"John Watson", Sherlock replied, smiling for the first time in... ages. His eyes regarded his friend from top to bottom, his mind registering all the details of John's life in the past three years. God, he had missed him. His quote /I don't have friends/ of three years ago sounded now ridiculous. Sherlock stared at John unbelieving eyes. He approached him slowly, sitting in the bench beside him
Tears started to run down John's face. "I...I…" He swallowed several times, his throat making him unable to speak. "Sherlock," he whispered softly, turning to look at his friend. He was more ragged. He was skinnier than ever, his hair and clothes a mess.
Sherlock lifted a hand, trying to calm John down. He wasn't sure how the doctor would react to his touch. "John", he began, getting a little closer to him. "It's okay", he reassured him. He slowly traced John's fist with his fingers, trying to smooth the tension there. "I am right here, John"
John let Sherlock touch him. He had to, to prove Sherlock was real, Sherlock was alive. The tears and sobs more becoming more frequent. "Sherlock, you're alive," he whispered again, repeating himself. He raised a hand to touch Sherlock's cheek, his lips, his hair. "You're alive."
Sherlock stayed still. He didn't want to scare John... more than he already was, anyway. He let John touch his cheeks, leaning into his hand. His other hand reached for John face, and he dried his tears with his fingers... but they kept coming. Leaning down, his hand caressed the back of John head, bringing him to Sherlock's chest. "I right here", he repeated. "And I'm never going to go again"
John let Sherlock move him, let him touch him. Only his touch calmed him down, only his touch kept him sane. His heart was beating way too fast and his head was starting to spin. He was dizzy, way too dizzy. "Sherlock..." he whispered softly before fainting.
God, if John didn't calm down his pulse, he may have a heart attack. Oh... John had fainted. At least it wasn't a heart attack. Taking John in his arms, Sherlock carried him to his flat... their flat. 221b. When they reached the door, Sherlock smiled sadly, homesick. He opened the door and carried John upstairs, dropping John softly in the couch. He kneeled beside him, caressing his head. "John..."
John groaned softly, opening his eyes. His head was throbbing. He bent over the side of the bed, vomiting again. "Sherlock…" he whispered looking above him. He felt embarrassed for vomiting and fainting. 3 years of not having his Sherlock around and he embarrasses himself. John groaned, closing his eyes. He gripped Sherlock's hand gently in his own, reassuring that Sherlock was there.
Sherlock chuckled. "You don't have to be embarrassed. Vomiting after drinking its actually quite normal. You should know that, doctor", he tried to tease, though John didn't look to be in the mood. He squeezed John's hand back, putting their forehead together. "Sleep, John. You will be better when you wake up". Squeezing John's hand one last time, he got up to leave.
John sat up the moment he felt Sherlock's presence leave him. He stood up quickly, regretting both decisions. "Sherlock-" He breathed, stumbling towards the man. "Don't…go." He gripped Sherlock's body to him. He didn't care if he smelt of vodka, he didn't care if he was begging. Sherlock couldn't leave him. Not now. Not ever again. "Please," he begged, slipping to his knees.
Sherlock took John before he felt to the floor, guiding him back to the bed. Really, drunken John was a bit slow. /Or maybe he just misses you/, said an annoying voice in his head. He helped John into the covers, taking of his shoes first. "I am not going anywhere, John. But you need to sleep. I'm not talking to you in this state. You wouldn't remember anything tomorrow, and I don't like to repeat myself"
John had to smile, even if it was small at that statement. "Then sleep with me." He realized how bluntly he put it. "Please," he added a bit soft. He gripped Sherlock's hand tightly, forcing the man to look in his eyes. "I..I love you, Sherlock. And I /did/ miss you."
Sherlock felt he might melt after John's words... which wasn't very normal on him. But John was like no one else Sherlock had ever met. "I missed you too, John.", he breathed, lying next to him. He hugged his doctor under the covers, his lips touching John's ear. "I love you too, John."
John shivered at Sherlock's words and lips. He said nothing else, but turned to wrap Sherlock in his arms and sleep the drunkenness off.
Sherlock spent the whole night holding John and thinking about the next morning. They had to talk. And it wouldn't be a nice talk. When he saw it was 10 am on John alarm clock, he got up and went to the kitchen, starting to prepare tea.
John woke up a few minutes after Sherlock left the bed. His head throbbing. He felt downright disgusting. He hardly remembered last night as well. He sighed as he stood up, glancing at the alarm clock. He slept in late and his phone. Where was his phone? He shrugged, knowing if lost or broken Mycroft would bring him a new one. He heard someone in the kitchen, assuming it was Mrs. Hudson. He sighed softly and went to talk a shower. Once he was out and dressed, he walked into the kitchen, stopping at the sight of Sherlock.
Without turning around, Sherlock said: "Good morning, John", as if nothing had changed. Well... he didn't usually make tea when he and John lived together, but he was sure John would be able to think much with his hangover. "Tea?"
John looked at Sherlock for a minute before slowly sitting at the table. "Sherlock." he said slowly, as if trying to understand, "You're alive. You're here." He was silent, accepting a cup of tea. "What the /fuck/ happened last night?"
"I think that is the most used line, just after "It's not you, it's me"", he replied, sitting in front of John. "You texted me saying you will suicide, I came to you, you fainted, I brought you here and we fell asleep in your bed", he resumed, avoiding the part where John had begged him to stay.
John could only nod as he took another sip. "Funny, I don't remember a thing." There was silence for a while. "I was...suicidal. I remember that, Sherlock. I was. Every single day after-after..." He couldn't bring himself to think of that day. Not yet.
Sherlock waited for John to finish, even if he knew he wouldn't. But that sentence had been the beginning of The Talk. "I know it was hard, John. But you have to understand that I had to do it"
John slammed the mug down with enough force to shatter it. His body trembled and he still held on to the handle. "You /had/ to do it. I suffered. 3 years without you. Each day...each day was a god damn challenge. After the 3rd year without you, I tried at least once a month to kill myself. Do you know how much burdon I put on Lestrade and Mycroft? The first time I did it...Lestrade was beside me. And all your damn brother said to me was that you would be disappointed. Hah." He looked down at the broken remains. "Did you suffer?" he hissed.
Sherlock lifted an eyebrow at John's question, trying not to think much at John killing himself... "Did /I/ suffer? Did you think it was easy for me? Hiding from everyone and bringing down Moriarty's network at the same time so you wouldn't /die/? Yes, I enjoyed it. ", he replied sarcastically
"And yes, I would have been disappointed", he added
John watched him, setting down the shard in his hands. "I didn't think it would be easy for you," he hissed. He stood up, disposing of the shards himself. He got another cup, closing his eyes. "I wanted to die," he continued, "Very much. I tried every way I knew besides-besides jumping"-he shuddered-"And my gun. I wouldn't want Mrs. Hudson to come in on that mess." He took a slow sip. "Why? Just explain to me why?" Near the end, his voice was breaking. Either in sorrow or rage, he didn't know. There was a slight tremble to his hands again.
A hundred images of John killing himself passed on Sherlock's mind. Shaking the thoughts out of his head, he took a deep breath. This wasn't going to be easy. And the tremble in John's hand was back. Fuck. "I knew Moriarty would make me kill myself in some way, so I was prepared. But he had a gun aimed at you, Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade. If I didn't jump, the three of you would be dead now. I wasn't counting on that. I jumped, anyway, on the back of the truck"
"You're body...the blood..." A few tears rolled down John's face. "I felt your fucking pulse! You had died! I-I watched!" He took in a shaken breath. He dropped the tea and started to pace. "Where's Moriarty then? Where did you go for 3 years?" John's hand went to the holster at his side. he wasn't sure why, but he automatically did that since Sherlock's death. The thought made him cringe still. He walked out of the room to get his cane. He could tell Sherlock was looking at him, the cane. "Of course it's back," he snapped, "It came back the day you die-" He couldn't bring himself to say it out loud.
"I am alive, John", he repeated. He had to make sure the fact went into John's head. "Molly covered me in blood and hided me after. I used a rubber ball on my armpit to cut my pulse... I knew you would try to reach for me. Moriarty faked his death too, but I don't really know where he is. I spent these years killing all of his... friends ", Sherlock got up, taking the cane from John's hand and dropping it to the floor. "You don't need it now."
John gripped Sherlock's wrist as tight as he could. "Why didn't you try to get a hold of me? I could've helped! Instead I-I fucking sat here on my arse and suffered! I-I quit working. I suppose Mycroft has been paying the rent." He closed his eyes, his head throbbing. "Instead...you left me here to deal with your /death/. You died for me, but that's almost noble of you." He growled the last bit. 3 years of guilt, pain, and rage was coming out.
Sherlock caressed John's hand with his hand. Maybe if he repeated what he had done last night, he would remember what they had said to each other. He reached for John's head with his other hand. "I would have put you in danger and... I couldn't, John. I prefer you suffering that dying. I kept an eye on you, though. Mycroft told me about you. And I would do it again, John. I would die, /really/ die, just to save you"
John froze on Sherlock's touch, his tremble dyeing. "Why live..." he was silent, closing his eyes. "Why live a life without you? I would rather die than be without you." He sighed heavily, a few more tears running down his face. "Tell me...tell me everything you need to say." There was a sort of plea in his voice, just to hear Sherlock speak.
Could he? He was good with words, true, but he wasn't with.. sentiment. He never had. But he had to do it. For John. "You would have done the same in my place. John, I...", he trailed off, approaching John. Come on. He had faked his death. He could do this. "I missed you, John. More than anything or anyone else. Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade were on danger, but I only could think of you. You were the first name I said to Moriarty.", he took a deep breath for the last bit. "I love you, John"
John collapsed on the floor. He didn't faint, but collapsed. He sat there for a second, looking at Sherlock's legs. Looking at the floor. It was obvious that it was hard for Sherlock to say what he did. But did he mean it? John closed his eyes and shook his head. What kind of question was that? Of course he meant it! "I missed you, Sherlock. You know that. You can see that. And-and.." He texted Sherlock every damn day. About how much he missed him. How much he loved him. Why was it hard to say..? "I love you, Sherlock. And.../thank you/." The last part was whispered, but he knew Sherlock heard him.
Sherlock dropped to his knees in front of John, pulling him in for a hug. Finally, he allowed the tears that he had been holding for three years, kissing John's neck, ear, cheek, nose... "Thank /you/, John. You don't know how much better you have made me". And with that last sentence, Sherlock leaned forward, capturing John's lips with his in a loving kiss.
John kissed Sherlock with as much love that he did. He gripped Sherlock's body to him, tears running down his face. When they pulled away, he muttered, "I'm sorry. For my anger. For my worry. I...I..." He shook his head, not able to say what he needed. How much he needed Sherlock. How much he loved him. "Don't leave. ok? That's all I ask." He shuddered, remembering his last few words at Sherlock's grave.
"One more miracle", Sherlock whispered. John didn't need to say more. It was written all over him... for Sherlock to read. "I'm sorry I made you go through that. I'm never going to leave again. You asked for a miracle... it's the least I can give you"