An entire year passed before Sherlock heard so much as another peep from John Watson. Sherlock didn't consider himself a sentimental man, but he hadn't had the heart to so much as touch John's room, which was exactly how he'd left it, and something within the detectives heart told him they would meet again one day. Sherlock never got another flat-mate, nor another friend. Sherlock also didn't take as many cases, though he did of course still do them. Mrs. Hudson had been his only companion, just like the pre-John days. Only difference was that now Sherlock knew what it was like to have John, and that made post-John life miserable.
John was pretty miserable too, though he supposed it was his own fault. He missed Sherlock, Mrs. Hudson, Baker Street…that stupid little thing Sherlock liked to do with the sheet…everything. Walking out on Sherlock Holmes had turned out to be the biggest regret of his life.
John was now married and living in central London, his wife, Mary the absolute bane of his existence. He thought he had loved Mary when he'd proposed but he hadn't, he really had only ever loved one person, and that was evident now. However, as he was sitting in the nursery, rocking his newborn son, he knew things could never again be the way they were. John had ruined everything.
"Do you know, son, why I called you Hamish?" He asked, looking down lovingly at the small, blonde haired, blue-eyed baby. Hamish wriggled in his arms and John let out a gentle, fatherly laugh.
"It was because Sherlock fancied it, my middle name. He seemed to like how frustrated it made me when he…" John trailed off, choking up a bit and pulling Hamish up on his shoulder.
"Oh, little one. Daddy messed up, alright. My entire life you're the only thing I've ever done right." He kissed his baby on the head and laid him down in his crib for the night.
"If I can fix it though, I will. Then maybe you can meet him…your uncle Sherlock." John closed the door to the nursery with a sigh, knowing full well that 'Uncle Sherlock' wasn't exactly the way he really pictured it.
"Mary, darling, I'm going out for a bit." He called, not bothering to look for her or wait for an answer as he grabbed his car keys.
"It's late, John, where could you possibly be going?" John ignored her, walking out the door quickly and climbing into his mini. He knew himself and Mary would likely fight when he returned home, but he didn't care, when were they not fighting? If it wasn't for Hamish, John would have left a long time ago. He needed to see Sherlock, to make things right. Even if Sherlock was no longer interested, and after so long he probably wasn't, he needed his best friend back.
John knocked three times on the familiar door to their old apartment, praying harder than he'd ever prayed that Sherlock still lived there. He was about to turn around and leave when he heard his favorite voice groan 'go away!'. John smirked and pulled out his old key, walking into the flat and staring longingly at the bundle on their couch. Sherlock was naked, wrapped in the very sheet John had been thinking about earlier that day and hanging upside down, playing with his phone.
"Some things never change, eh, Sherlock?" Sherlock was startled, sliding off of the couch and into the floor, his sheet coming completely undone. Sherlock's nakedness was nothing John hadn't seen before and he approached his friend eagerly, offering him a hand. Sherlock took it and allowed John to pull him up, though his eyes were filled with distrust.
"Why are you here?" That stung a little and John winced, avoiding Sherlock's gaze, but then what he was faced with while looking down forced him to turn scarlet and look back up quickly.
"I-I um, can we talk about that after you put some clothes on?" Sherlock silently picked up his sheet and wrapped himself up, not making any attempt at going to get regular clothes.
"I…see. Well, I'm here to see you. To apologize. Sherlock, I am so sorry for the way I acted the night you…the night we…when we kissed. I just wanted you to know that you didn't do anything wrong, it was entirely me. I over-reacted." Sherlock seemed to think carefully before replying, and John was sure he was analyzing his every word.
"You were right too. I over stepped some boundaries." John shook his head, hoping his eyes were enough to assure Sherlock of the one thing he always swore the opposite of, that he was gay.
"But you didn't, that's the problem. The reason I reacted the way I did…" John couldn't finish that sentence, his heart pounding in his ears. Lucky for him, one almost never needed to finish sentences when with Sherlock, he always knew what you were thinking.
"The reason you reacted that way wasn't because you are straight, it's because you're gay. I figured as much. That's why I didn't stop you from leaving. It isn't anyone's place to force that out of another person. Not even when you…" He stopped abruptly, deciding it best not to finish that sentence.
"I did expect you to come back sooner, though. When you didn't you almost had me believing I had deducted wrong." He said instead, looking anxiously around the flat. John laughed.
"You never deduct wrong, Sherlock." A ghost of a smile crossed the taller man's lips, though it disappeared as quickly as it came and he walked to the kettle on the stove.
"Tea?" John nodded and sat down on the couch, feeling all but out of place.
"Yes, tea would be lovely, thank you." Sherlock made two cups and sat down beside John, handing his to him and giving him a once over.
"I've had to fend for myself since you left, you're tea was always better than mine." John grinned and attempted to slide his hand into Sherlock's, only to have his hand gently pushed away.
"You don't feel that way for me anymore, do you? I'm too late." It was less a question and more a statement, and the dejected sound in his friend's voice opened a lot of semi-healed wounds for Sherlock.
"Don't play that game with me John Watson. I think you've forgotten just who exactly I am. I've known from the second you walked through that door that you've been married for at least six months, to a woman no less, and you wreak of baby. I also know that you do seem to care for me and that your marriage is an unhappy one but for god sakes John you're a father, start acting like one." John was a little hurt by the absolute lack of emotion in Sherlock's voice as he nonchalantly sipped his tea as if none of this was a big deal, but then he reminded himself that if nothing else, Sherlock was a brilliant actor.
"I love you." As soon as those words flew out of John's mouth Sherlock's entire demeanor changed. His lifeless eyes filled with a wounded expression, and his muscles stiffened, sitting his cup of tea down and refusing to look at his counterpart.
"I think you should leave, John." Being the stubborn man that he was, John stood up and forced Sherlock to look him in the eyes.
"No. After all we've been through I refuse to take that as an answer. I want to solve crimes with you again, I…want to leave Mary, and I want to be with you, honest I do." Sherlock was trying so hard, he didn't want to be angry with John, not after missing him for so long.
"John, please…" Watson wasn't listening, rambling on about the life he thought the two of them could potentially have.
"…and I want you to meet my son, his name is Hamish…" Sherlock heard the child's name and had instantly had enough, picking up his cup and throwing it against the wall, watching it shatter into a million pieces.
"I asked you to leave!" He shouted, tears springing to his gorgeous sea blue eyes as John took a deep breath, attempting to recover from the tea cup that just barely missed his head.
"No." It came out shaky and unsure, but John's eyes were ablaze with defiance and a deeply rooted need to make Sherlock understand how much he cared. Sherlock gracefully stalked towards John, unsure of what he was about to do, and John, despite how much Sherlock towered over him, puffed out his chest and stood his ground. They stared at each other rather intensely for several moments, breathing heavily and their eyes falling closed as they seemed to crash into one another. Sherlock wrapped his hands around John's waist and John's fingers wove into Sherlock's dark curls, their bodies pressing together as John opened his mouth to Sherlock. Sherlock had never been kissed like this before, since this was only his second kiss ever, but he followed John's lead and allowed the other man to invade his mouth with his tongue. John pushed them forcefully into the wall and Sherlock let out a moan, gasping for air as John trailed off to begin kissing down Sherlock's neck.
"Well goodness! Glad to see the little domestic you two were having is finally over." Said the voice of Mrs. Hudson, who was now standing in their doorway. John yelped and quickly pulled away from Sherlock, who was blushing all the way down to his toes.
"U-Um Mrs. Hudson I….we…" Sherlock stammered, gingerly touching his lips, a small but very genuine smile on his face. John noticed and broke into a loving chuckle, looking at the floor as to not make eye contact with their land lady.
"Well there is no need to be shy, you've been married as long as I've known you." John opened his mouth to correct her but then shut it again, knowing it would do no good.
"I was simply coming down to tell you I received a call for John from some woman named Mary. Do you want to take it?" John shook his head.
"Tell her I'm indisposed of." Mrs. Hudson had to stifle a giggle but winked at the boys, closing the door behind her. Both John and Sherlock erupted with embarrassed laughter, finally beginning to feel like their old selves again.
"I'm still angry with you John." Sherlock reminded him, though his face was lit with a half-smile. John smirked.
"Nothing I can't hopefully make up to you, right?" Sherlock pretended to think it through, placing his fingers under his chin like he always did when he was concentrating.
"Well you could always murder another mad cabbie for me John, that warmed my heart." John snorted and rolled his eyes.
"Oh…Sherlock. My Sherlock." John stood on his tiptoes and brought Sherlock's head down a little with his hand, kissing him on the forehead.
"You could also leave that little twat you married if you really wanted to get back in my good graces." Sherlock added teasingly, earning a scoff from John in mock-hurt.
"Hey now, she isn't a twat!" Sherlock's eyebrows rose playfully.
"She is if she married you." John couldn't help the shit-eating grin that consumed his features.
"Don't pretend like you don't wish you were her." Sherlock tilted his head to the side and stared John down, one eyebrow raised in an I-really-can't-believe-you-had-the-balls-to-say-that sort of way.
"Too soon?" Sherlock closed his eyes and folded his arms, the expression never leaving his face.
"Go buy milk, John." John looked at him incredulously, baffled by the odd request given the situation.
"Sorry?" Sherlock's lips twitched, fighting a smile.
"I'm angry and we are out of milk. Go buy some." John shook his head, wondering why he was even shocked anymore.
"We're always out of milk, you drink it more than a damned infant. I would know, I have one." Even as he said it John was unconsciously doing as Sherlock asked, reclaiming his keys and coat and heading for the door. It was mind boggling to him how easily they could fall back into the old swing of things. Apparently John was taking too long.
"Milk, John!" John just rolled his eyes and flipped Sherlock a bird, though they both new neither of them were truly angered. After Watson had left, Sherlock sighed and looked down at his sheet clad body. He was pleased John hadn't seemed to notice, due to the way he was holding said sheet, that something on the lower-half of him had been standing up since that kiss.
"Note to self…" He said aloud.
"Ask Mycroft what his hypothesis is on this fascinating side-effect."