Chapter 15
By 9 o'clock the following morning, Sherlock, John and Lestrade were sat on the platform of Paignton train station sipping take-away coffees in a companionable silence. Rebecca had driven to the B&B to say goodbye and to thank them for their help, and also to give Sherlock and John her best wishes. Sherlock had given her a forced smile, but John had kissed her on the cheek and whispered a few words in her ear; Sherlock heard 'beautiful woman' and 'someone special' and assumed that John was trying to reassure her. Lestrade had promised that he would keep in touch with Rebecca, although Sherlock deduced that he probably would be unlikely to maintain that promise.
The train arrived, surprisingly, on time, and the three men boarded, stowing their luggage and then taking their seats where they, once again, had a table. Sherlock folded his knees up to his chest and slipped his hand into John's, giving it a gentle squeeze as he offered him a sideways smile.
Lestrade raised an eyebrow, desperately wanting to ask them when they had started their relationship and who had started it, and was Sherlock actually capable of having a relationship?
"I brought it up," said Sherlock, his eyes fixed on Lestrade's face.
"What?" Lestrade stared straight back at Sherlock, wondering if the other man really could read his mind.
"John and I," Sherlock clarified. "You've got questions that you're dying to know the answers to."
"Damn it, Sherlock, right as always." Lestrade sighed and the train pulled out of the station. "Forgive me for intruding on something that is none of my business, but I have to say that I never imagined you in a relationship, Sherlock."
"It's okay, I never imagined it either." Sherlock lowered his voice, sensing that people around them were listening in on their conversation.
"But John is different?" Lestrade prompted, his curiosity getting the better of him.
John cleared his throat as if to remind them that he was still there. "My hearing is as good as it ever was, thank you."
"I'm sorry, John, it's just… Everyone at the Yard's been talking about you two since the second you arrived on the scene. And, I mean, this is Sherlock we're talking about here."
If Sherlock was offended, he certainly didn't show it. He was fully aware of what people thought of him; of his supposed incapability of caring for anything other than his work and his sociopathic tendencies. It was also true that Sherlock had labelled himself as a sociopath, resigning himself to a life of loneliness but convincing himself that something as mundane and common as love was far too human for him. He had honestly believed that he was not capable of loving someone. But then John came along.
John.
Caring, thoughtful, human, John. John who was currently sitting next to him, running the pads of his fingers over the back of Sherlock's hand.
"I know it's hard for you to understand, Greg," John was saying, "But he does have a heart, and he has shown it; perhaps not to you, but definitely to me, and I love him for that, exactly how he is."
Lestrade smiled, leaning across the table to clap John on the shoulder. "I'm very happy for you both, really."
When Sherlock smiled it was not forced like it had been for Rebecca, but a real, genuine smile of actual happiness and he gave John's hand another squeeze.
"If you don't mind," said John, "Please don't tell anyone else at the Yard. I think we'd rather do that ourselves." He cast a look towards Sherlock, who nodded his agreement.
"Of course," Lestrade replied.
The rest of the train journey passed slowly. At some point, John nodded off to sleep, his head resting on Sherlock's shoulder. Lestrade was so engrossed in his book that it took him a good half hour to notice, and when he did, his gaze immediately flickered over to Sherlock, who seemed quite content to allow John to remain exactly where he was. John slept for about an hour, waking up to find Sherlock and Lestrade in the middle of a game of Blackjack, which Sherlock had impressively managed to play without disturbing John's position.
"Feeling any better?" Sherlock asked John. "Twist," he said to Lestrade, who handed him another card.
"Hm?" John rubbed his eyes sleepily. "Oh yes, I suppose."
"That's good," replied Sherlock absently. "I'll stick with that."
Lestrade and Sherlock turned over their cards. Unsurprisingly, Sherlock had won with the Queen of diamonds, the six of clubs and the five of spades. Lestrade sighed as he shuffled the cards.
"Greg, have you won any games yet?" John asked, already guessing at the answer. Greg chose not to reply, and John assumed that his lack of response meant that his answer was 'no'.
The three men continued to play cards until the train pulled into Paddington station, breaking the silence with occasional exclamations of swear words or laughter. Once they had exited the station, Sherlock hailed a cab and climbed into the back, leaving John and Lestrade to put their bags into the boot.
"Baker Street," said Sherlock when John and Lestrade had joined him, and the cab pulled away.
Sherlock was glad to be returning home to the flat, but, at the same time, was nervous due to the unwanted worry that his and John's relationship may change again, and Sherlock didn't want that at all. He pushed the thoughts out of his head as the cab arrived at Baker Street, and Sherlock and John climbed out.
"Thanks again," called Lestrade as they pulled their bags out of the boot. "I'll call you when I need you."
Sherlock and John waved goodbye to him, before turning and unlocking the door to 221B. They were greeted in the hallway by Mrs Hudson, who seemed very glad to have them back.
"It's just been too quiet without you two clattering around and shooting holes in my walls." She smiled fondly.
"It's good to be back, Mrs Hudson," said John, following Sherlock up the stairs into their flat. He caught Sherlock by the elbow before he could go into his room. "Sherlock…stay in my room tonight?"
"Why can't we stay in mine? It's closer."
"It's also more likely to be a biohazard."
Sherlock grinned. "You're probably right. Okay, your room it is, but I want to talk about something first."
John rolled his eyes. "Oh God, is this 'the talk'?" He paused. "Okay, let's unpack and then I'll fix us some tea and we can talk."
Sherlock murmured his agreement and they went into their separate rooms, reconvening in the living room just under ten minutes later. John set about boiling the kettle and rooting around in the cupboards for something to eat, before eventually conceding that it was probably safer to stick to toast. When he was finished, he wandered back into the living room, carrying two steaming mugs of tea, and somehow balancing a plate piled high with toast on his left arm. Sherlock relieved him of one mug and the plate so that John could sit down.
"So…" said John, munching his way through a slice of toast.
"Mmm," came Sherlock's reply. "John, I want you to know that I'm really not very good at expressing how I feel, or saying what I want, but I have never, ever felt the way I feel about you before." He inched closer to John, his mug of tea discarded on the coffee table. John put down the plate and his own mug before Sherlock continued. "I love, Doctor John Watson, more than anything in the world. I feel…complete when you are with me; you make me happier than I have ever been in my entire life, and the thought of continuing to live without you is frankly unbearable." He stopped talking, searching John's face for some kind of response.
John smiled. "I have the overwhelming urge to kiss you right now," he said, pulling Sherlock into his arms and crushing their lips together, his tongue flicking at Sherlock's mouth until he parted his lips and allowed John's tongue to twine with his. He pulled him back onto the sofa, their legs tangling as John's hands ran up to Sherlock's hair. Sherlock wrapped his arms around John's chest, sliding over his back and bringing his body closer. Every thought in his overactive brain had been replaced with John and want and need.
Sherlock pulled away, gasping for breath, his cheeks flushed and lips red from the kissing. "John," he breathed. "Do you think it was meant to end up like this, or was it all some kind of accident?" He indicated the way their bodies were wrapped around each other.
John pressed another kiss to Sherlock's lips. "Call it an accident, call it whatever you want, personally I believe that it was fate."
Sherlock grinned at that, stretching up to kiss him again. "I love you, John Watson."
"I love you too, Sherlock Holmes."
THE END.