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A Bit Better	By : VulpineBeesKnees Category: S through Z > Sherlock (BBC) > Sherlock (BBC) Views: 3330 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
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Chapter List
- 16
- 17
- 18
The next day John and Sherlock found themselves wandering about the Rose Festival. Vendors and carnival like games had been set up downtown, lining the old streets. After the short parade had ran through the town John spent a bit of time walking through the streets, pointing out different building and shops that had been a part of his childhood. John was nostalgic and happy, chattering pleasantly about the time he and his buddies were kicked out of the diner for being particularly loud and obnoxious.
Having walked most of the old part of the town John and Sherlock headed back towards the opening of the carnival. They hadn’t spent much time looking at the vendors, partially because John wasn’t sure Sherlock would enjoy the commotion surrounding them, and also because they were due to meet up with Harry and his parents anyways and he knew they would want to spend quite a bit of time walking around anyways.
It didn’t take long for John to spot the three waiting for them. They had been moving his mothers roses from the end of the parade route to the judging area. The roses wouldn’t be judged until the following morning, but they would be out on display throughout the carnival.
John pulled Sherlock along behind him, their hands clasped together comfortably, but the moment his mother spotted them her eyes fell to their hands and narrowed in scrutiny.
Sherlock noticed immediately, and squeezed John’s hand tightly in response. He couldn’t decide how to react to Mrs. Watson’s unhappy stare. He knew if pulled his hand away John would be upset, but continuing to hold his hand would irritate his mother. With a small sigh, he let his fingers remain laced with John’s. John’s happiness was more important to him.
When they caught up with the other three, Mrs. Watson’s irritation had not faded, and Sherlock resisted the urge to drop an affectionate kiss on top of John’s head just to spite her. Instead he smiled at them, and kindly asked if they had been enjoying their afternoon. Harry spun tales of all the good food and games they’d seen coming to meet them. John seemed focused on everything Harry was saying, but Sherlock found himself keeping a careful eye on John’s parents.
Mrs. Watson was eyeing their clasped hands all throughout the discussion. However, Mr. Watson had eyed their hands once, crinkled his eyes, and focused on Harry. Sherlock found himself liking Mr. Watson more and more as time wore on.
Harry suggested they start at the opening of the town square and make their way around, to which everyone agreed. The first few were artisan vendors. They stopped at a spiced nut stand, where Sherlock bought some cinnamon sugar cashews for John. However, they mostly just perused the booths until they came to a carnival game where one would throw the baseball at stacked metal milk bottles.
“What do you say boy genius?” Harry asked, “They always say these things are rigged, think you can beat it?” Sherlock looked it over and shrugged releasing John’s hand and reaching for his wallet.
“Sherlock.” John started in a chastising tone. “You aren’t seriously going to fall for that, they really are rigged you know.” He shook his head at Sherlock’s stubborn personality as the detective continued on digging through his wallet.
“Nonsense John, anything can be beaten, and your sister has challenged me, I feel I need to prove my worth.” His eyes sparkled with mirth as he handed over the two pounds for one heavy baseball. When he turned back to the milk bottles he studied them for a few moments, eyes seeming to flicker everywhere. The small group took a collective step back as he worked. Finally he reared back and let the ball fly, hitting the stack in the weight bearing bottle causing them all to topple to the ground.
Harry let out a shout of surprise, and Sherlock could hear Mr. Watson chuckling as a rather large stuffed hedgehog was pressed into his hands by the teenager working the booth. The detective looked down into the blue glass eyes and let a warm smile cross his face as he turned and pressed the stuffed animal into the hands of the doctor.
Leaning down he whispered in his ear, “Like those god awful romance movies you used to watch with Sarah.”
“You’re impossible,” he muttered just loud enough for Sherlock to hear, but a soft blush crept up onto his features, betraying him. Giving the stuffed animal a small squeeze John pressed up on his toes to place a chaste kiss against Sherlock’s lips. It was a small gesture, something that had become more than normal for them, but as he pulled away he saw his mother tense, her lips pressed into a familiar line.
Harry broke the silence quickly. Eyeing the animal, and then her brother she laughed. “Oh John the resemblance is uncanny.”
John looked back at the hedgehogs scrunched face and blue glass eyes and his brows pinched together in mock offense. His focus snapped back to Harry, his head cocked to the side, “You mean to tell me I look like a rodent? I take offense to that.”
“John, You’re expression does not lend itself to your defense.” Sherlock said, his small smile morphing into a full blown grin.
Narrowed eyes fell on Sherlock as John gave him a playful shove. “Oi! You’re supposed to be on my side.”
Looking back at the animal in his grasp John broke into an easy grin, no longer able to suppress his laughter. The earlier tension seemed to ebb away as they started walking again. There were of course a few small jibes from Harry throughout the day about the hedgehog being their lovechild and how it obviously got its looks from John, but the evening went by without a hitch. They made their way through the vendors and by the end of the day they each had a small bag full of homemade snacks and sweets.
His did mother relaxed minutely as time went on, but her scrutinizing gaze focused on every intimate gesture the two shared. Her mind seemingly cataloging each touch for later examination. They were just discussing the idea of heading to a small restaurant for dinner when Mr. Watson spoke up.
“Hun, why don’t you and the kids check up on the roses? Sherlock and I can go get the truck and meet you over there.”
John bit at his bottom lip for a second, it was obvious his father was making it a point to be alone with Sherlock, and it worried him a bit that that didn’t actually scare him much at all. So, when Sherlock looked at him questioningly he nodded and shrugged his shoulders. If he’d been alone with his mother and survived there wasn’t much he couldn’t handle.
Before John could say much else his mother was bustling her two children off to the side of the carnival where the roses were all lined up neatly, her attention happily turned toward the subject of her months of effort.
Without a word Mr. Watson began walking in the opposite direction toward the parking lot. When they were definitely out of earshot, and Sherlock had fallen into step beside him, he began speaking. His tone was light, and conversational.
“My wife told me what you said to her last night, before dinner... I sincerely hope that you mean to keep the promises you are making.” The elder Watson had a way of holding himself and speaking that was eerily like John, calm and concise, the air of a soldier. “Afghanistan changed him, as you know... I haven’t seen him this happy for a very long time, and I am to understand this is because of you. My wife may harbor ill feelings toward your relationship, but... Well we don’t see eye to eye when it comes to these sorts of things. However, I hope you understand how important it is that John not return to the dark place he was because of you.”
There was not so much blame held in the statement as there was a threat. He seemed to saying that he understood that what had happened in the past had been necessary, but that he wouldn’t stand for it to happen again.
Sherlock seemed a little confused at first, but after a moment he shook his head. His eyes were wide when he finally spoke, and he felt honesty was the best policy.
"I stand by what I said to your wife, I want your son to be happy, and as long as that is with me, by his side is where I will be. But if he is no longer happy with me I will not allow him to be self sacrificing for my sake. Hurting your son is the last thing I want to do." Sherlock took a deep breath and looked directly into the older Watson's eyes.
"I have no idea why your son picked me of all people to make him happy, sometimes I think I'm more trouble than I'm worth, but he claims that its what he wants. Frankly I would stay away from him and let him find someone more deserving if I could, but, your son is hard to say no to...."
Mr. Watson shook his head and laughed, his whole demeanour suddenly much more relaxed. “Yeah he can be a bit like his mother can’t he, stubborn as all hell... That being said,” his voice became stern once more, “I believe if John finds you deserving than you are. No matter the circumstances you have been good for him... After he was shot.” the older man heaved a shaky breath, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. “Well you gave him his life back and I think that makes you more deserving than anyone.”
Climbing into the pickup Mr. Watson reached across to unlock the opposite door. “And try not to let my wife bother you, she really does mean well. She just doesn’t seem to realize what is actually good for our children.” Giving Sherlock an apologetic smile he started the truck and drove around to the back side of the festival.
Sherlock felt himself flush lightly at the comments from John's father, and when they picked up the other three Watson's he quickly slid into the back seat between John and Harry. He was relatively quiet all through dinner, replying politely when spoken to, and finally when the reached the Watson home once more he politely excused himself to take a walk.
The night was beautiful in Sussex, and he could see so many more stars here than he could back in London. He had only walked as far as the gate and leaned his arm atop one of the stone pillars before he hear footsteps behind him.
"I didn't mean to seem rude." He said, recognizing John's footsteps, "I was on a bit of an overload with the crowd and the Watson clan today..."
“I know mother can be difficult, but I really thought the day went rather well.” Harry’s teasing voice came from behind him as she jumped up to sit on top of the brick fence surrounding the yard so she was facing Sherlock.
“I must be more overloaded than I thought to have mistaken your footsteps for Johns.” He said running a hand through his tangle of curly locks, “Well you’ve already given me the ‘you hurt my brother you’re in for a world of hurt yourself’ talk that both your parents wanted to give me. What are you out here for now?” His words were clipped, but his tone was teasing as well. He knew Harry would get the gist.
“Truthfully?” She whispered the word as if she was sharing a delicate secret. “They can all be a bit much for me as well.” She rolled her eyes leaning back so she was staring up at the dark night sky.
“I hate roses.” She said bluntly, eyes still scouring the starlit sky. “She still talks to me like I’m a petulant teenager, ever since the whole alcohol thing...” She tried to say the words lightly, even though they both knew she’d been severely addicted for many years.
“Harry, saying that is like calling the three years I was gone a vacation.... You are not a petulant teenager no, but that is something that can not just blow over. Trust me I know.” His voice trailed off slowly as he turned to look at her for the first time since she’d come outside. “Addiction is not easy, and she treats you like a child because she worries about you. I’ve seen the same thing when John looks at me sometimes.” He offered her a small smile.
Her brows furrowed as she finally looked back at Sherlock, realization seeming to dawn across her features. “I had no idea... I mean John never said.” As the initial surprise slipped away she shrugged her shoulders. “Well I would have never guessed. You’re just so... proper.” She smiled at her own choice of words. “What was your poison?”
“Cocaine mostly.” he said with a chuckle at her view of him, “Some opiates, others occasionally but cocaine was the biggest.”
He sighed and ran his fingers through his hair again. “I am surprised John didn’t tell you. It has been a, what do you say ‘elephant in the room’ since I returned from my hiatus.”
“He’s good at that... keeping private things private. Probably for the best though, it wouldn’t do for mum to find that out. You’re doing better now I assume?” She seemed to look him over, looking for any indication as to how he was doing. “You haven’t been back all that long.”
He nodded, “Only with your brother’s constant vigilance and support. Your father has said so much about how happy John has become, and how much I have helped him. No one seems to realize how much John has helped me too. At one time I would have been too proud to say, but...” His eyes were tight and full of unspoken emotion when they met hers again, “I’m not anymore.”
Harry’s features softened dramatically as Sherlock let a bit of his defenses down, allowing her to see a bit of what John saw in the insane man. “You just needed each other, that’s not a bad thing.”
“To be honest? I feel like he would be happier with someone else. I can’t give him all the things I know he wanted when we first met. I know full well how I am, and what I do to him. I’m surprised he hasn’t gone mad yet.” He ran a hand through his tousled locks.
“Hey.” She put a hand on his shoulder, causing him to look up at her, “You are what he wants now. Don’t be so hard on yourself. For someone who is supposed to be narcissistic, you’re quite down on yourself.”
He smiled, “Maybe you’re right Harry.” He left it at that, letting his mind turn over her words. If anyone was worth trying for. It was John Watson. Perhaps he could make things work. he’d never know if he didn’t try.
Harry’s eyes shifted from Sherlock’s to the front of the house, seeing something behind the detective. “And that’s my cue to go. Thank you, for sharing that with me.” Hopping down from the top of the fence she pressed a chaste kiss to Sherlock’s cheek, before making her way inside.
Turning to see what had sent Harry inside so quickly Sherlock saw John making his way up the walk. She stopped him just out of earshot, a hand on his shoulder, whispering something softly. John responded just as silently and bid her goodnight before joining Sherlock.
“You alright? I know.. a lot to take in.” He leaned against the wall where Harry had been sitting minutes before.
“Just mentally exhausted.” he said with a soft smile. His left arm wrapped around John’s hips pulling them together as he bowed his head onto the doctor’s shoulder. He took a deep breath, feeling the scent of his blogger surrounding him. He smelled of roses, his aftershave, and the mexican food they’d had for dinner.
“You make it better.” he said, nuzzling the man’s throat, “I mistook Harry for you when she walked up. It’s been entirely too long since I’ve spent so long in the company of so many people. It was worth it, however, to see the smile it put on your face. And we obtained a love child as well, so it wasn’t a complete loss.” He knew the doctor could feel his smile as he dropped a chaste kiss against his shoulder.
“I’ve been toying with the name Hamish all day long.”
Snaking an arm around Sherlock’s waist John hid his own smile, burying his face in the soft locks. “Oh we’re naming him now are we?”
He chuckled softly, his breathy laughter gently moving the detectives hair and tickling his nose.
“John?” The detective’s demeanor seemed to change as he spoke, “I have a question for you. It’s one I’ve thought about... for a little while.” Sherlock tried to quell the anxiety he was feeling, but it kept crashing over him in waves as he waited for John’s response.
John pulled away a bit, one knuckle pressed beneath Sherlock’s chin, guiding his head up so he could meet his gaze. Worry was etched on his features, noticing the way Sherlock’s fingers twitched softly against his hip, giving way to just how difficult this was for him.
“Sherlock what’s wrong?” John spoke softly, biting at his lip.
“I...” The word caught in his throat as green met blue and he cleared it rid his voice of the horrid squeak. “Something your mother said to you on the phone, it set my mind wondering, and it’s not something I can deduce. You... Do you want children?” he asked, and in a strange fit of vulnerability he continued talking, almost babbling.
“I mean you seem fairly content to keep this up, but if you want children that’s not exactly something that can happen while you are with me, and I don’t want you to... what I’m trying to say is...” He stopped when a finger pressed to his lips. He closed his eyes and cursed in his own mind, a hand coming up to scrub through his unruly curls.
The finger against his lips slid back, a solid hand cupping the side of his face. John wanted to wipe all of the fears from Sherlock’s mind, but he couldn’t lie to him, Sherlock knew him well enough he’d see right through it. John’s lips pressed together tightly, as his thumb caressed Sherlock’s cheek reassuringly. When he finally spoke it was slow, carefully choosing his words so as not to be misunderstood.
“I did, at one point, but that’s something I gave up on a very long time ago. Before I met you Sherlock.” His hand slipped from the side of Sherlock’s face to wrap around the back of his neck. Pulling Sherlock down slightly so that their foreheads were touching softly. “I wouldn’t trade this for anything.”
The words were meant to be reassuring, they should have been, but the detective’s stomach still sunk a little at the words. He didn’t want John to give up his desires because of him, and even though the doctor had said he’d given up those thoughts before he’d met Sherlock, the taller man wasn’t sure how much he believed him.
Instead of responding, he gave the doctor a reaction one would expect after hearing those words spoken by someone you cared about. He wrapped both arms around the doctor, one around his waist, the other hand cradling the back of his head, and he kissed him. It was a kiss he’d seen in countless movies over the years, one where John’s back was arched back slightly, their bodies pressed hard together, passion swirling around them almost tangibly. His breath caught in his chest as the emotions he’d been able to tamp down came whirling around him. When he pulled away a moment later, he gave the doctor a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.
The kiss he’d given the doctor was meant to show him how much he cared, was meant to show him how much he cherished the smaller man, but it became painful, a tight fear creeping over his chest. It felt as though it was his last chance to show John everything he couldn’t voice, an apology for everything he’d ever taken from John and, the most painful part, a possible goodbye.
Of course John had no idea, he’d known the day had been difficult for Sherlock. There had been so many people and so much going on at the fair for the detectives mind to take in John was sure he had to be physically and mentally drained. Not to mention the pressure of dealing with his family. Thinking it was what Sherlock needed, the physical connection to block out everything else, John returned the kiss just as fervently. If he noticed that something seemed off, or that Sherlock seemed particularly desperate in his actions, John simply wrote it off to the days anxieties.
...
Everyone was up early the next day to see the judging. It was a terribly long process. By some miracle it was a hot, sunny day, something John and Sherlock did not see much of in London. The entire judging took a little over an hour as the three judges made their way around the makeshift garden, marking and scrutinizing each contestants collection on a small clipboard before moving on to the next.
Mrs. Watson watched the judges with narrowed eyes as if she might guess from their minute reactions how well her plants had fared. The sight brought a smile to John’s lips, because he was fairly certain if he asked Sherlock he could have told him the exact rankings based on the degree in which the judges eyes narrowed or how long they’d spent on each plant.
Prizes weren’t going to be handed out for a few hours, so the group piled back into the truck, thankful to be out of the sun. Harry and Mr. Watson decided on the short drive back to the house that BBQ was in order, but it wasn’t until he went to fire it up that he realized they were out of briquets.
“Damn it.” he muttered to himself before calling inside where John and Harry were chatting at the table, Sherlock sitting silently beside him, his fingers steepled under his chin as he listened. “John could you run into town? I need briquets.”
“No need.” Sherlock said suddenly. He hadn’t spoken for hours and his voice sounded odd filling the silence. He needed to get away from the Watson onslaught, he needed to think, “I’ll go for you, stay and spend some time with your family without me.” He smiled softly and pressed a light kiss to the top of John’s head.

He made his way outside, chatting with Mr. Watson about what exactly it was he needed before obtaining the keys and making his way into town to purchase the briquets for the barbeque. The drive to town was wonderfully silent and he let his mind calm. He refused to think about the complicated relationship issues he was having with John, and instead let his mind do simple algorithms that he used to use to put himself to sleep. It was relaxing as he stepped into the grocery.
When his mind had calmed enough, he let it wander back to the problem at hand, whether or not he needed to break things off with John. Between what Mr. Watson and Harry had said, maybe John was happy with him. He’d explained his stance on children the night before, and he saw John smile so much now. Perhaps he could work with this. Maybe attempting to continue a relationship would be good for John after all. It wasn’t working out too badly now. With a confident nod, Sherlock decided he could try.
Before he knew it, he was pulling around the bend that led to the Watson household, and the dark clouds that had rolled in above started letting out a slight sprinkling of rain. He retrieved the bags of briquets from the back of the truck quickly and made his way up the walk, feeling refreshed from the drive. Softly he opened the door and padded inside. Raised voices caught his attention as he closed the door silently.
“How do you know John? How on earth can you tell that he cares for you? You’ve said so yourself, he slips in and out of characters all the time! How do you know he’s even telling you the truth?” Sherlock took a few steps out of the entry way, and he could see that John and his mother were alone in the kitchen. The doctor’s back was to him and his mother was stirring something, her back to her son as she worked.
“Because I know him!” John’s voice was clipped, raising to match his mother’s tone. “Why can’t you understand that?” his fists clenched at his side, anger rolling off him in waves.
Sherlock swallowed hard and gritted his teeth. They were talking about him, and he really shouldn’t be listening. He should be walking out to give John’s father the briquets, he should drop the bags and head upstairs and delete the whole thing. He just needed to leave, but something in his brain had short circuited and he couldn’t move.
Just then Mrs. Watson turned around and she looked directly at him. She looked back at John quickly and made no other indication that she had seen him. “Well, I mean you may know him John, but you even said he’d changed once he’d come back. You love him, I know you do. But John, has he ever once told you that he loves you? I mean he’s awfully touchy. Are you sure he isn’t just in it for... you know.... the physical part? Don’t you want someone who loves you back?”
Sherlock felt like someone had shot him through the chest. It was hard to breath and he wanted to melt into the ground. How could he have been so stupid? His stomach lurched and for one frightening moment he thought he might puke.
“Is this really what you wanted from your life?”
His hands were trembling, his legs threatened to give out on him, and his mind was reeling. Mrs. Watson said so much more to Sherlock than she was saying to John, and the detective knew in that moment that this could not go on. Neither he nor John could live like this. He had told both of his parents that if he could no longer make the doctor happy that he would leave. The selfish part of him stayed however, he wanted to hear John’s answer, he wanted to know how the older man would defend him before he walked out of his life.
“He’s.. It’s not like that.” John was practically tripping over his words trying to articulate his reasoning. “I’m happy with Sherlock. You’re right. I love the man, and sometimes I wish he was able to articulate his feelings, or be capable of loving someone wholeheartedly. But dammit I’m happy with our relationship, he gives me what he can. It’s enough for me, that’s all that bloody matters! When are you going to get over this?!”
Enough. John was settling for him, and that was a place Sherlock had promised himself he’d never let the older man be.
The sound of the briquets hitting the ground was loud and harsh in the silence before John’s mother could respond. It wasn’t enough. It would never be enough. Sherlock’s mind kept repeating those two phrases as he saw John whip around at the noise. He couldn’t stay here. He couldn’t look at John any more he just had to get out, away. With a swirl of coat, he turned and was out the door, into the now pouring rain.
The look that John shot his mother was venomous as he hurried out after Sherlock, not pausing when he heard Harry asking what happened. He found Sherlock outside the fenced yard, pocketing his phone quickly and running his hand through the already soaked hair. John grabbed his wrist, pulling his hand down and forcing Sherlock to face him in one movement.
“Sherlock!”
The detective recoiled from John’s touch, his eyes hard and sharp as he turned to face John. He hated the fear and worry he saw there, he didn’t want to see any of it lest it change his mind. He could already sense his resolve wavering as he looked at the smaller man. Looking away he felt his anger coming over him again.
“Leave me alone John.” He said, his voice icy and harsh.
“No.” John reached for Sherlock again, stepping dangerously close as he did. “You can’t run off because my mother can’t keep her nose out of my life. I’m happy with you, that has never changed. Talk to me.” His hold on Sherlock’s wrist loosened as he searched his features for something familiar, but the detectives defences were up. Any true emotions pushed far away.
“You can’t do this to me.” His voice came softer than it had before as he sensed Sherlock pulling away.
The detective clenched his fists tightly. He knew there was no getting out of this easily anymore. He should have backed off when he first saw the signs, he should have never started this. Now things were going horribly wrong, careening off the track, and it was all to blame on him. With a ferocious growl he whipped around grabbed the lapels of the doctor’s shirt, lifting him slightly off the ground. There was only one way to make the doctor see how hopeless this entire thing was.
“You’re happy with me?” he asked, “If you are so happy why do wish for things from me that I can’t give you? I’ve tried to give you everything, EVERYTHING that I have to offer, and still you want more? What do you want John? You want me for who I am, but you wish for things you don’t even understand.”
He dropped the doctor, pushing him away slightly as he did, “You knew going into this what I was like... and I... I let this go on far too long. You say I can’t do this to you? You’ve done this to yourself...”
John’s breath caught in his chest at Sherlock’s words, just enough time for Sherlock to turn away again. Anger rushed through him as he followed after Sherlock, yanking him by the wrist again, much harsher than before and wheeling Sherlock so his back was to the brick wall surrounding the property.
“I haven’t asked you for anything.” His voice was shaky, betraying the fear behind his anger. After everything they had been through, all the times he’d been sure they wouldn’t make it, Sherlock was finally done with him. “So don’t you dare say I did this to myself. I love you. I have for a long time and in your own twisted way you love me in the only way you know how. So no. You can’t do this to me. Not after everything we’ve been through. Not because my mother can’t keep her mouth shut.”
His hands had twisted their way into the fabric of Sherlock’s coat, pushing him back against the brick wall so they were mere inches apart. John knew a few silent tears were slipping down his face, but the rain hid any evidence of this fact.
“If you walk away from us don’t you dare blame it on me.” John’s voice was an angry growl at this.
“You’re right John. I shouldn’t blame this on you.” His eyes were hard as he leaned forward, their teeth practically gnashing at each other. John didn’t want to let him go, so he’d have to make him. He knew the words that would make everything crumble. Mustering every ounce of anger he could he forced them out. “Because this experiment has been over for just over a month, and I shouldn’t have kept it going as long as I have. I suppose I wanted to feel important for something other than my intellect for once. But I see now that this was all a grave mistake.”
Looking at John was making it hard to think, hard to stay vigilant. He had to end this now. The hurt he saw in John’s face was making his icy expression difficultto hold. Pulling him closer, he spat the words right in his face. “I’m leaving because you love me, and I can’t love you back. I never will.”
With that he shoved the smaller man away from him just as a cab pulled up. He used the shock and hurt he knew was roiling through John’s mind to escape from his gaze. He realized as the cab started turning down the lane that he’d left his suitcase behind. No matter, he could always get more clothing. The detective made a point not to watch the figure standing there in the rain watching him go, but he knew it was there all the same. Clenching a fist against his lips, a silent tear rolled down his sharp cheekbone as he took a deep breath trying to calm his nerves.
What had he done?
...
Sherlock had really left.
John stood in shock for a moment as the cab drove off. Sherlock had walked outside and called a cab before they’d even spoken. He was done. John’s composure finally broke. One hand cupping over his jaw as a belated sob wracked through his body. Leaning against the wall John slipped to his knees, his chest clenching dangerously. He wasn’t even sure how long he’d watched the empty road before he felt the rain pouring down on him let up and a small hand grip his shoulder.
Harry was standing over him with an umbrella, and a fresh painful sob was pulled from his chest at the pity he saw in her eyes.
“Come on dear, let’s get you inside. and dried up.” She attempted to lift him by the arm, and ended up successfully pulling him to lean on her as she led him inside, “Just a lover’s quarrel.” She tried to assure him, “Clara and I had them all the time.” Belatedly she realized that might not be the best thing for her to offer since she and Clara had been divorced for a while now.
Sometime between the road and the house John managed to find his composure, Sherlock’s last words rolling through his mind. Experiment. No. John thought to himself, there was no way it had all been an experiment, he’d never believe that. “You didn’t hear him...” John argued, stopping just outside the door where the porch protected them from the rain. “God Harry... I have to go after him.”
He moved to pull his phone from his pocket, only to have a hand quickly cover his own, slipping the phone from his grasp. His eyes shot to Harry’s in question. “I can’t just let him leave, not like this.”
“John, he’s angry and hurt. Look at it from his point of view. He wants so desperately to please you, to make you happy. From what mom told me he heard you say that you wish he could do the one thing he doesn’t know how to do. Now I’m not saying you are wrong John, but hearing the person you care about say that they wish more from you? John he’s hurt, give him time to calm down....” She offered him a small smile before pocketing his phone and brushing her hand over his hair affectionately.
“Everything will be alright.”
John shook his head before glaring back at the front door with disdain. The last thing he wanted to do was face his mother again, he was sure she would be quick to rub in how easily Sherlock had walked away from him. A part of John couldn’t help but think she’d done it all on purpose, she had been facing the doorway, she had to have seen Sherlock standing there.
“What’d she tell you?” John asked shortly.
Harry explained what their mother had told them, it had appeared she had seen Sherlock in the doorway, and she had gloated to Harry about how quickly Sherlock had run away. After talking quietly for a few moments, the older Watson promised to give his excuses to their mother so he could slip off to his room.
“I’ll return your phone in the morning. If he calls I promise to bring it to you.” She smiled softly, kissing him on the cheek before bidding him good night.
There was no chance that he would fall asleep of course, not anytime soon at least. Locking the door, not wanting to deal with anyone else, John collapsed on the bed. His eyes locked on the ceiling willing himself to keep it together as one hand groped about the bed until his hand found purchase on the stuffed animal he'd thrown to the side the night before.
Pulling the hedgehog to his chest John clutched it unabashedly, emotions washing over him. He wasn't ready to believe they were over. For a long time he lay there, Hamish tucked under his arm, slowly calming himself with the thought that he would see Sherlock in the morning. He'd take the first train out and set things right the moment he got home.
…
The next morning John was up, bags packed, before the sun had rose. He almost left without so much of a word to his mother, but at Harry's insistence he bid her a short goodbye.
The train ride home was far too long for Johns liking, but eventually he was in a cab and on his way back to the flat. He felt sick to his stomach, and despite the fact that he’d thought of little else since Sherlock had left the night before John had no idea what he was going to say to Sherlock to change his mind. The cabbie pulled up to 221B and John paid him off, collecting both their bags and hurrying to the door. When he made it up the steps he found the door to their sitting room left open marginally, just enough that he didn’t have to turn the knob. Pushing the door open John gasped, the bags falling to his feet with a thud.
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