Hi my lovelies,
The penultimate chapter. A tiny one compared to the others. Just some scenes which I wanted to include before the ending. Hope you'll like it.
This is beta'd by my bestie, Magda The Magpie. Despite having a tiring day at work, not only did she give it a read over, she also beta'd it voluntarily! Within half an hour! She is my Hermione (sans the nagging).
The remaining mistakes are mine.
Enjoy the read!
Reviews are ice creams!
The next chapter will be the final one.
Love, kisses, hugs and Myc plushies to- All those who followed/favourited this story/me. And, to Sandylee, Raven, Nauss and The Sloth Alchemist! You guys are the best! Love you all.
Title: Decisions and Revisions
Summary: The past catches up with the present...
"Do I dare
Disturb the universe?
In a minute there is time
For decisions and revisions
Which in a minute will reverse."
- from 'The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock' by T. S. Eliot
The trip to visit Sherlock's mother, Violet Holmes' grave, was anti-climactic. John expected a certain ammount of drama, of course; Holmeses were famous for their theatrics, after all. And honestly, he was afraid that Sherlock would botch the plan midway and drag John home. Surprisingly, none of those happened. It was somewhat too normal, considering Sherlock's track record.
It was almost noon when they arrived at the cemetery in Sussex. Sherlock did his best to delay the trip, John was equally as stubborn. But when Sherlock paused before entering the graveyard, John just stood beside him holding his hand, letting Sherlock take the final step. This was for Sherlock; if he didn't want to face the situation, John would never push. But finally, Sherlock steeled himself and stepped into the cemetery.
After that, everything was pretty awkward and...well, just awkward. Sherlock scratched his head, cleared his throat, tried to look at the headstone as little as he could manage and introduced John to his Mum.
"Mummy, this is John, as you already know," he turned to John, "John, this is my mother, Violet Holmes." After John said his greetings and set the bouquet of lilies on the grave, Sherlock said, "Okay, as both of you have sated your curiosity now, we will be on our way. Goodbye, Mummy, come on, John," and promptly began to tug John's jumper sleeve and headed for the exit. John started to protest but checked himself just in time. It wasn't about what he thought Sherlock should or should not do. It was about what Sherlock decided he should do. John pulled the sleeve out of Sherlock's grip and wrapped his fingers around the cold hand instead.
"You did good, love."
"It wasn't a test."
"Mmhm."
"...Idiot."
"I love you too."
John laughed and squeezed his hand when Sherlock scowled at him. Every day with this man was an experience. Bizarre, most of the times, but exciting nonetheless.
~0~0~0~
Just when John thought his daily quota of excitement had been filled he met Robbie.
"Doc?"
John, nodding absentmindedly at something Sherlock was nattering about, didn't catch it.
"Hey, Doc? Is that you, Watson?"
That voice, that face was so unexpected in the middle of London, familiar yet so foreign that John's step faltered.
"Ro- Robbie?"
"Doc! Holy shit, it's really you! Oh God, Doc!"
John was smothered in a bear hug.
"Robbie... I can't- you- wh-when did you come back?" then John felt his heartbeat stuttered as a terrible though occurred to him. "Are you alright? You're not- are you-"
"No no no," the young soldier interjected before John could panic anymore, "I'm alright. Perfect. I'm on a leave, don't worry." He grinned then and said, "You need to chill out more, Doc. You used to worry so much. Anyway, how are you? You look so damn good! What have-"
A loud throat clearing stopped Robbie.
"Oh, so sorry, I didn't realize you.."
"Yeah, um" John blushed a little, "this is, uh-"
"Hey, I know him! Isn't that- isn't that your London bloke, Doc? Bloody hell! You did have your happy ending, after all."
"Yeah...well..er..Sherlock," he cleared his throat and turned to his boyfriend, "this is Robbie, he served with me in Afghanistan. Robbie, this is Sherlock."
"Wow," Robbie smiled even wider and extended his hand, "it's nice to meet you finally. Our Doc here used to be arse over tit about you," and winked at John. That cheeky bastard.
Sherlock shook the offered hand and gave a tight smile, "Impressive. So, you are the one whom John got shot for?"
Robbie's jovial face lost all its colour instantly, and before John could yell at the insensitive git, Sherlock continued, "Also, I presume, you are the one who saved him from bleeding out? In that case, you have my sincerest gratitude for keeping my John safe. Thank you."
John was stunned. Did he just- Suddenly two memories came to the forefront of his mind: Sherlock saying him that he wished him dead, and Sherlock telling him that he was giving him a reason to come back alive. John sucked in a breath; he felt dizzy. How far had they come since then. How his life had changed since the day Sherlock decided to text him back. He stared at this brilliant man and saw the boy he had seen so many months ago in a photograph he received with a letter in that damned desert. His eyes stung and he blinked.
And realized that Robbie was saying something.
"...you, but you don't have to thank me, really. It was my duty. We are ordered not to leave anybody behind, you know. Er, not that I would have left Doc anyway, I owe him my life. So, um, it really isn't necessary."
Sherlock gave another nod and offered a small smile before stepping back a bit, giving John his cue to butt in. John got the message.
"So, uh, how's everything? How's everyone?"
"Everything's okay," Robbie turned to John, relieved to be on a familiar topic again, "the new doc is a moron, throwing hissy fits at every prank. Dave is still a pain in the arse. I'm still the coolest one," he winked, "oh, Doc, Murr is in London, too."
John's face lit up with genuine delight; Murr was his best mate in the Army, after all. "Really? That's great! How's is he doing? He's on the leave too, isn't he?"
Robbie laughed heartily, "Relax, Doc. He's fit as a fiddle but was asking after you the other day. We didn't have your address or number."
John felt embarrassed. After returning home, he practically shut everyone out, except for Sherlock and the merry band that tailed after him. He never made any kind of effort to reconcile with anyone from his previous life, not even with Harry. It was like a before-after thing. Guilt spread through him.
"Yeah, I- I never contacted any of you. It's just... I'm sorry I should have.."
"Hey, it's okay, perfectly alright. We didn't mind. You had a lot to take in. We were just a bit worried a bit, but we understood, even Murr. But, if you want to call him I've got his number." Robbie looked at him questioningly.
"Yeah, sure. That'd be brilliant. I may not be available for the next few days," John got his phone out of his pocket and said, "let's meet up tonight."
"Oh damn, I can't make it tonight. Gotta help Mum with some chores."
"You sure?" John asked, somewhat disappointed, and then he felt it- Sherlock's hand around his elbow. Before he could turn to see what was the matter Robbie spoke, "Yeah, Doc, I'm sure. I'm sorry, I really wanted to have an evening out with you guys but I promised Mum already. Hey, give me a call when you are free, if I'm still around we can meet up."
"Yeah, okay, that sounds good. I'll call you once I'm free."
After that, they talked some more about their other mates and exchanged phone numbers. Sherlock didn't say anything else and gave a tight smile when Robbie finally bid them goodbye and left.
"Sherlock? What's wrong?" John enquired immediately.
But the detective didn't answer, just kept walking. That was always a bad sign.
"Sherlock?" John tried again.
"You won't be available this evening."
"I won't? Why?" because they wouldn't be leaving before the day after tomorrow.
"We have a case."
"But we agreed not to take any before leaving."
Sherlock scoffed at a snot-nosed, lolly-licking kid who in turn stuck his small, green tongue out at Sherlock.
"We have packing to do."
Oh. So, that's the case... John bit his lip in amusement, "I won't be going alone, love. You'll go with me too."
"Of course not!" Sherlock threw him an incredulous glare.
"But I want you to meet my friends."
"By friends you mean Murr."
"Yes, I mean Murr."
"Absolutely not. I will not be subjected to an evening of foolhardy blabbering between two ex-lovers."
John closed his eyes briefly and reminded himself that his boyfriend tended to hurt people when he was emotionally confused and scared.
"They have served beside me, with me. They were there for me when no one else was. They are the reason I'm still here, safe and alive. And Murr is one of my oldest friends. I'm going to see if he can meet tonight. It'd be great if you could join us. You are free to reject, of course, but I request you not to doubt my commitment to you, to us."
They didn't speak for the rest of the way.
~0~0~0~
Turned out Murr was available that evening and was quite eager to meet. They made plans to meet in a pub at seven.
"You sure you don't want to come?"
Sherlock put his headphone on and sneezed as a reply. He had caught a cold all of a sudden. Very suspicious. John sighed and left. He couldn't fathom why Sherlock was so insecure about him, and honestly, sometimes it was suffocating.
Seeing Murray after so long brought many memories back. Memories about a life where Sherlock didn't exist. He realized that his life had been divided into two parts now: Before Sherlock and After Sherlock. And meeting someone from his Before Sherlock life was quite different, in a good way. Forty minutes into the evening and they were laughing their heads off at some old jokes. They may not hit it as lovers but they were, indeed, damn good friends.
Suddenly Murr asked, "Hey, John, does your boyfriend wear fancy long coats and look like a teen vampire?"
John put his pint down immediately and looked around, "Where is he?"
Murr pointed his pint at the window behind John. John turned and yes, there he was, with his Belstaff, blue scarf, wild hair, patented scowl and a red nose. He looked ridiculously cute and young. John excused himself immediately and went outside.
"Hey, you came!"
"No. I was just following a suspect."
John's lips quirked up, "Yeah? And does this suspect have sandy blond hair, blue eyes and a dashing personality?"
Sherlock's glare fell flat because of the sneeze that followed it, "Shut up."
John laughed aloud. His mad boyfriend was too adorable at times. He dragged the nutter inside. The meeting, understandably, wasn't as smooth as it was with Robbie since neither of them really liked the other, but John knew that they were trying, at least. After sizing each other up for a couple of minutes, they settled for civilly ignoring one another as much as the politeness permitted. John took it as a good sign.
The chatting went on with occasional interjections from Sherlock who was sitting beside John and opposite Murray. The soldier was retelling a particularly embarrassing anecdote that involved a drunken John and, erm, a goat. Murr was wiping happy tears from his eyes and saying, "Then our John here, oh, he was so red, and panting- and-"
"My John" a gritted out voice halted Murr's sentence.
John spilled his drink and started to cough. Genuinely.
Murray blinked a few times, trying to make sense of what he heard but failed, "Um...sorry?"
"It's my John." Sherlock repeated with clenched teeth. John kept coughing.
Poor Murray, having no idea what the hell was going on, parroted, "My John?"
"Not your John, My John, mine." Sherlock almost bellowed.
John, finally done with the ill-timed coughing fit, hissed out a "Sherlock!" before turning apologetic eyes to a perplexed looking Murray, "I'm sorry, it's just- he is- he, er, uh-"
Murray nodded thoughtfully, although what he could decipher out of that gibberish, only he knew, and said with equal eloquence, "Oh, okay, umm, yeah, that's...excuse me for a sec, eh?"And headed for the loo.
"What the hell is wrong with you?" John bit out as soon as Murray left, and it took everything in him to keep his voice at a decent level.
Sherlock lifted his chin defiantly and said, "He brought it upon himself. I cannot be held accountable for taking action."
John was totally at a loss and thoroughly frustrated, "Taking action for what exactly? Whenever I spend time with someone else other than you, you react like this. What's going on, Sherlock? It's- I don't understand why are you so insecure?"
"Are you trying to tell me that you don't find it objectionable when he calls you 'his'?"
"He-" John gaped at his boyfriend because seriously? "He didn't say anything like that. It was a just generalized term, for fuck's sake!"
"Then, I presume, you are also at ease with his still lingering feelings about your previous liaison?"
"What? What feelings?"
"Oh, for God's sake, John, can't you honestly see? He was assessing if you still fancy him, whether he could rekindle the relationship once again, and he was planning to ask you out on a date."
"For how long exactly were you standing outside?"
Before he could receive an answer, Murray came back from the loo. Their chatting never really resumed like before because of the obvious awkwardness that hung thick between them. And also, John kept a close eye on Murr because, no matter how irrationally jealous Sherlock was, he had yet to see one of his deductions go wrong. To his dismay, he could actually detect the surreptitious glances Murr was throwing at him which could not fall under the 'just friends' spectrum. Before long, they called it a night; Murray made John promise to keep in touch and surprisingly, Sherlock behaved pretty decently, going as far as shaking Murr's hand.
They decided to walk back home. John didn't quite know what to say. It was easy to yell at Sherlock, to disapprove, but that wouldn't solve anything. If a rational mind like Sherlock's was doing something apparently irrational time and again, then, there must be a reason.
"Sherlock?" his voice was soft, understanding, "I want to understand what is bothering you so much. Don't you trust me anymore?"
The other man was silent for so long that John didn't think he would get an answer. Then Sherlock spoke.
"I do not trust myself. I do not trust myself not to do something that will drive you away at some point. Your affection for me, though stemmed out of your curiosity about me at first, is actually based onto your easy to please persona and your inherent trait of a caregiver. It is too late for me to back out now, and I am in constant fear of losing something which I have come to know as my sole purpose in life."
"That's not true, that's-" But Sherlock didn't even heard him.
"If it is not my brother's meddling it is someone else, someone better."
"But that's absurd, that's-"
"Irrational?" Sherlock supplied and John nodded dumbly. "Is it really so? Love also comes with an expiry date, John, especially for people like you who have the misfortune of getting attached to someone undeserving like me.
John slowed down and looked at the slender back of this vulnerable, fragile man. A sudden fear gripped him. "Are you going to- try to- leave me?" he asked slowly.
He could hear Sherlock's mirthless chuckle, "As if that was even a possibility...ever."
"You are not going to lose me either, Sherlock." John said earnestly; he believed it with all his heart and wanted to transfer that trust to Sherlock somehow.
Sherlock turned back to John without stopping his pace and gave a sad little smile, "Not today, obviously."
~0~0~0~
Jim leaned back in his plush chair in the dark room, face illuminated by the light of a live camera feed, deadly eyes fixed on the taller man. Then his eyes shifted to the smaller man and softened immediately.
He touched the screen when the camera zoomed in on the man's face, "The wait is over John, finally." And picked up his phone.
~0~0~0~