Hi! I apologize for the hiatus, I have so much going on! I work two jobs, technically three if you count my side-job I work in my free time. Plus I have personal things(mental health issues), things going on with my living situation, AND THE FACT THAT S4 IS CURRENTLY AIRING AND I'M FREAKING OUT OVER THE FEELS.
This chapter is massive compared to the previous ones, probably twice as long as any of them. It's the last one before I post the Epilogue, which is coming soon. Finishing it up at the moment.
I kept wanting to write "Rosie" instead of Violet, but as I've said before, most of this fic was written before we found out John's daughters name, so I kept it.
As always, I'd love to hear what you think of this story! Leave me some comments, and enjoy.
Trigger Warning: Self-harm
"Hey."
Sherlock's smile grows bigger. "Took you long enough. Get inside and put her down so we can get the rest of your things."
John finally grins back at him. They head inside and to his relief he notices that the cigarette smell is fading.
He quit... for me? For Violet?
John makes a bed on the sofa for the baby and they head downstairs to unload the car. Once they get everything inside and John sets up Violet's cot she settles in for the night.
John is standing over the cot watching her sleep when Sherlock approaches him.
"Are you alright?"
John furrows his brows, "No... I don't know. I just have a lot on my mind."
Sherlock comes closer and wraps his arms around John's middle and hugs him from behind, resting his chin on his shoulder.
"Well, I'm glad you're here. I thought I was going to go mad if I had to spend one more minute with Gavin."
John cracks a smile.
"Don't be dramatic, I'm sure he wasn't that bad." he glances at his watch, "How have you been sleeping? What are you doing up this late?"
"Terribly. I missed you, I can't seem to get a good night's sleep without you. And I was working on a case before you got here."
John's heart skips a beat at Sherlock's words. He suddenly feels very warm.
"Anything interesting?"
"No. Lestrade left me some cases to look over but they're all horribly boring and predictable. There's only one I haven't solved yet."
"How's that one going?"
"Oh, it's just a double homicide. It was probably the husband, but he has a decent alibi. I just need to interview the gardener and I'll have the answer."
John smiles again. It feels like how it used to when they lived together years ago, but better. John can't quite get over the fact that Sherlock is holding him, both of them looking over his daughter. His worry and concerns fade away.
He's never been more content.
John eventually makes a cup of tea, and they go to bed. In the morning, John wakes up early to the sound of Violet's cries. He carefully untangles himself from Sherlock and stumbles his way into the living room.
All she needs is a new nappy, a bit of milk, and to be comforted back to sleep. John watches her groggily for a moment before he heads back to bed.
He slips back under the covers and into Sherlock's arms. Sherlock sighs and holds him closer, still seemingly asleep.
John sleeps for a few more hours and when he wakes up Sherlock is nowhere to be seen. He panics for a moment, he's always been the first one to wake up and thinks there may be something wrong. His anxiety is quieted when he hears Sherlock's voice coming
/from the living room.
He gets up, taking the warm sheet with him. Sherlock really does need to use the heater more often, especially since his fragile, newborn daughter is living in the flat now.
He's surprised to find Sherlock fully dressed, lounging on the sofa with Violet resting against his chest. He's reading to her from a chemistry textbook, listing various chemical compounds and telling her what they're useful for. John's heart swells.
When Sherlock finally notices him standing in the room, he looks up at him quizzically.
"What? Why are you looking at me like that?"
John wipes the smug, proud look off his face and heads for the sofa. He folds himself into the corner between Sherlock and the armrest.
"Just glad you two are getting along."
He can't seem to stop smiling. Sherlock frowns.
"She was crying, and you were asleep. I had to do something to make it stop, didn't I?"
"Mm, well, thank you. You did good."
He still looks a bit confused, but the corner of his mouth twitches up a bit. John knows how much Sherlock likes being complimented. They sit in silence for a while, John watching him run his fingers along the baby's spine while she rests.
Eventually, he gets up to make coffee. He gets lost in thought watching the machine slowly filter the liquid into the coffee pot. He wonders if this feeling will last forever, the god I'm so happy I could die and the man I've been in love with for five years is comforting my child and it's the most splendid and heart wrenching thing I've ever seen.
/He's so distracted he doesn't notice Sherlock get up from the sofa, put Violet in her cot, and walk into the kitchen.
"What's for breakfast?" the detective says.
John startles, but doesn't turn around to face him yet. He smiles wider, processing what Sherlock had just said.
"You're eating again?"
"Well, not usually. But I know you like breakfast, and I'm assuming you're going to make something and force me to eat it anyways. Am I wrong?"
John shakes his head.
"No. But you should really be eating on your own, not only when I'm here."
John turns to face him and his breath hitches in his throat. He discovers Sherlock is wearing one of his typical suits, an expensive looking outfit consisting of black trousers and a navy blue shirt. But not just any shirt, the shirt.
The shirt that Sherlock must know drives John crazy. It fits the detective like a glove, proving that he had been taking care of himself while John was gone. He doesn't look as thin as he did a few weeks ago.
The top few buttons are undone, and even John can see that he has left one extra button open than usual.
Oh he definitely is aware of what that shirt does to me. Every time he's worn it I haven't been able to keep my eyes off him. He's had it for years, and seems to only wear it on special occasions, usually when he's showing off. It's no coincidence he's decided to wear it the first day I've moved back in. And that extra
/button, jesus. I just got here last night and already I don't think I'm going to be able to keep my hands off him for much longer...
"You bastard."
Sherlock looks thoroughly confused.
"Have I done something wrong? What did I say?"
John reaches out and pulls him by the collar flush to his chest. Their faces are a mere inch apart.
"You did that on purpose just to drive me crazy. Or to distract me. I told you last night I had a lot on my mind and that I might not be alright and when I wake up you're reading to my daughter and asking for breakfast and wearing that shirt."
/John practically spits the words at him.
A smirk cracks through Sherlock's mask for a split second. He's amused.
"And I ask again, have I done something wrong?"
John quickly and smoothly pushes the taller man backwards and against the kitchen table, hovering over him slightly.
"You drive me fucking bonkers and you know it." he whispers.
Suddenly John's mouth is on his, devouring him. Sherlock melts into the kiss, wrapping his arms around John's waist. John moves his hands from his collar to his hair. His fingers weave through dark curls, tugging lightly and earning John an extremely
/rewarding and arousing moan from the detective.
Time has stopped, seemingly. The kiss turns more frantic as both men grab and pull at each other in an effort to get impossibly closer. John breaks away and pulls at the hair on the back of Sherlock's head, guiding his chin to tilt upwards so that he
/has access to his neck. He runs his mouth along Sherlock's jaw down to his collarbone and the man goes even more limp under him.
Sherlock let's go of John's waist and starts unbuttoning his own shirt. John's mouth travels lower, sucking and biting the skin beneath his collarbone before he abruptly stops.
"Wait, Sherlock... stop." he says, trying to catch his breath as Sherlock gets to the last button and moves his hands up to start taking off John's shirt. He freezes at John's words.
"No, I mean, we should slow down... take our time with this part? We've only just started this... thing between us."
Sherlock looks almost offended.
"We've been waiting for years, why wait any longer?" He scowls.
John understands what he means, but still guides Sherlock's hands away from the hem of his shirt. He touches his cheek tenderly.
"You have no idea how much I want to. How much I've fantasized and dreamed about you... I'm still trying to get used to the fact that I can kiss you, or touch you." Sherlock's face softens from a scowl to an understanding frown. "Let's just eat breakfast,
/and go from there."
Sherlock still doesn't look happy, but he gives John one more chaste kiss and he buttons his shirt back up.
"What are you making for me?" Sherlock says as John reluctantly turns his attention back to the coffee pot.
"Mm, whatever you'd like, love."
For the rest of the day they lounge on the sofa taking turns holding Violet, or each other.
Sherlock seems very eager to have a new experiment, new data to collect as he caresses and explores just about every part of John's body. He touches his skin ever so softly, running fingers along his eyelashes, fingernails, elbows, kneecaps, everywhere
/but his groin since John had taken that off the table for now.
He pushes up his shirt, mapping out every rib and muscle and running his hands along his nipples before he finds the scar from his bullet wound. John shivers, by now he's on his back on the sofa and Sherlock is straddling his thighs. He lowers his head
/and presses a kiss to the scar, feeling John's pulse at his crook of his elbow at the same time. John whimpers at the sensation.
"Shit. Sherlock, what did I just say this morning?"
"Mmm, I forgot." Sherlock says, his mouth still pressed to John's bare chest.
John gently moves them into sitting positions and adjusts his shirt. Sherlock pouts.
"My turn?" John smirks and raises an eyebrow at the other man.
Sherlock looks a bit nervous now. He nods, giving John permission.
The army doctor smiles at him reassuringly and starts to run his hands along him like Sherlock did him. His hands slide up his thighs, torso, neck. His fingers brush along his lips, nose, ears, and he can't help but slide them into Sherlock's curls once
/again. The detective closes his eyes.
God, I never thought I'd get to do this. He's magnificent, the most gorgeous thing I've ever laid eyes on. And now I get to touch him? What is going on? The walls could be falling down right now and I wouldn't notice.
He picks up Sherlock's left hand, runs his mouth along his long fingers and palm. He starts to unbutton the cuff of his shirt and Sherlock's eyes fly open. He freezes. John pauses seeing the terrified look in Sherlock's eyes.
"It's alright love, I've got you."
Sherlock's expression softens but he still looks uneasy as John slides his sleeve up. John traces his scars with his fingertips, examining them more closely than he did the first time he saw them. The worst of them are thick, white scars near the inside
/of his wrist.
He told me a few weeks ago that it wasn't the first time he had tried to kill himself...
He brings his arm up to his lips and places a kiss on the scars. Sherlock sucks in a breath. He can feel his pulse beating quickly under his lips.
He moves farther down his arm and does the same to the variation of healed wounds. There are so many, John is saddened that his friend had gone through so much pain.
He tells the world he's a sociopath, and people believe him. Meanwhile he was struggling with his own personal torment and a different kind of mental illness. He tried to destroy himself on a regular basis with blades and syringes. He sliced open his beautiful alabaster skin when everything was too overwhelming. The drugs, his past, the emotions that go along with having a giant brain that nobody understands... Besides Lestrade, nobody had cared enough to find out.
John kisses his arm once more before he kisses him on the mouth. Sherlock's fingernails dig into John's side and he eagerly reciprocates. The shorter man places his arm back in his lap and unbuttons Sherlock's shirt. Sherlock lets him.
He sets his forehead against the other mans and tries to tell him with his eyes trust me as he slides the shirt off his shoulders.
Sherlock lays back and closes his eyes, too ashamed to look at him. John strokes the scars on his stomach and sides slowly. He bends his head and presses his mouth to the worst of them.
"You're not disgusted? They're hideous, I know how I must look."
John lifts his head to look him in the eye.
"God Sherlock, how can you say that? You're beautiful, absolutely breathtaking... I adore every part of you, and these scars are a part of you too. I hate the thought of you harming yourself but they're proof that you've survived what you've been through.
/They're not hideous, nothing about you is hideous."
He kisses a scar on his hip and moves up to kiss his jaw. Sherlock grabs his face and mashes their lips together, but John notices that he's shaking and pulls back.
"What is it, Sh-"
"John... I love you too." Sherlock whispers, interrupting him.
John's heart beats wildly in his chest, he can't seem to breathe.
Deep down he knew it already, but it's the first time Sherlock's said it aloud. He'd said it vaguely at the wedding, but not like this, or in this context. Neither of them had even acknowledged that John had told him that he loved him the night he tried
/to kill himself. John wasn't sure if he was even listening due to the fact he was having a mental breakdown at the time. Until now.
He has no words, has no idea how to respond other than crushing their lips together in mind-blowing, life-altering, passionate kiss.
Today they had shared more intimacy than they ever had before, and it was exhilarating and overwhelming and exemplary. John could die happy after this one day with Sherlock, but he hopes for so many more.
Weeks pass, they spend their days enjoying the bliss of being in love. They take care of Violet, Sherlock becoming a much more prominent role in her care than John thought he would be.
Violet is quickly becoming a handful, needing more and more attention each day. She's no longer just an eating, sleeping, pooping machine and John is so proud to watch her grow into an actual little human being with emotions. She laughs, smiles, cries,
/gets angry when Sherlock walks out of a room.
John has started to become a bit jealous. His daughter seems to enjoy Sherlock's company more than his own. John tells himself it's because of his deep, soothing voice and the fact that he has longer arms for which to wrap around her. At the end of the
/day he doesn't mind, he content with how things are going.
They have sex, quite often. They go out to dinner like they used to, but now John calls these outings "dates". John returns to the clinic after his maternity leave period is up. Sherlock starts taking cases again, John tags along when he can.
But after a few months into their new relationship John begins to worry. Sherlock leaves the flat more often, or spends time alone in their room, he becomes less interested in making love and being intimate.
Is he growing bored of me? What's going on in that ginormous cranium of his? I wish he'd tell me.
John doesn't bring up his thoughts to him, if Sherlock needs alone time he'll let him have it. But distancing their emotions and miscommunication is dangerous for a relationship, John knows that.
He comes home from work one evening to a seemingly empty flat. All is quiet as he puts Violet in her playpen with some wooden blocks and her favorite stuffed animal, a bumblebee she's named "BB" since it's one of the only sounds she's been able to babble
/out so far. John can't wait for the day she learns to say "dada" or even "daddy".
He sets his work bag on the coffee table and is heading to the kitchen to make tea when he hears his name being said from the doorway of the bedroom. He startles, turns to see Sherlock standing there.
The detective is slouched against the door frame, looking at the floor. John quickly approaches him, setting one hand on his arm and the other under his chin. He urges the man to look at him.
His eyes are bloodshot and there are tears running down his face. He's paler than usual, and trembling. John is immediately concerned.
"Sherlock, what's happened? What's wrong?"
The dreaded empty look is back in his eyes, practically staring straight through John.
"I'm so sorry John. So sorry... I did something stupid."
John has to take a deep breath and calm himself down. He gathers the detective in his arms and holds on tightly.
"Tell me, I'm sure everything will be fine."
Sherlock stays silent for a moment, resting his head on John's shoulder. Then he lifts his head and pushes John away from him slowly. He looks at the floor again as he slides up the sleeves of his robe.
John sucks in a breath. There are new, long, thick slices along his forearms. There are at least ten of them, three or four of them bleeding steadily. The blood drips down his hands to the floor. John looks down and discovers a small pool of it.
"Please, forgive me." Sherlock pleads.
The army doctor propels into action, dragging Sherlock to the bed and forcing him to perch on the edge of it. He grabs a couple t-shirts from the dresser and ties them around his arms. He places a hand on Sherlock's cheek.
"Stay put, I'll be back in moment."
He speed walks into the kitchen, glancing at the playpen to check that Violet is okay and retrieves the first aid kit from under the sink and a large bowl from the cupboard.
He hurries back to the bedroom and is grateful that Sherlock hasn't moved. He's just staring down at his blood-covered hands facing palm up in his lap. John sets down the kit and makes a detour to the bathroom to fill the bowl with water and returns.
He gets the bleeding to stop and sets to work on the cuts that need stitches. It takes a while, and they stay silent the entire time. Every so often a tear falls into Sherlock's lap. John cleans all the blood off his skin and bandages his wounds. After
/he's finished he reaches up and holds Sherlock's face in his hands, looking him in the eye.
"What happened, love? What's going on with you, with us? Talk to me, please."
Sherlock tries to avoid eye contact but fails in his current position.
"You must leave me, you have to. You know you do." he whispers.
John flinches, his heart feels like it's breaking in half.
"Wh-what do you mean? Why would I do that? Elaborate, please."
More tears slip from Sherlock's eyes.
"I'm not a decent person, John. You've seen on multiple occasions what I'm capable of. How could you want me? And Violet... she's growing attached to me. I-I'm not worthy to be in her life, I'm not good enough. I'm so far from perfect, and that's what
/you and Violet deserve."
John wants to slap him across the face and console him at the same time.
"Don't you dare say that. You're everything we need, and our daughter recognizes that. She loves you, and you love her, I can tell. You make it seem like I'm perfect and I'm not. We're going to make mistakes, it's inevitable. But I wouldn't ask for anyone
/else to be by my side."
"It's not a decision you should take lightly."
"I'm not, I haven't."
"What if I start using again? Or take up a blade again like I did today? I can't hurt you any more John, it will destroy me. But I'm a goddamn moron and there's no guarantee I won't."
John wipes a tear from the mans eye.
"Like I said, we're going to make mistakes. Nobody's perfect, but I'll be with you through all of it. Just don't hide your feelings from me again, I've told you before, I accept and adore every part of you. The good bits and the not so good. Never hesitate
/or be afraid to tell me things, I'll always be here for you."
He presses his lips to Sherlock's temple. They stay like that for a minute or two.
"You are." Sherlock says quietly.
"Hm?"
"Perfect. You're absolutely perfect in every sense."
John pulls back and smirks at him.
"Maybe for you, yeah."
Sherlock smiles, his eyes light up behind the tears.
"Did you say "our daughter" a few minutes ago?"
John let's go of his face, dries Sherlock's face with his sleeve.
"Did I? Must have slipped out." He grins at him cheekily. "Actually, I've been secretly trying to teach her to call you "papa", no luck so far though. Would you be okay with that?"
Sherlock pulls John into his lap and wraps his arms around his waist, resting his head against his chest and closing his eyes.
"Yes, that would be more than okay. It would be an honor."
John's kneeling on the floor of their bedroom, a toolbox beside him. Against the wall by the window lies the old door to the bathroom with its splintered lock and crack down the middle from John's shoulder. He hears the front door to the flat open.
While Sherlock was meeting with Lestrade at the Yard for some case or other, he had made a few phone calls and had a new door delivered. He had just installed it to the door frame and was working on screwing in the handle when Sherlock walks in.
"What are you doing?"
John doesn't turn around and keeps fiddling with the screws.
"Bloody great detective you are, I'm installing our new door. I broke the old one if you remember. Been meaning to replace it for ages."
"But... that one has a working lock on it."
"And?"
Sherlock pauses for so long John thinks he might have left the room.
"What if I locked myself in there again? You're just going to break it all over again." he says, finally.
John twists his body to look at him. The taller man is standing there in his belstaff, looking very confused and uncertain of this new project John's taken on.
"I trust you."
Sherlock looks at him, surprised.
"If you feel like hurting yourself, or using, you'll come to me first. And if you slip up, you'll come to me then, too. I believe that wholeheartedly."
Sherlock says nothing. He stares at John for another minute and walks out. John shakes his head, turns his attention back to the door.
He hears Sherlock's footsteps behind him a minute later, and nearly jumps out of his skin when the thunderous sound of multiple pieces of metal clatter to the floor next to him.
Daggers. Probably at least fifty of them in varying styles and designs in a heap on the floor. John recognizes some from the night he returned to Baker Street, the night the flat was a disastrous mess. Sherlock had removed the ones from the kitchen table
/and the desk in John old room to a different location. John had never asked about them. He raises an eyebrow at Sherlock.
"When I was a child Mycroft gave me a book of fairytales. I liked the stories involving daggers and I've been quietly obsessed with them since. This is my collection from over the years. I never did find the right one."
John doesn't understand, he stares open-mouthed at Sherlock.
"The right one?"
"I was planning on using the most ideal one, my most favorite, to kill myself with. I never came across one I thought was worthy enough. Turns out I would never find it. I found you instead."
John stands up. He walks towards his lover, his partner, his everything. He places his hands on his arms.
"Why are you telling me this? Why did you just throw them into a pile on the floor?"
Sherlock sighs, looks at the daggers and then back at John.
"I don't need them anymore. Do with them what you'd like. You said you trust me. You trust me with my future and I'm trusting you to dispose of my past. I'm assuming you'll toss them out."
John can tell how important this is to Sherlock, that this is some kind of significant turning point for him.
"No. We're keeping them, I'll display them on the mantle or put them in a fancy glass case. They remind me of your scars... evidence of how strong you are, that you're still alive and well and mine."
Sherlock's making an odd face, a mixture of confusion and surprise and adoration. John is about to tell him it's alright if they do throw them out when Sherlock is suddenly kissing him, fiercely.
John's hands slip under the belstaff and around his waist and it feels like it did the first time they had slept in the same bed together. Sherlock feels like the missing puzzle piece, he feels like home.
Hope you liked this chapter, I really enjoyed writing it. Almost wanted to end the fic here! Sorry to anyone hoping for a Johnlock sex scene, I can promise you that I'm working on a smutty one-shot to go along with this series and will post it eventually. Oh and some flashback scenes that I want to start writing too! Anyone even interested?
P.S. You finally got to read the part where the fic title comes from! It's also a song from Next To Normal and my inspiration for parts of this story.