5th Perdition.

The Perditions of John

5th Perdition

Author: Howlynn
Realm: Sherlock
Story Title: The 5th Perdition of John
Summary: 'It's all a game, John, and I always play to win."
Character/Relationships: John/Sherlock

The music stopped and Sherlock sat staring into space. John had the urge to touch him; again, just to be sure he was there.

"Your tea has gone cold. Would you like it to be warmed?" John asks at last to break the silence.

"My tea is always cold. I am like it. Cold, unwanted, without the warmth to give someone. I almost didn't answer you. I missed something about you John. Maybe I believed incorrectly."

"A lot of subjects there. I never thought of you as cold. But, three years, thinking I did that to you. Thinking the only thing I could do for you was make you live forever, and knowing that is the only reason, I'm here. And it only served to make me a joke between you and Mycroft? Well, that does shine some light on where we were, as opposed to where I thought we might have been."

"And where did you think we were?"

"Not sure it matters, so you won't have to give me the married to your work speech." John stands and sweeps up both cups. He stands in the kitchen, leaning on the counter, holding himself trying not to cry out loud. He can't cry again, he won't stop now if he does. He gets himself under control by the time he enters the living room again and sets a hot mug before Sherlock. He goes to the mantle and stares in the eye of the skull and without thinking ruffles his nonexistent hair.

"Do you hate me?" comes the baritone voice from behind.

"You're the one with the magic tricks, figure it out." John braces himself and lifts his tea to his throbbing eyes.

"Did you suspect I was near? Is that why you tried to kill yourself?"

"No. Obvious, as you used to say."

"Then walk me through it, because I am at a loss. You have managed all this time. What occurred today that made this the moment you picked to stop existing?"

"Maybe I was just bored. Sherlock? Maybe it was just a good day for it." John turned and tilted his head with a soft smile, the calm soldier.

"Bored? You have three cases open on the desk. You have enough money to do anything you please. You have two best sellers in New York. You have purchased this building. You have a woman. How are you bored?"

John smirks and sips his tea. "I have nothing. Nothing, Sherlock."

"You have me."

"You? I guess you missed the bit about you were dead. It was in all the papers."

"Ahhh. And I was a factor? It still doesn't explain that on this day, you decided that it would be your last."

"No. Not just this day. Every single one of them. Every day. All of them. This one just happened to win. I have spent more than a thousand days right here. More days then I knew you. It stopped being worth it after about three. You can't tell me you didn't know, not if Mycroft was giving you updates. Do you know how it feels that I have thought of nothing but finding you and you would rather I do this then trust me? You said you could have come back a year ago, but you didn't even ease my burden then. Mary left me, because she knew. I let her go, because I cared enough not to make her watch."

"I thought you were moving on. I wanted you to be happy. I was at your wedding. Knowing I was alive served no purpose. I would have tried to, persuade you to not…take your chance at all the happiness you deserved. You would have hated me for that more."

"You would have seen me better if you had found my body. Here, let's pretend. Let this pen represent the needle. You have just found me. I have been dead for three hours, look around. Tell me what you see." John let himself down onto the chair and aimed the pen toward his arm and slowly closed his eyes and slumped sideways.

"John. I don't like this game. Please stop."

'Play it now, or later." John says in his calm soft way. "Out loud please."

Sherlock sits for a moment, waiting for John to understand that he is not at all amused. With a typically petulant sigh, that John has to work not to smile about, Sherlock stands over him. He leans in and sniffs. "You…uhem, the victim, is severely underweight, he may have overdosed, but he didn't. He is not in the condition of a junkie, he has showered, groomed himself, dressed carefully, formally even, and is smirking yet the crap telly is off so he decided to kill himself despite how successful he is. The room has also been cleaned which indicates this was not a random moment of crisis, he planned this action. There is no accumulated mail; he was not behind or in financial crisis. Therefore his action is motivated by some other situation. He is in a chair, not his bed, which probably indicates he wanted his last vision to be of something that mattered to him. He would have been looking at… a chair facing him, and the violin propped beside it. He doesn't play the violin, because his fingertips are soft, so it mattered that he see it for another reason. It belonged to his flat-mate. He wears no jewelry of any kind, though his ring finger has a pale line indicating this is a recent occurrence. There are no pictures of his wife, nor does he have one on his person. That says she was not the instigator of his demise."

Sherlock pulled out his spy glass. And went over John in silence. "He has worked out extensively, perhaps to excess considering the scent of menthol based cream permeating his right leg in the knee area and bruising to his ankle of the same limb. He is vitamin deficient indicated by the dry skin and sallow complexion. He has recently had his hair colored and styled, possibly as a precursor to this event. His watch is expensive and not something he would have bought for himself, he died with his shoes on and neatly tied, meaning he was most perfunctory in wrapping up details. His will is on the mantle, labeled. His shirt was ironed by him, but his trousers were professionally cleaned. The smell of naphtha is strong, so he just picked them up. There are no doubt a second set of clothes laid out for his burial, ah yes hanging just over there. This wasn't done on the spur of the moment, but long planed."

John feels the eyes bore into him. He has one thing left to find. He feels Sherlock reach into his left pocket.

" He has a note in his left pocket. It is on yellow linen paper, folded precisely in the origami shape of the crane. The shape means loyalty and honor but the color means freedom. The ink is crimson, perhaps for his school teacher, or perhaps to represent love. And it says,…Oh God." Sherlock sits down and stops speaking.

"That's not what it said," the corpse indicates. "Out loud please."

"My darling. I am not leaving anything, just going to follow you as always. You will live forever. My purpose is complete. I am honored to have called you friend and nothing will ever match those short moments. I hope you can forgive me for calling you a machine. You were always the most human of the two of us. I am sure that what I lost when you ended your journey with me was the most important thing I ever had. Genius needs an audience is what you told me, so I am taking my place. I am happy for the first time in an endless eternity without you. I don't know how you missed that I fell in love with you and I just hope you knew. The only thing that matters is a chance to tell you. I don't want anything else, but for you to know that. I expected miracles of you. But I know they don't really exist, so I will make one. I know that they did exist once. We found each other. Maybe we can do it just one more time and whatever we are after, we will find each other again. You made my heart stop. Every beat since has been only in my mind. "

John opened his eyes. "I think that explains where I thought we were. Don't worry though Sherlock, just delete it. It wasn't important."

"John."

"I know. It's all fine. I mean all of it, it's fine. Now, where are you planning to stay? You're welcome here. I need to sleep. I haven't done that in a while and now that you're alive, maybe I can. The thing is I have taken over your room. The sheets are clean upstairs, if you want to, or the couch. Sorry about that, but…"

"John, please."

"Just don't ok? Don't pretend you feel sorry for me." John closed the door and let out several breaths. He kicked off his shoes and collapsed on the bed.

Sherlock didn't wait long. He opened the door and walked to the end of the bed. "I thought you might be interested. I love you more than I ever loved anyone. Even more than me. I didn't stop. I love you. I always will. I will come back in any capacity you will have me. I can't be without you. I will only leave if you tell me it is my only way to make you happy."

John feels the end of the bed sag, but he doesn't move. Sherlock leans over and touches Johns shoulder. His hands are cold. He must be nervous.

Sherlock whispers, " I did trust you. I know what you think, but it was only to protect you at first and then I thought it would be kinder to just let you go on. I didn't want to mess up what I thought you had and God, I was half insane with grief that I had lost you."

John turns and gets up on his elbow; he glances at Sherlock then looks away. He focuses on Sherlock's hand and closes his own on his larger pale fingers.

"My enemy is finally dead and I came home to find out you were getting married in two months. I debated, but the facts seemed so clear. You were finding a future. Mycroft told me I needed to decide who I thought was the most important. He pointed out that, you were perhaps a bit lost without me but I was a blip really. You were essentially heterosexual and what chance did I have to honorably provide you with anything other than pain. I justly believed Jim had won after all. He burned the heart right out of me. He took you away from me. I left the ceremony and I was childish as always. I made messes for Mycroft to clean up. I was the mess actually. There is some missing time. Then I threw myself into some of my brother's covert enterprises and I arrived in London about sixty two hours ago. Mycroft said things may be not in the best place with you, that maybe I should keep an eye on you for a bit. I am working here right now. I think you would find it a most stimulating case. Mycroft needs us. He admitted we were much better as a team. He is quite fond of you. Your blog concerned him and it was decided that I would wait and see what your travel plans were to be. If they were some sort of ruse, I would take appropriate action. I knew you were staying here, but he didn't tell me why."

"I kept my affairs as private as possible. We haven't told many people. Waiting until it all finalizes. I let her down. It was me, not her. "

"Was it horrible? Did she break your heart?"

"No idiot. It was long gone. She tried to keep me satisfied with things to look forward to, but I kept getting lost in the past and I wouldn't have left her, but it was unfortunately a relief. It freed me up. For this, tonight."

"But you did love her?"

"I love her very much. I just, loved a dead man more and she really caught on once we were married. I evidently dreamed in embarrassing detail. Out loud."

"Interesting." Sherlock looks at John with those intense ethereal eyes of his looking amber in the moonlight. "And were any of your dreams about me happy, my John?"

"Some. Many were of you always dying, but even the good ones simply made the nightmare a daymare, when I woke and you were still dead."

"I am ashamed that I put you through any ache that led to what I almost didn't stop."

John sighed. "So what now? Where do we land. How do we fix it?"

"I was leaning toward a sexual encounter."

John laughs and then clears his throat. "I have never had sex with a man. I may be horrible at it."

"Well, I have never had sex with anyone, so I won't know. I assume you understand the basics? You are a physician of amazing caliber. I imagine that we are quite capable of figuring it out." Sherlock reasons then smiles that secret half smile John had seen only a few times.

"How about we start with a kiss and see how we feel then."

"I almost kissed you long ago. I know precisely how I feel about the rest. I want to see your face in joy, it has been sad for far too long."

"So, you understand. We have a lot of talking to do yet."

"Yes. But for now. Shut up, John." Sherlock winked.

John touched Sherlock's face as if he'd found some precious delicate relic then brought his lips within breath. He whispered, "I do love you. I don't know why, but not telling you... that was the worst thing."

John kissed him. He was real, here and his body responded with insane desire after just moments of contact. He unbuttoned Sherlock's shirt and was in the middle of pure worship when he suddenly put his head on Sherlock's chest and lost all ability to do more than sob.

Sherlock held him for a while before trying to make John laugh. "I think you are doing it wrong. I have extensively perused internet porn and this is not one of the integral steps toward orgasm."

John sucked in his breath then chuckled." There were autopsy photos. It was the last time I saw your bare chest. It ripped me apart. I love you."

"Molly is very good with photo editing. You don't want to know how she learned to be so competent."

"Shit. Who else knows?" John looked angry again.

"The one who matters the most knows now. Details John. Please, I need you." Sherlock pulled Johns head to his own and the kiss is salty and Sherlock is lost in the taste of John. John's nose is bright red and his eyes are puffy and bloodshot against the tiny blue rims of his gentle eyes. Sherlock has never seen anyone so beautiful.

They slowly found all the new sensations of each other so inviting and enticing that there was barely a beginning before they both shuddered and moaned unable to hold out for more than their hands upon each other. The pleasure was unbalancing and both grinned at the fact that neither could be called competent or much more than fumbling virgins.

Sherlock lay on John's broad chest, curled like a lanky cat around him, listening attentively to his racing heart. "I was under the impression that that required a great deal more effort. I have always required at least twenty minutes to bring myself to ejaculation."

"I have to admit, I heard you do that rumble thing and there was no stopping me. I imagine it will become less rapid as we grow accustomed to each other."

"Is it so when you are with females?"

John blushed. "Well, yes honestly. I have always rather prided myself on my ability to control myself. I usually take a much longer time to build up into the required state of arousal to achieve release. It has never occurred with, so little direct firm stimulation."

"I am not displeased that you were not afraid and that you found this experience less controlled. Perhaps you are more stimulated by men than you ever admitted."

"No. It has to do with it being you I think. I sort of had an experiment, while married. I was in a pub and met a man. I was curious, because of the dreams I had been having about you. I had a mind that was both open and very drunk, but found him, I don't know. It was ugly and I apologized and couldn't escape his clutches fast enough."

"Was he beautiful?" Sherlock says, voice trembling slightly with jealousy.

"He was not ugly. My age, blond. A German fellow, funny and cheerful. I thought it would be more exciting, but I knew after ten minutes of snogging this was a terrible mistake. He thought I had an injury that had affected me. He wasn't offended. Quite polite actually."

"What gave him the impression that you were impotent?"

John grinned and shrugged. "I did. It was all I could think of and he was unaware that I could rattle off the symptoms because of my profession. He recommended a doctor in Berlin, gave me his card even. He patted my head and kissed me on the forehead, and told me I had hope. He was so understanding it made me feel terrible for lying to him, but it proved I wasn't just playing for the wrong team."

"And what value was that information to you?"

John ran his fingers through Sherlock's hair. "It meant that I was not staging a marriage to hide my inability to be seen as in love with a man. It meant it was not my thing to begin with and it showed me that only you crossed that boundary for me. I was not disappointed with that answer, but I needed to know."

"So I am an enigma even in your heart?"

"Yes. You are."

"I was home once and thought you were…seeing Lestrade."

"No. He has been there for me though. He made a drunken pass at me one night."

"Really? I may be charged for murder after all." Sherlock said, raising one eyebrow.

John leaned back and looked at Sherlock in amused shock. "I never would have expected you to be such a jealous man, Sherlock. Never."

"The clues were all there from the beginning. Elementary, my dear Dr. Watson. Problem?" Sherlock's face took on the look of a pleased Cheshire cat.

"In some ways it isn't. I am not going to play games. You can't go killing every person who looks at me twice."

"It's all a game, John, and I always play to win."

Johns head tilted as he studied Sherlock. "I see. What happens when you win, Sherlock? You always get bored then. You will be off seeking your next challenge. Your next opponent."

"And you will be by my side. You are my John now. We should sleep for a while. We have work to do tomorrow. My target will be meeting with Mycroft's predecessor tomorrow. We must be there by noon, to set up our surveillance. We have to be very careful, John. These are not simple minded killers. When they kill, it is either never mentioned or the entire world stands up and takes notice."

"That's interesting. And this meeting is important to you?"

"Obviously. I wouldn't be here if it weren't. I have missed my assistant, my colleague, my best friend. I am so glad this brought us together. Like old times, eh John? The game is on and all is well." Sherlock sighed with contentment as John stared at the ceiling.

Just like old times. Like when you faked your death. Oh Sherlock, I am such a fool. You will get bored and I will lose you. You think just because we have given in to need, all is forgiven. John didn't sleep at all. He watched the sun rise, turning Sherlock's skin a golden-orange. He watched him breath, then quietly he slipped out of bed.

Sherlock awoke and stretched. His eyes popped open and he smiled at all his familiar things in their familiar places. He listened for the sound of John in the kitchen. The flat was silent. Sherlock frowned. He sat up and called to John. There was no answer. He must have gone to get pastries. Sherlock took a shower and dressed himself in some of his dusty cloths still hanging in his closet as if he were never away.

He entered the living room, searching for a note from John. He spied it at once and smiled at the familiar sloppy printing. The S in his name was larger, more elegant and the letters were slightly rounded. The K was entirely too large, meaning John was a man motivated by love but was first a man who had an imaginative mind and was full of surprises. Sherlock grinned and opened the note.

His smile faltered, then his face fell and he had to sit down to keep from falling. This couldn't be. Why? Sherlock couldn't make out the words swimming and blurring before him. It was a mistake, he had to have read this wrong.

Dear Sherlock,

The game begins. Do you always play to win? You catch them all. Catch me.

I will cherish last night, but I got my miracle. I fear it was too late for me and I fear more that it is but the start of another failure. I can't do it again. I can't watch it become clear when the clues are so glaringly obvious. You didn't come back to me. It was just convenient. I know as soon as I become inconvenient, you will throw me away again.

I guess it's a hard pill to swallow, knowing my chances are not the best. For three years I have focused on one thing. I wanted you, but it doesn't cure me. I could pretend for a while and cling to you with greed, but I know that yesterday was the best day of my life and I won't ever see it spoiled by reality.

Forgive me for being so selfish, but this close to the end of my sanity, I can still beat you, my darling one.

I forgive you for not trusting me. I forgive you for playing dead. It is harder to know you didn't believe in me or need me enough. I accept it. Can you prove me wrong?

Choose now. I think you know the stakes, if they matter.

One day for each year. No second chances. You fell and that's as good a time as any.

Find me and we will see if it is as fun when you discover, the one you can't beat is the one you didn't notice. Did you find the first clue my love? They will get harder.

The best to you either way you play. Don't cheat or the game ends early. Don't bother with my sister or the media. That is cheating. I know you will contact Mycroft, but I assure you, he won't be able to help you.

Am I being cruel? Maybe, but I love you and I do hope you win. If you don't, I understand and I am sure you will see that I never meant to bore you.

Goodbye Sherlock.

"No. No John. Please? Oh no." Sherlock leaned forward his face crumpled in pain. A clue? There was no clue. How do I Start? Where do I start?

Yes the clue is obvious but John took into account a bit of emotional clog in the mind palace. Please review?

Oh and to explain the why now? John hopes that Sherlock will pick him and win the game. If he doesn't, well 3 years in the mindset I have shown John to be in, it is not always possible to switch gears once you have the lorry in a downgrade. He is still processing and he is testing if Sherlock will even bother.