Sherlock was still standing in the sitting room, feeling cast adrift, when he heard Jo begin to descend the stairs from her room. She stopped as soon as he came into view, looking like a deer caught in the headlights. She looked pale and almost fragile, which helped send his pounding heart plummeting into his stomach. His blood was rushing in his ears and he felt dangerously light headed. He shook his head to clear it, swallowing down his panic so that he could think properly. He bit back his questions, knowing that they all had obvious answers, and waited for her to speak first.
After several moments of incredibly awkward silence, Jo spoke, clenching the railing so tightly that her knuckles were white. "Sherlock, I, um, didn't expect you back. I'll be out of your hair soon. Or I can leave, if you want, and come back when you're… not here."
"Leave?" He asked dumbly, shaking his head. "Why would I want you to leave?"
She just blinked at him for a few moments, obviously incredulous. "Sherlock, you disappeared for two days; it's not exactly a stretch to think that you don't want me around."
"So you were just going to leave?" He could feel his hands shaking, so he clenched his fists, trying to mask his internal turmoil. "You weren't even going to say goodbye?"
She shrugged, avoiding eye contact. "I'm not going to stay somewhere I'm not wanted."
"Who said you weren't wanted here?" He demanded, his agitation slipping into his voice.
She rolled her eyes. "I'm not stupid; I can put two and two together."
"Obviously not!" He snapped. "No one said that they wanted you to leave, and I certainly haven't."
She sighed, doing her best to focus on anything but the man in front of her. "Look, I know that what I've done is unforgivable, but I can't stay somewhere where I'm hated. I just can't. And I especially couldn't stand it if you were the one doing the hating. I can't stay here and watch you hate me, Sherlock."
"I don't hate you," he answered, his voice subdued and almost broken.
Jo shook her head, finally looking directly at her flatmate. "I saw the look on your face, Sherlock. I know what hatred looks like."
Sherlock sighed, the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach growing instead of dissipating. "It's not that simple. I don't want you to not be around anymore; and I definitely don't hate you."
"Yeah, but can you live with me?" She asked, raising her eyebrows. "Are you really telling me that you're fine with what I've done?"
"I'm working on it," he promised, wishing that there was a way he could avoid this conversation and just go back to their normal life.
She shook her head, feeling resigned even as she prayed for any way out of the conversation. "I don't want to be a project. I'm the first one to admit that I deserve to be punished for what I've done, but, Sherlock, you're my best friend; please don't ask me to stay here and watch you figure out that you can't get over what I've done."
"You think you deserve to be punished?" He asked, frowning as his entire train of thought was derailed.
Jo sighed, rolling her eyes almost out of habit. "I almost destroyed the life of one of the best men I've ever met; of course I think I should be punished. He was never supposed to get caught up in the crossfire, but he did, and it's my fault because it was my plan. But that's really not the point here."
"It would have been so much more simple if you had led with that three days ago," he said, rolling his eyes even as he heaved a sigh of relief.
She frowned, shaking her head in confusion. "What does it matter? I still did it intention doesn't really matter when you hurt people."
"It matters to me," he insisted, stepping closer to her to try and get her to understand him. "Jo, I thought that you didn't care that you had hurt him, which goes against everything I thought I knew about you. If you've always regretted that he got hurt, then you're still you. And I know that I can live with you."
What he meant slowly sank in and Jo cracked a smile, unable to speak through her overwhelming relief. Sherlock finished crossing the room, stopping directly below his friend and tilting his head back so that he could continue staring at her. He returned her smile, feeling hopeful for the first time since they had returned from Devon.
"So you'll stay?" He asked, not even minding when it came out sounding as hopeful as he felt.
She nodded without hesitation. "I'll stay."
"Good," he answered, feeling as if his grin was splitting his face. "I'll help you unpack." He hesitated for just a moment before turning and taking long strides towards the boxes. He focused on the books, picking them up in huge handfuls and shoving them on the shelves without paying any attention to organization. Jo chuckled fondly and joined him, following along behind, as usual, and imposing order on his frantic disorganization.
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They worked for hours, unpacking and then reorganizing everything like they had saying they were going to do for months. Jo had turned the radio onto some pop station, and Sherlock complained more on principle than any real objection. He was going through a sheaf of papers he had found shoved to the back of a random shelf and Jo was standing on a chair so that she could dust the top of one of the book cases when Sherlock caught the movement of her wavering on her feet. He turned his attention to her and watched with mild concern as he tried to figure out why she looked a bit off. He was still watching her when she wobbled again; this time she was unable to correct the problem, and she began to topple over. Panicked, Sherlock lunged forward and caught her, staggering backward and almost falling over himself. He searched her face, watching as the clouds cleared from her eyes and she began to focus again. He was reluctant to let her go, and since the doctor showed no sign of pushing him away, he continued holding her.
"When was the last time you ate?" He asked, quickly coming to the most likely conclusion.
Jo shrugged, averting her eyes sheepishly. "I don't know. Sometime yesterday, I think."
"That's it; we're going to Angelo's," he said, barely restraining himself from asking how someone who was so concerned about how often he ate could pay so little attention to her own dietary needs.
She nodded, finally stepping away from him. "Alright. Let me just finish up here first. I don't want to leave a mess."
"No," he answered, shaking his head in disbelief. "You just fell over; we're going to go get something to eat, now."
She sighed but acquiesced without any further debate, motioning for him to lead the way.
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That night Jo went to bed early, not having slept very well in Sherlock's absence. She was able to fall asleep fairly quickly, content in the knowledge that even if things between her and Sherlock weren't as good as they were before, they were still alright. Sometime later she woke up, staring confusedly into the darkness, trying to figure out what had disturbed her. After a few bleary moments she was able to focus on a dark, vaguely Sherlock shaped shadow near the door.
She sighed, flopping over so that she could reach for the gun under her mattress. "I swear to god if you're not my flatmate then I'm going to shoot you because it is far too late for this crap."
"It's just me," Sherlock answered, sounding amused. "I didn't mean to wake you up."
She sat up, resigning herself to whatever conversation Sherlock wanted to have. "It's fine. What's up?" She motioned him over, which he hesitantly did. She pulled her knees up to her chest and he sat down, his thigh almost touching her toes.
"I really didn't mean to bother you," he said, not looking at her. "I just couldn't sleep."
She nodded, stifling a yawn. "I'm not surprised; it's been a rough five days."
"Oh god," he said, shaking his head. "It's only been five days. It feels like a lifetime."
She sighed. "I really am sorry. I never wanted to drag you into all of this; my life is kind of a mess."
"I don't mind," he answered, turning to look at her. "I'd rather be in your life than not. I don't care if it's messy."
The doctor shook her head. "It gets really messy, really fast; can you blame me for wanting to protect you from that?"
"I don't want to be protected," he protested, heaving a sigh of his own. "And I suppose I'm also a bit jealous. You've known the things I would have wanted to hide from you since pretty much the day we met. You get to have secrets; I don't."
Jo reached for his hand, wanting to make sure he was paying attention. "Sherlock, they're not always my secrets to tell."
"But sometimes they are," he answered, sounding petulant even as he intertwined their fingers.
"I know," she replied quietly, leaning her chin on her knees. "You've never treated me like there's something wrong with me; I guess I just didn't want that to change."
Sherlock sighed. "You should have a bit more faith in me than that. You're Watson; as long as you're still you, I can't imagine wanting you to change. I, I'm sorry for how I reacted; I just couldn't reconcile it with what I thought I knew about you. I was, afraid that you had tricked me. I've never trusted someone quite like I trust you, and I don't always know what to do when that trust is threatened."
"I don't blame you," she said, knowing that it was what the man needed to hear. "And it's not like I handled the situation perfectly. I guess I'm so used to keeping my secrets that I don't really know how to tell them."
Sherlock nodded but didn't say anything. The pair fell silent, sitting in the dark with their hands still clasped together. Jo's breathing evened out and her blinks began to get slower and more frequent. She knew that she was quickly falling asleep, but she fought it, feeling like sleeping now would be abandoning her friend.
Finally, Sherlock cleared his throat, giving her hand a shake. "You're exhausted; you should go to sleep."
"I'm fine," she insisted, her voice soft with fatigue. "I really don't mind sitting up with you if that's what you want."
He shrugged, turning so that he was staring into the darkness instead of at her. "I just want to know where you are. You can sleep if you want to. He felt his face heat up and was grateful that it was too dark for her to see it.
"Well if you're sure," she answered, letting go of his hand in order to start shifting over.
"I'm sure," he replied, shifting as well. "You'll need your rest if you'll be returning to work in the morning."
Jo moved over so that she could lie down without crowding her partner. Sherlock pushed himself up and back so that he was sitting cross-legged at the foot of the bed. She stretched out, arching her back before settling down again, her foot pressed against her friend's knee. She closed her eyes, finding comfort in the now-familiar feeling of being observed. She fell asleep to the sound of her friend's easy breathing matching up with her own.
Thank you, as always, to my amazing beta Painless_papercuts over on AO3
And thanks to all of you for reading. I'd love to hear from you either here or over at Tumblr where I'm theravensdesk.