"It's been a long time, John."
John made a noncommittal noise from his seat across from Ella, shifting his weight in the chair uncomfortably. He could not bear to look Ella in the eyes – somehow it shamed him to be here. He felt weak, vulnerable, a broken, helpless man, and the traits did not please him to think about.
"Mary's been concerned about you….you know that's why you're here, don't you?" Ella continued softly, and John, though not looking at her, could feel her gentle yet intense gaze.
Instead of answering, he nodded, looking out of the window of his therapist's office. It was a rather rainy day in London, with raindrops falling down the glass window like heavy tears. John found he couldn't look out the window after realizing this, and turned away.
"You haven't been here since your friend Sherlock's death –"
"Faked death," John cut in bluntly. He didn't intend for his voice to sound so bitter, but he can almost taste the foulness of the words on his tongue. Right. He faked his death, didn't tell you anything, came back, and tore apart your life. Right. That's exactly what's been going on. Why shouldn't I be bitter about that?
"Right, how have the two of you been….sorting this out?"
John said nothing, and he heard Ella sigh.
"I don't know what has been going on with the two of you, John, but I do know that since you met Sherlock you have had no need to be here. He did more for you than I, admittedly, ever could. And since he's 'returned' your limp has returned, Mary has become increasingly worried about you, and your nightmares have been increasing to violent levels."
"And that's supposed to be my fault? Because I haven't 'sorted things out' with Sherlock?" John asked, immensely irritated.
"That's not what I was suggesting," Ella said, barely missing a beat.
"Then what were you suggesting? That somehow three years can just disappear with a 'sorting things out?' That Sherlock can say 'I'm sorry' or 'I did it to protect you' or 'I love you' and suddenly that fixes everything? It was three bloody years. Simple words are not going to just….just magically repair everything!"
Ella, for a moment, considered her response carefully before finally speaking, "Broken hearts don't heal immediately, John, I know that. It does take time, but you have to be willing to put forth that time to fix it."
"Broken hearts," John scoffed distastefully, rolling his eyes.
"You know what I mean, John. Your friendship with Sherlock is not going to repair itself unless –"
"But what if I don't want to fix it? He surely didn't seem so willing to think about what I would feel when he jumped off that building. So why should I care about what he's feeling now? Why should I try to fix things, try to listen to him, try to reciprocate his apologies? It's three years too late."
John finally looked up at Ella, only to find her with narrowed eyes and hands folded in her lap tightly, as though she were contemplating something. John regretted coming here. Mary was wrong, he didn't need Ella's help. Mary didn't have to worry about him, there was nothing wrong with him. Just his bloody leg and nightmares. Those were all things he could handle. This was ridiculous….
"John. Are you really angry with the fact Sherlock left you so in the dark….or is it more of the fact you're in denial?" Ella said finally, and John frowned at her.
"I'm not in denial about any –" He started.
"From what Mary told me all of this only started when Sherlock returned at your engagement party. Before then, you mourned. You weren't angry. You wanted him back. But when he finally came back, it wasn't what you were expecting, was it?"
"And what….what do you think you know?" John spat, slowly curling his hands.
"You said he told you he cared for you. And you're angry because you're denying that you do, too. You're angry because you do, because you have Mary. You're not angry at him for lying to you…you're angry because he cares about you."
John sat in resonated silence for a while after Ella finished her psychoanalytic speech. For a moment, he was numb, Ella's words striking him cold. But in the next moment, he was feeling warm with a slow fury.
"Mary was wrong," John told Ella, struggling to keep his voice even. "She was. I'm fine. I don't need….I don't need this. I don't need you trying to tell me what I do or don't feel. Because….because I damn well know what I feel."
"John –" Ella said, her voice soft and an attempt at calming John down, but John waved his hands at her, cutting of her words.
"Sod this. I don't need this. I don't know how many times I have to say it before you start to get it. I'm fine. There's nothing wrong. My leg's acting up and I'm having bad dreams. That's all. I'm. Fine."
John didn't wait for Ella's response. He was out of the office before Ella's mouth was even open to respond.
xXx
John had hoped to not tell Mary about walking out on Ella, with promises to himself to never return if he could help it. But Mary, unfortunately, was waiting for him back at their flat. And John couldn't hope to brush off his early reappearance with Mary staring at him with gentle, yet obviously confused, eyes.
"You're back early….I'd thought you'd be with Ella for at least a few hours," Mary remarked, her eyes following John as he made his way into the kitchen, refusing to look at her. He busied himself with the only mundane task he could think of – making tea – to avoid responding.
"I'm not going back." The words finally tumbled out of him, and his simple task seemed to be abandoned with them. Instead he stared straight ahead, pretending to be interested in the small kettle he'd placed on the stove.
He heard Mary stand from her sitting position, slowly, and the sound of her footsteps as she moved over to him. John didn't have to see her to know she would probably be confused – or hurt – or both.
"Did something happen?" she asked quietly, reaching out her hand to touch John's arm. He didn't shrug away, but still didn't look at her.
"I'm just not going back," he answered bluntly. "I can handle this on my own. I'm fine."
"John….John, look at me." Mary's hand tightened slightly on John's arm, and he only hesitated for a moment before turning his head to look at her.
He regretted it at once. The pain and concern in Mary's features was enough to make him want to turn away from her, but he forced himself to keep his gaze steady, even when he wanted to fall apart.
"You shouldn't have to handle this on your own," Mary continued softly.
"I've told you, I'm….I'm just fine," John said at once, but Mary just shook her head.
"You're not fine, John. Your anger and your nightmares and your leg all say that you're not fine. And…. John, I think you know how you need to fix this –"
"There's nothing to fix." John felt like he was back with Ella again, trying to convince her he was fine. Everything was fine. Was that such a hard thing for Mary and Ella to grasp?
"I appreciate your concern, Mary, but I don't need help," John continued flatly.
Mary blinked, her hand falling from John's arm to dangle loosely at her side. "I don't think you do appreciate my concern. Or else you would be trying harder…. I just –"
"Trying harder?" Now John was getting angry again, and this time it came so fast it nearly winded him. "You think….. You're wrong. I don't need to try and do anything, not for you, not for Ella, not for – not for Sherlock!"
"I'm not asking you to do anything for me! Or for Ella, or for Sherlock!" Mary's eyes were shining, biting her trembling bottom lip. "I'm asking you to do this for yourself. You….You haven't been the same, and you know you haven't. You know –"
"I've been just fine!" John shouted, and Mary instantly took a step back. "I don't need you or anyone else to tell me how I'm feeling, or what I need!"
"I'm not telling you how to feel, why can't you realize that?" Mary's voice was slightly hysterical now, tears streaming down her cheeks. "I just care about you. I love you, and I want you to feel better! I want a fiancé – a husband – who's happy!"
"Well, maybe it's high time you realized the person you're marrying is never going to be 'happy,'" John hissed. "Not again. And there isn't a thing that can change that."
Mary's tear filled eyes seemed to dull, and she took another step back. "Well, then, I'm sorry, John. I'm sorry I didn't 'realize' this. I'm sorry I cared. I'm sorry."
Her words seemed to pacify John a little, for he, for the first time, realized how hurt he had just made his fiancée. But he had no chance of saying anything that might rectify what he said, because Mary had turned and walked shakily to the flat's only bedroom. John heard the door click shut behind her, and knew he would not be allowed in, for yet another night.
The silence of the flat only broke with the whistling of the tea kettle John had forgotten about. He numbly shut off the stove and abandoned the kettle completely, moving into the living room to sit on the couch.
He didn't sleep that night. For once, it wasn't because of nightmares. For once, it was because of the sounds outside of the flat.
He hadn't stopped to think about how loud London could be at night. Usually that was only something he thought about in his time living with Sherlock at 221B. With police sirens and speeding cars and dull conversation….
His body ached with every sound, because every sound brought a memory back to him. An unwelcome memory. Memories he had not thought about since Sherlock's fall.
What was worse was the ache in his body that seemed to crave those times he spent with Sherlock. It was a dangerous game, but a thrilling one.
You miss him. You miss him and his crazy, daring schemes and near-death experiences.
John had to shake himself to stop thinking about this, to keep himself from convincing himself he wanted that life back. Because he didn't. He didn't want that back. He didn't want Sherlock back in his life.
It was lies, always lies, that allowed him to fall asleep that night.
a/n: plot? what is this plot you speak of?
