Chapter 40: Maybe.
"I can't explain myself, I'm afraid, Sir," said Alice. "Because I'm not myself, you see."
-Lewis Carroll, Alice in Wonderland.
"So, you were the one killing our snipers, then?" Jim asked casually. They were sitting around 221B Baker street. Jim had taken Sherlock's chair, and refused to budge. John was in his usual seat, which had forced Sherlock onto the ground, and he was leaning against the arm of John's chair, teacup balanced on his knee.
"Yes. I thought that they would kill John if I revealed myself. Obviously, I was wrong."
"And all along, you were just causing me more stress," John said, still somewhat angry about all that. "You can't go around killing people like that!" Sherlock turned his head slightly and fixed him with an incredulous look. The real criminal mastermind laughed as John realized his slip. "Alright, fine, I take your point, I'm a hypocrite. Still. It's... Alright, I can't lecture, but I'm still annoyed at you. I lost good men." John shook his head and abandoned the higher ground, leaning back.
Apparently, Mrs. Hudson had been told almost a year ago that Sherlock was still alive, and had reclaimed as many of his belongings as she could, without asking John where he had dropped them off. John clenched his fist at the thought, knowing that Sherlock had been so close, in town, only one cab ride away. Of course, Sherlock hadn't even told his own brother that he was back, but John could still be irritated if he wanted to be.
Looking around 221B, he had to acknowledge the tug he felt towards the familiar furniture. It had been good here, despite the mess and the unpleasant surprises in the fridge. His seat was just as comfortable as he remembered, and he found himself wondering if Mrs. Hudson had found the furniture from his bedroom, and whether Sherlock had put it all back.
But no, he couldn't imagine staying. He would miss the Misfits' artwork on the wall, and the throne they had decorated for him, and the ridiculously famous pieces Jim had stolen from the London Museum to adorn his Brewer's flat. And more than that, he would miss the people that had given them to him, the dozens of people that had become his family.
"But how did this happen?" Sherlock asked, leaning his head back to rest against the arm of the chair, dark curls inches away from John's fingertips. "I still don't understand, John." He had learned to specify one or the other of them in his questions, or else they would both answer in a rather confused jumble of sentences that ran more-or-less adjacent, but were difficult to decipher at the same time.
"Well," John said, and took a sip of tea. Sherlock had made it the way he liked it, for once, and he smiled down at the cup. Then he concentrated again, on weaving the truth into a vague shape that could be transformed by what Sherlock expected to hear, turning the man's deductive skills against him. "It happened in bits and pieces, really. I met Jim in the graveyard, around a year ago, visiting your grave. I'm still annoyed about the fact that you have a grave, by the way, and I'm unlikely to get over it any time soon. Anyways, I threatened him, he knocked me out, and then asked me out to lunch. I said no, showed up anyways, and then things just kind of went from there."
"I was done anyways," Jim interjected. He was sitting sideways on the chair, having finished his tea, and was hanging his head backwards to stare at the opposite wall. "I enjoyed being dead, and having time to do…" He waved his hands abstractly. "You know. Stuff that didn't revolve around other people's problems and complaints and stupidity. It was nice. So when Johnny boy here came along and shoved a gun in my face, I realized he showed a lot of promise, and voila, I had myself a prodigy."
"I took over his empire and expanded, learning from Jim's mistakes. People who had refused to help Moriarty ended up working for M, because I knew what had driven them away the first time, and reversed things to make the new operation look even more attractive," John finished.
"And now you're working together," Sherlock summarized, and took a sip from his own cup, setting it back onto his knee.
"Sort of, yeah."
"And you're alright with this?" The consulting detective sounded skeptical, although who he was asking hadn't been specified.
"Well, not at first, obviously, but I came around," John answered.
"I was all set to leave the stage," Jim said over top of him. "I just wanted to make sure I had a good replacement."
"I'm sorry, Sherlock," John said honestly.
"Then stop," the consulting detective said, suddenly passionate. "Stop it and be my blogger again!" It was the first real emotion John had seen from him, since his 'death,' and it tugged at him unrepentantly, making him wince.
"I'm sorry, Sherlock," he repeated helplessly, unable to communicate what he needed to. "I can't. I want to, in some part of me, but I have so much, you can't know. I'm not going to come to write about you and fetch your coffee and test your insane theories. I just, I-" Words failed him, because even he didn't know what he was saying.
Across the room, Jim closed his eyes to listen better, to shut the rest of the world out and listen to what could be the last few seconds of John Watson being on his side.
"That's ridiculous," said Sherlock, setting down his tea cup and turning to face John, eyes catching just like they had on that first day, when John had leant him his phone, and he could almost hear the words, 'Afghanistan or Iraq?,' could almost forget everything that had happened between them, could almost allow himself to start over. "You can leave whenever you want to."
"I-" John started, staring, unable to process under Sherlock's sharp gaze, his mind coming apart. "I don't want to." The words surprised everyone in the room. John blinked and grabbed at his tea, taking it as an excuse to gather his thoughts. Sherlock settled back again, still facing his ex-flatmate, but no longer pressing. Jim kept his eyes closed, but he turned his face towards John, as one opens to the sun after weeks of rain.
"I miss you," John admitted. "I miss being your blogger. But not enough to leave my…" he didn't really know what they were. And if he didn't know, how could Sherlock understand? "Fine. I'll show you. Come to Brewer's for a dinner with the kid network."
"The what?"
"We call them the Misfits, they're a part of the informant network. A group of street kids that Jim started feeding and housing when he was Moriarty, and when I took over, we kind of became their, um, stand-in dads, I guess. They don't know who we are, though. I'm the doctor and he's their tech support, as far as they're concerned. I can introduce you," John rambled, glad for a subject that he could really explain. "Wait, crap, if I introduce you as my friend Sherlock, they might connect you to the stories about Lock that I told them."
"I am perfectly capable of creating a pseudonym," Sherlock said stiffly.
"Yes, alright, fine. You come up with a name and I'll do my best to remember it."
"I'm still here, by the way," Jim said conversationally. "And yes, John, I'm perfectly fine with Sherlock coming over to our evil base."
"Oh, shut up. I'm the one who's in charge, remember? It's my Death Star now."
"Hey, don't call it that, it'll get blown up by rebel soldiers."
"Technically, we're the rebels opposing the Empire, we just aren't fighting for freedom. Although you do make an excellent Emperor."
"What are you talking about? I'm Darth Vader!"
"No, you're the Emperor, and I'm your trusted second in command, Darth Vader, who used to be an okay kid, before he got sucked into your web."
"Any time you feel like making sense," Sherlock said, irritated.
"Oh, come on, I showed you those movies," John said.
"I obviously deleted them, and I don't regret it," Sherlock answered grimly.
"You deleted Star Wars?" Jim asked, swinging his legs around to sit properly, exuding horror and disbelief. "How could you?"
"He deleted the little fact that the Earth goes 'round the Sun," John added.
"I deleted that one, too," Jim said dismissively. "But Star Wars is absolutely essential! Well. For villains, I suppose. Can't be a villain without a couple Darth Vader lines in your repertoire."
"Have you ever had to use the 'I am your father' one?" John asked, half out of actual curiosity, half in jest.
"Oh, of course not. Would I be that careless?" John shot him a look. Jim smirked. "I find your lack of faith… disturbing."
"Good thing you can't actually use the Force," John said with a small smile. "I'd hate to die with so many jobs unfinished."
"You two sound completely imbecilic," Sherlock said haughtily.
"On the contrary, we sound like over-intelligent nerds," Jim said cheerfully. "John, this is terrible, we'll have to show the movies to him all over again."
"And we can show them to the Misfits at the same time!" John said, warming to the prospect. "We could coerce a theatre into showing them all for us, in a private showing. With popcorn provided!"
"Only the originals," Jim groaned. "I can't sit through the prequels again."
"Hey, did you know that they're making another-"
"I don't want to hear it," Jim cut him off. "The theatre idea is a great one. You can take care of it when we get home."
"Perfect," John said, and then turned his head to grin at Sherlock. "Just for deleting it, you get to sit through it twice now. Congratulations."
"I look forward to it," Sherlock said, with great sarcasm.
"Lowest form of wit," Jim sang out.
"Like you don't use it all the time," John retorted before his ex-flatmate could.
"Yes, but I use it elegantly."
"M-hm," John grunted disbelievingly. "Well, I've got a bomb threat to plan, and several theatre workers to coerce. Jim, come on, we should be getting home. Sherlock, it was… good to see you again. Really good. I'd love to have you for dinner tomorrow. But only if you promise to actually eat something."
There was a pause.
"Yes, alright, fine," Sherlock said, and rose to his feet, long limbs unfolding until he stood head and shoulders above both of the other men. "I will see you tomorrow, then."
"Looking forward to it!" Jim giggled, and then walked out. John hesitated at the doorway, turning back, only to find Sherlock much closer than he had expected.
"Is it true? Just yes or no. Is he threatening you, or is it all true?" His voice was low, so as not to carry, and his eyes were intense.
"It's true," John answered. "Just come to the dinner. I can't make you understand, Sherlock, but I can make sure you don't hate me for staying."
"I. Could never hate you, John," Sherlock responded haltingly.
"I know," John said, and there was a moment of intensely awkward silence. "Come here, you daft git," he said finally, and pulled the gangly consulting detective into a tight hug. "I'm still John, you know," he muttered to the other man. "And you're still brilliant. And stupid." Sherlock gave a choking laugh against him.
"Yes, you're still John." They drew away from each other.
"I'll see you tomorrow. Any meal requests?"
"Not pizza," Sherlock responded. "Aside from that, I don't care."
"Perfect. I'll text you. I'm sure I can manage to find a phone number." John hesitated for one more second, then spun around and made his way out the door, to where Jim was waiting on the sidewalk.
"Finally, I was starting to get worried."
"Nothing to be worried about," John said with a smile, and followed him around the corner of the building to the car. "You know, maybe this is going to work out after all," he said to the consulting criminal as he slid into his seat.
"Of course it is," Jim said, looking surprised. "I can't believe you ever doubted me."
A/N:So, when you're home sick for a couple days, stuff gets done. Like homework, and studying, and posting fanfiction. So here! I gave you a chapter, because you're all amazing.
One more chapter left, for those of you who aren't sticking around for the romance (though I can't imagine why you'd leave before the best part). Woah, chapter 40, that's kind of a lot. How about a review, for this monumental achievement?
I mentioned back in chapter 17 that Jim was a bit of a Star Wars fanatic, by the way. I don't really know why, I just see him as being a sort of obsessive person, and that worked its way in. Uh. Yeah. Sorry to anyone who hates Star Wars or gets annoyed by it, if there are such people.
This chapter is for that anonymous person who said they might have to marry me, because it made me laugh and get in trouble in my English class. Maybe a name to call you would be nice?