Author's note: How about some comfort?
Time stops being important. The ferry disappears within the haze of the morning sea. People pass me by. The sun rises higher. Sea gulls scream. After ten minutes or six hours or thirty seconds I force myself to go home. Need to see after Emmi. Need to show my parents that I am fine. (As fine as can be, that is. Which is not fine at all, but it will have to do.)
So with all the will-power I can summon I get up. Better not take the car (too risky to drive when you cannot see clearly). I take the long way home so I have time to pull myself together. I walk around the top of the island towards the harbour. Watch the few people who are outside on that cold but sunny day. (Never understood why the worst days of your life are always sunny.) Do not pay much attention to the people I pass.
Then I turn around the bend and see -
John.
Sitting on a bench. Staring out at the sea. His travelling bag at his side.
I don't know what to say, so I sit down next to him wordlessly. For a while, be both sit there in silence.
I ask myself if I saw him leaving the ferry without realising it but my memory of the time after he went on board is useless. All mental pictures are blurred with tears.
"I don't know if I can heal here with you," he whispers finally. His voice is raw. He looks as if he could break down any second. It hurts terribly to see him like that. "I don't know if I can heal at all, Sherlock. But I know for sure that I would be lost if I left now. "
That is true. I can see it in his eyes. Have deduced it before I left him, too. Unfortunately, no matter what Inner Mycroft might think, I don't know if I can heal John's soul. But there is one thing I can do for sure.
"Let me take care of you," I say, trying to keep the urgency out of my voice. Trying to sound casual, so he won't feel emotionally overstrained. "Of your body. Your health, I mean," I correct myself hastily.
When he does not react at all, I go on, "Let me make sure that you regain some strength. Let me take care of your sleep and your nutrition and let me see to it that you get enough exercise. No obligations," I make clear when he frowns. Meaning: no need to worry about loving me or not. Just stay.
He stares out at the ocean for a long time. Then he finally nods. Relief hits me so strongly that I nearly giggle (inappropriately). "Good," I say instead, "Let's get you to bed, then."
I rise and he gets up too. Slowly like an old man. "Can't sleep," he murmurs, tongue heavy, words slurred, eyes half closed.
"Anyway!" I do my best to command him and it seems to work. He follows me without further complaint.
We move so slowly that it is almost paralysing. But going back to where I left my car would be a detour.
Very soon he realises that we are not going to his holiday home but mine. He doesn't mention it but his body tenses for a while. Then he seems to lose his last bit of strength. He stumbles, eyes nearly closed now, and I carry him more than I support him. The way home seems endless.
My parents pretend not to be surprised and Daddy thoughtfully keeps Emmi out of the way. No need to get her prematurely excited about seeing her father. Getting John upstairs isn't easy but in the end we reach Mycroft's old room.
"I can't sleep," John repeats stubbornly when I (chastely) undress him. I gently press him down onto the mattress. He is sound asleep even before his head hits the pillow.
I hold vigil by his side, watching over his sleep. Maybe a completely redundant action but one my soul needs desperately. Mummy brings me something to eat from time to time and I take a nap every now and then, leaning against his bed with my back.
He has bad dreams, that much is easy to deduce from the whimpering and the tears but they do not wake him up. I remember that day back in 221b when I tried to comfort him in his sleep and he turned away subconsciously. The memory still hurts.
But when I try it again, when I softly (oh so softly) caress his face, he only sighs in his sleep. Is that progress? I don't know. But I continue to stroke his body (chastely) and he continues to relax. (I'm still not sure if it is progress but it gives me new hope.)
John sleeps for fifty-two hours. (He only wakes up occasionally to drink some water, never really opening his eyes.) That gives me more than enough time to think about how to go on with him.
When he finally wakes up for good, he is disorientated for a moment. He lies completely motionless, eyes closed. Taking in the situation, scared to give away he is awake. Like he did back in that cellar.
"You are safe," I say and watch his body relax. He needs some time before being awake enough to open his eyes.
"I'm still here," he says and I am not sure if he is surprised or not.
"You got off the ferry to stay," I explain, and he nods, like accessing a long forgotten memory.
"Right." He falls silent again. Our eyes meet for a moment.
I should probably wait until he has eaten something but I am too impatient. Too urgent is the need to change things, to help him out of his fears.
"John," I say (using his name as a filler). My hand is lying next to his, ready to make contact but hesitating. I wait until he is looking at me (his guard finally down, his soul raw and open) before I go on, "John, you have spent the last three months trying to un-love everyone you care for and it didn't help you at all."
His reactions are (finally) obvious, nothing left hidden. He is surprised by my (overdue) straight-forward approach, has to admit that I am right, is caught between agreeing because I am right and denying because he does not want that to be the truth. After a while, he nods wordlessly.
"Why not try something else?" I go on and finally summon enough courage to place my hand (gently) on his.
He does not withdraw his hand (a good sign). Instead, he is looking at our hands for an eternity before he asks, "Like what?" (I hate how small his voice sounds.)
"Like just … " (I need to summon some more courage before boldly going on,) "... loving me again. And Emmi." When he frowns and opens his mouth, I quickly continue, "Or just stop un-loving us. Time will pass, and you will see that Mary told us nothing but lies. You will love me again and nothing bad will happen to me. I promise!"
John thinks about it for a while. (His hand still placed underneath mine. Incredible how much I need this little comfort.) Then he looks into my eyes again. There is sadness in his face, way too much of it.
"But it has already happened, Sherlock." he says softly. "You have already suffered so much. Everything would be fine as long as I loved Mary more than you. That is what you told me at the hospital, remember? But I didn't, and so she killed Mycroft and hurt you and let Big Boy hurt you even more and then I left you and took Emmi with me and ..."
His voice breaks and apparently he is unable to go on without crying. So am I. But his hand is still placed underneath mine.
We spend the next minutes not crying. "And now you are here," I can reply after some time. "And I want you to be here. And if you really didn't want to be here with me, you would have stayed on that ferry and gone back to Scotland."
I hesitate for a moment but if there has ever been the need to be perfectly honest, it is now. "You would have blown out your brains yesterday morning and I would be on my way to bury you right now."
At that, he winces. So I was right. Of course I was.
"You would have hurt me far worse than Mary ever could, and you would have hurt Emmi as well. But you didn't. You are here, alive, and I will be damned if I let you get away with that stupid un-loving thing."
We stare at each other for a while. I am sure that my soul is as raw and open now as his.
John is the first to break the staring. He sighs. "God," he says then, "I have slept for days, Sherlock. There is no way I can face your bloody determination without at least one cup of coffee."
An attempt at humour? He could not have taken me more by surprise if he had stripped himself naked and snogged me senseless. I have to smile a little. So does he. Well, it is not really a smile, but his face brightens somehow and some of the wrinkles around his eyes seem to magically disappear.
I think I am finally talking to the John I fell in love with.
"Coffee then," I agree and sniff at him. "But first you need a shower."
He nearly-smiles once more. "Agreed." I lead him into the bathroom (slowly but steadily), supply him with towels and fresh clothes from his travel bag and head downstairs into the kitchen.
"We'll need coffee and something light to eat," I tell my parents. Daddy starts preparing something for us instantly while Mummy looks quizzically at Emmi who is sitting on her lap.
"Should I take the young lady out for a walk?" she asks. (Translation: do you want me to hide Emmi from John?)
I shake my head fiercely, "No." No more hiding, no more misguided consideration.
When John comes down, Emmi is delighted beyond words. She laughs and flails and wriggles herself off mummy's lap to get attached to John's leg and tells him "dadawadadwawa" until he picks her up. She presses one of her open-mouthed kisses onto his cheek and happily babbles on.
John's eyes meet mine and I am relieved to see that he still has not closed his soul again. He is uncomfortable and scared and happy and unsure all at the same time. But he carries on, lets her sit on his lap all the way through breakfast.
When Emmi finally agrees to settle down on the floor to play with her toy blocks, John sighs but does not run away.
He still has a very, very long way to go, I think. But he has finally taken the first step.
Author's note: Thanks to my betas GoSherlocked, Katzedecimal and Grizzy. You are the best.