Much thanks to JAL and MLC. :-)
Ten years later…
The door opened halfway and Sherlock leaned in, straining to hear any sound of John. It didn't matter what he was doing as long as the man was in their shared living space on Montague Street. There and not being shipped out. The two men had argued for weeks when John first signed up with the army. Sherlock had even pleaded for John to reconsider but it was no use. Doctor Watson was determined to make a difference and there was no changing his mind. The stubbornness he had always loved in his friend became the thing Sherlock hated most.
After a long period of silence, they had looked at each other over their tiny kitchen table and sighed.
"You'll hardly notice I'm gone after a while," John had said. "We can email one another and I'll be home on leave." He paused. "This is something I need to do. I can't explain it any more than I already have."
Inside his mind, Sherlock railed at John once more. Told him how absurd it was that he wouldn't notice his best friend was gone. That a necessary part of him would be missing. Outwardly, he ran a finger over the rim of his teacup, nodded, smiled faintly and said, "Of course."
Nothing else was said about the matter. What was the point?
On the day John had to leave, Sherlock went out early to check on his homeless network because a full morning of wanting to grab hold of John and never let him go was not an option. His plan to be home shortly before the expected cab failed when an accident caused stopped traffic and delayed him. He and John hadn't exchanged texts since the day before but he had thought perhaps… The reality was that John was gone and the flat felt empty in a way Sherlock was certain would crush him.
Part of him wanted to dash back out and go to Bart's, his parents' house, anywhere as long as he could avoid the truth for a little while longer. He knew it was no use though so he let his hand drop from the knob and the door closed behind him. His coat was soon flung over John's spot on the sofa (might as well start now). Sherlock glanced towards the kitchen and froze. There, on their small kitchen table was a cake. But not just any cake, it was Sherlock's favorite: cinnamon apple cake. Just in front of it lay a piece of paper folded in half. He walked over and, hands shaking, opened the paper.
Dear Sherlock,
Leaving you is, perhaps, the most difficult thing I've ever had to do. Ever since the first day on the playground when I gave you an apple and you agreed to be my science partner, I knew you would be someone important. Yes, you can be an arrogant git but you're also the smartest person I know and care deeply for those lucky enough to get close to you.
I know you feel like I'm abandoning you, don't roll or shake your head because I know you do. But do you remember the day you told me you'd found what you were supposed to do? How you were going to be a consulting detective? That's how I feel about using my skills in the army. I know I'm a damn good doctor and if I can help men and women who might not have survived otherwise, then I have to go.
I promise to do my best to come home safe and I want you to promise to take care of yourself until I do. This means eating and sleeping each day to help fuel that brain of yours. Despite what you think your body is not only transport so please have some back up when you go after the bad guys. A call to Lestrade is not you telling the world you can't handle it on your own.
Don't forget to call your mum and dad every once in a while, they worry, and remember Mycroft is showing he cares too when he is his usual overbearing self. Though I secretly think it's fine to tell him to bugger off.
And lastly, remember this next bit even if you ignore and delete everything I've written so far (Though I hope you don't!); know that I am in love with you, William Sherlock Scott Holmes. I have loved you since we were sixteen years old and we spent New Years with my Nan. That night, as everyone in the room drank their champagne, I took one look at you, saw the smile you were sending me and knew I wanted to be with you always.
I know that was eleven years ago and I haven't said a word but I was so afraid of losing one of the most important people in my life so thought it was best to keep silent. But now, with me leaving, you have to know. Not because I expect anything from you but because, in case something does happen to me, I don't want you to be ignorant of the fact that someone in this world loves you as I do. That I am so grateful knowing you these past twenty years and plan on many decades more. If you decide you just want to remain friends that's fine. As long as you're still in my life, I'm happy.
I love you,
Your John
Sherlock was surprised when he looked at the paper and saw wet spots. Raising his right hand, he wiped away the tears on his cheeks.
John loved him. Him.
A choked laugh broke from him when he thought of the miracle he had been given. But the smile on his face disappeared when he realized John didn't know his love was reciprocated. That Sherlock had loved him for a decade.
He texted Mycroft.
Where is John?
Less than a minute later a response came through.
Where you cannot follow, even with my help.
Sherlock growled in frustration. He would have to wait to see John but he could still text him.
I love you too. Have for ten years. SH
He fidgeted as he waited for a response. His phone finally buzzed.
Really? Brilliant! Fantastic! Amazing! :-)
He grinned at John's enthusiastic response.
So articulate, Doctor. SH
Again a response soon arrived.
I am grateful to know my amorous feelings towards you are returned in full. Doctor J. Watson.
Sherlock was grateful no one was around to hear him giggle.
Impressive. A three syllable word. SH
Long fingers ran over John's next response.
You're lucky I love you, you git. ;-)
"Yes, yes I am," he whispered.
Another text came through.
Sorry, love. I've got to go. Tell Mrs. Jenkins thanks for helping me with the cake yesterday, I'll write as soon as I can and remember, I love you! John
Sherlock's smile faltered but he took a deep breath.
I love you too. Always.
He waited a few minutes but there was no other response. Deciding he wouldn't want John's present to go to waste, Sherlock cut himself a large piece of cake. He carried it into the living room, took a seat on the sofa and turned on the news. A glance at his coat still covering John's spot made his throat tighten for a moment. Sherlock straightened his shoulders. They could do this.
There was no other choice.
I'm still not quite finished with chapter four (real life) but I hope to be done so I can still post on time tomorrow. Also, chapter five might not be written but I know what I'd like to happen. I don't think the boys will argue. :-)