Sarah is sat outside John's door, waiting for him to finish up with his last patient, and she can't stop the fluttery feeling that swoops through her, barely tethered butterflies in her belly, her heart, her throat. For a panicked moment, she wonders if she'll hold together, or if she'll simply split, a thousand pieces of herself winging away in a thousand directions.
Because even though she remained admirably calm whilst Sherlock Holmes told her, in his own way, I'll share him because he loves you, now she is losing the war against hope and desire, and they spread and flap their wings inside of her.
The door opens and her heart stops.
John is saying goodbye to someone. John has his sleeves rolled up. John is looking at her.
"Hi," he says.
"Hi." Her voice is weak and squeaky. She can't feel her legs but somehow she's standing, walking.
She goes straight into his office, and he must see something on her face because he closes the door behind them both.
She is only a step in front of him. She can feel his eyes on her. She can feel his confusion.
She should explain.
She means to explain.
But when she turns, he's so close, and his eyes are so open, just beginning to show concern alongside the curiosity, and she shudders with a want that has been waiting for far too long.
A whimper escapes her, a poor version of the battle cry she feels sounding inside of her, and she launches herself forward one step.
Her arms slide up around his neck, his own arms come around instantly to wrap around her waist, and though it happens so quickly, he's ready.
When she presses her lips to his, the only thoughts in her head are pleas-let this be true, let this be real, please please please.
His deep, resounding echo comes back to answer her, his lips as warm, as eager, as solid as her own. She sighs out her fear and tangles her fingers into his hair. He pulls her closer, angles his head to build long, slow kisses between them, and her body shivers in response.
"All right?" John asks, leaning his forehead against hers.
"Mmm." She tries to nod, but her head tilts forward, and she nuzzles his cheek instead.
"I should explain," she breathes against his skin.
"Maybe," he says, and his hands come to rest at the small of her back.
She tugs down on the butterflies' leashes and looks up at him. "Sherlock came to see me."
x-x-x
Notes: Smooches to Jude and Armada for hand holding and beta services. Bear hugs to destinationtoast for reccing this fic of mine on the Three Patch Podcast this week (!) and continued thanks to everyone for your lovely support and enthusiasm for this story. It means more than I can adequately express, so thank you.