Jim grinned, the fire licking in his dark gaze. He reached over, curling his fingers with John's. He laid his own head atop the doctor's. He shifted a little when he felt his phone vibrate. He pulled it from his pocket and grinned at the words displayed there.
Deployed the men. Sherlock Holmes will be dealt with. When you give the word, John will be taken care of next. –SM