13. Dear John
Sherlock did not call at lunch. John went home to an empty apartment. A note on the door read:
"Off to Sheffield, Back Later"
John looked around the empty apartment. Already things were in disarray. The phone rang...Sherlock?
"Hello" John said.
"Hello John," Mary replied, " Good news. The woman called me! They have an opening tomorrow, so I arranged for them to pick up in the afternoon. You don't have to do a thing. Just label the boxes that they should take, and we'll be moved in by evening. What do you think?"
"Oh!" John said,"That's good."
"Do you want me to come over and help you pack? Mrs Johnson can find someone else to help with the triplets."
"No, no, take care of the triplets," John insisted, "I can pack by myself. Most of the things belong to Sherlock anyway."
"Alright John. I'll see you tomorrow. Kiss."
"Good night, Mary"
John sat down at the kitchen table in the empty apartment. It would be Chinese takeout tonight. He knew better than to order for Sherlock. Sherlock never ate when on the trail. John turned on the telly and unfolded a cardboard box, searching around the room for his things. Everything that he touched reminded him of Sherlock. Sherlock didn't come home that night.
At six the next morning John received a text.
[Assailant bagged. Iron ore on shoe. Breakfast?]
John blew out a breath. His packing had taken much less time than he had expected. He pushed his boxes over into the corner of the room beside the door. The room still looked the same. John picked up his phone and sent a text.
[Lunch at La Voix 2pm]
John sat down in 'his' chair. Really it belonged to Sherlock, but it had become his over the years. Sherlock's empty chair stared back at him. Just looking at the chair brought back so many memories: Last night's lovemaking, coming home after the 'suicide', their first day in the apartment.
John rubbed his face with his hands. He sat back and tried to soak it all in. Everything that they had done together. Everything that they had been to each other. If one counted his time with Sherlock as a percentage of his life, it was only a small amount of time that they had spent together, but counted in terms of experiences, it was as if he had lived many lives since he had met him. They had done so many things together. It had taken over his brain, his heart, his life. Was this what he wanted? Was this what was best for him? Was this what was best for Sherlock? It was time to make a decision. John closed his eyes and listened to his heart.
John was already seated at a quiet table in the back of the restaurant when Sherlock arrived. He entered hesitantly but when he saw John he rushed forward and sat down.
"John." Sherlock sputtered, "The murderer worked in a mine. There were traces of ore on his footprints. One of the good things about department stores is that they are very fastidious about keeping the floors clean. The sample was excellent.
'I identified the region that he was from, but he had bolted. They caught him using roadblocks. There was a bit of a tussle on a hillside but my Judo training kept me in good stead. I wish you had been there. They still have to do DNA tests to confirm his identity, but there's no question. I'm already bored."
John smiled but said nothing. The waiter came by and John ordered two glasses of wine. Sherlock looked from John to the waiter and sat up straight in his chair.
The waiter returned with the wine and John ordered. "I'll have the steak and kidney pie, and he'll have the pasta primavera."
Sherlock stared at John. He looked at his face, his hands, his feet. He pinched his mouth together. "You're breaking up with me." he said.
"No, we just need to talk." John said
"Please John, don't try to be coy." Sherlock said, "The quiet expensive restaurant. The table in the back, you must have paid a considerable tip. Wine at lunchtime to soften the blow. You ordering for me because you intend to pay for the meal. Everything adds up. You're done with me. It's over. You've made up your mind."
"Sherlock." John said putting out a hand.
"Is it because I didn't take you on the case?" Sherlock put an elbow in the table and leaned forward covering his mouth, "I should have...maybe if I had called more often."
"No Sherlock. Calm down. It's not that." John said.
Sherlock looked around his eyes glistened, "What? am I making a scene? Sorry, I don't mean to embarrass you. I guess I keep doing that don't I. Mary doesn't embarrass you does she. She has impeccable manners."
"Please Sherlock. Just listen to me...please." John said motioning downward with his hand.
"Just tell me John." Sherlock said, "Just say the words. 'I choose Mary'. Then I'll go."
"This isn't about Mary. This isn't even about you. It's about me. What I need. What I want." John said calmly.
Sherlock sat forward his head resting on his hand. Which moved nervously under his chin. He looked at John and then away. John sat back in his chair and folded his hands.
"I've been thinking about my life the past few years." John said, "Since I've met you. My life has been exciting, amazing, fantastic. I've become an entirely new person. But I haven't been living my life. I've been living yours.
"Who am I really? For the last several years I've been defined by you. I'm Sherlock's assistant or Sherlock's blogger or now Sherlock's lover.
"I mean, I'm a damn good doctor, but other than a little locum work that I do for the money, the only time I use my medical skills is to do your post-mortems. I put my life on hold to live with you.
"I have things that I want...that I always planned to do with my life. I want to have a home. A safe home where I won't be bombed or kidnapped. I want to have a family. Children of my own that I can watch grow up into good men and women. Maybe even a dog."
"We could get a dog." Sherlock said.
John smiled. "It's just...My life can't be just about you anymore. I need to have my own life. To make a name for myself. A life where I'm the smart one. I can't be your satellite forever. I can't depend on you for my happiness anymore."
Sherlock put his hands on his lap. " But what if I depend on you for my happiness?"
John watched Sherlock's face. His lips twitched nervously. His brow furrowed. When he began talking again, his voice was low and scratchy. His intertwined fingers moved constantly like snakes as he talked.
"John, I honestly don't know if I can live without you. When I have a case, I'm fine, but between cases...You're the only thing that gives me a reason to live."
"Sherlock." John began.
"No John, listen. Moriarty told me that for people like he and I there is only one ending. I've just postponed the end for a bit.
I regret Moriarty's death."
"But Moriarty was evil!" John said.
"He was a worthy opponent! Now what am I left with? Petty thieves, domestic violence, trivialities. It's hardly worth getting out of bed for.
"But you...John, you make me happy. You make me laugh. Without you, what's left for me but emptiness, boredom and death."
John shook his head, "Don't do this. Don't do this, Sherlock. Don't try to manipulate me into staying, because I know that you can win if you want to. But I'm begging you, for once in your life, put someone else's happiness before your own. Just let me have my own small dream of a happy life. Do this for me, please, if you love me."
Sherlock licked his lips and then nodded. The food arrived but Sherlock didn't eat anything. He sat there in silence while John finished his pie. John had them wrap up the food and he paid the bill.
When John stood to leave, Sherlock stayed in his seat. John reached out his hand. "Sherlock, let's go home."
Sherlock took his hand and they walked out of the restaurant together.