Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It starts with a picture attached to a text from Lestrade.

It landed in his phone shortly after midnight. John, exhausted from a long day at the surgery and a battle of wills with Rosie come bedtime, didn’t see it till morning.

He finally has the time to examine it properly during his short walk from his flat to the surgery. Sherlock is in a pub, surrounded by a group of faceless people. He’s looking at a piece of paper with a smile you have to know to look for in order to spot. If this was any other Londoner, John would have sworn this was a photo of a person writing down answers during a quiz night at a local.

Lestrade’s text simply reads: “What did he win?” Amused and confused by the question, John calls Lestrade and asks about the photo.

“I was shocked when he said yes when we invited him, but he said it was some sort of dare," Lestrade explains. "I assumed you dared him to socialize, or terrorize, more like it. So did you win or lose?”

John frowns, trying to analyse his most recent conversations with Sherlock.

“Doesn’t ring a bell. I don’t remember ever daring Sherlock to do anything. He’s trouble enough as it is.”

“Oh. That’s weird,” Lestrade says, genuine surprise in his voice. “I’ll have to ask him next time I see him.”

“Yeah,” John said, distracted. “Looks like he had a good time, though. Did you win?”

“I don’t know about the good time but of course we bloody won. He’s a fucking genius,” Lestrade laughs delightfully.

They say their goodbyes. John wonders about this little plot twist as he takes the lift to his office. He catalogues the mystery as something to ask Sherlock about when he’s in an appropriate mood.

Lost in thought about Sherlock, John notices he’s still touching his ring finger while thinking. He took the wedding ring off a few weeks ago, but his mind thinks it’s still there. Strange, he thinks, my mind is apparently slower than my heart.

John dives headlong into the pile of papers that awaits him.

How’s the case? JW

Dull. -SH

Solved? JW

Obviously. -SH

Git. Dinner tomorrow? Rosie’s asking. JW

Can’t. Mycroft and I have some business to attend to. -SH

Oh. We can just wait for you to finish then have dinner. I’m thinking Thai. JW

Not available tomorrow. -SH

Everything alright? JW

Obviously. Tell Watson she’s invited to dinner the day after tomorrow. -SH

Are you sure you’re OK? If you need reinforcement I’m more than happy. JW

Don’t fuss, John. -SH

Alright. See you then. JW

The case is solved by late afternoon, and Rosie has a minder for the rest of the evening. That happens so rarely John thinks it mustn't be wasted. They’re out of the Yard building’s front doors when John raises a hand to hail a cab.

“Take away? Rosie’s with the minder for the rest of the evening. Thought we’d give Black Mirror another go.” Sherlock doesn’t viscerally hate Black Mirror or the general concept of Netflix. John considers it a minor miracle.

“Can’t. Have plans.” Sherlock says while typing on his phone.

“Oh… OK.” John’s surprised. “Anything interesting? I don’t mind a change of plans.”

“A lecture at the University of London,” Sherlock smirks. “Not Black-Mirror-interesting of course, but it is sold out.”

John lets out a semi-offended chuckle. Sherlock calls him an idiot at least once a day, but right now it sounds like he actually means it.

“Are you sure you’re OK though? You’ve been very secretive lately,” John tries.

“No more than usual, John. Everything’s all right. Don’t--”

“Fuss, yeah I know,” John finishes Sherlock’s sentence. “Have fun then.”

John can’t recall a single time he told Sherlock Holmes to have fun, not since the day they met. Sherlock Holmes doesn’t do fun.

“Say hello to Watson.” Sherlock steps away, distracted already.

John forsakes the idea of a cab and heads towards the nearest tube station. Something’s up. He just doesn’t know what.

Two weeks later, John has Rosie in a pushchair. It’s Sunday, and they’re on their weekly stroll from their flat in Warwick Avenue to Regent’s Park.

Rosie is in a good mood, babbling and laughing at dogs and people as they pass them along. They’re on Marylebone Road, about to round the corner to Baker Street on their way to 221B. They usually stop by to say hello and ask Sherlock to join them.

They’re waiting at a red light when he hears Rosie call out, ”Sher!”

Confused, John looks around in search of the man. When he follows her stare, he sees Sherlock through a Café’s window.

The Café is bustling. Sherlock is sitting with his back partly turned to the window, ramrod straight against a comfortable looking chair. There’s an untouched cup of tea in front of him. On the other side of the small table sits a woman John doesn’t recognize. She seems to be doing most of the talking. Sherlock responds with short and courteous movements. He’s immersed in the conversation and doesn’t notice the toddler calling out his name.

John considers saying hello but senses this is a conversation that shouldn’t be interrupted. He hears Rosie call out to Sherlock again, frustrated with his lack of response. The lights change to green and John moves.

“Sherlock’s busy, love. Let’s go wait for him.”

20 minutes later, Sherlock walks up the street towards 221B. John and Rosie have been watching for him from the window. He’s alone, his face inscrutable. When he spots them he switches to a light jog that turns into skipping up the stairs.

When the man appears in his sitting room, he smiles and greets them as he always does. He’s standing with his hands in his pockets, waiting to leave for their stroll.

“New case?” John asks.

“What?”

“Saw you in a Cafe on our way here. Client?”

“Oh.” Sherlock shakes his head. “No, not a client. An appointment I had scheduled for another day. She asked if we could move to today on a short notice. It was unexpected. Have you been waiting long?”

“Don’t worry about it. But… not a client?” John clarifies.

“No. Not work related.”

Here’s a sentence he never thought he’d hear leave Sherlock’s mouth. John didn’t know Sherlock was doing non-work related… stuff.

“Everything alright then?” John asks, wishing Sherlock would find it in his heart to be a bit more cooperative.

“Of course.” Sherlock beams at Rosie. It’s a sincere smile - John knows when he sees one. It relaxes him a bit. “Are we off to the park then, Watson?”

Rosie laughs, giddy with Sherlock’s attention. “Dog!” she calls out.

“Indeed. Let’s go find dogs.” Sherlock smiles and nods to John, tipping his head towards the door.

John blinks, unsure if prodding more would prove valuable. It rarely does with Sherlock.

“Dog, Daddy! Sher!” Rosie jumps in his arms, signalling her impatience.

“Right, of course, love. Dogs. Let’s go.”

They’re supposed to meet Sherlock for lunch in Mayfair, but the day is an utter disaster. By the time they’re finally making some headway, it’s past lunchtime, and they agree to meet Sherlock in his tailor’s shop on Saville Row.

John doesn’t even have the presence of mind to realize he’s completely run-down and dishevelled. He doesn't belong in one of the top bespoke clothing establishments in London on a good day, and today is a horrible day. He’s juggling a fussy toddler, an overflowing diaper bag and his own laptop bag. He storms into the shop like a tiny, angry hurricane.

Despite his pitiful condition, they’re familiar with John through his association with Sherlock. With a courteous yet snobbish infliction, he’s directed towards a suite of rooms that contain Sherlock Holmes.

The minute John walks in the room, he’s struck with the fuzzy feeling he learned to tamp down years ago. Sherlock is, and always was, a showstopper. The suits he picks bring out the most impressive parts of his physique. Sherlock will turn 40 this year, and he looks every bit as captivating and imperious as he did the day John met him.

“Hello Watson,” Sherlock says brightly. To her utter joy, Rosie takes first precedence in the greetings scale.

“Sorry for missing you. The tube… It was a bloody menace today,” John huffs and apologizes, sitting down on the love seat intended for clients’ guests.

“Don’t worry about it. Did you eat?”

“We’re good. Suit looks great.” John sends a small smile his way.

“I think so. Albert did a fine job as usual.” Sherlock hums as John nods in agreement.

John knows from previous experience that the purchasing process in this place is long and pompous. Clients expect attention and pandering to, and today is no different. John watches Sherlock's prim and proper interactions with the team with amusement. He has always wondered whether he’s acting or actually enjoying himself. They exchange glances and eye rolls as employees come and go.

A salesperson John doesn’t recall seeing before walks in the room, greeting Sherlock and then the Watsons once he spots them.

“I don’t believe we had a chance to meet, Mr Holmes. I’m Thomas Evans. I recently joined as a sales associate. I’ll be happy to offer any accessories you might be in need of.”

“A pleasure.” Sherlock takes Thomas’ extended hand, making acquaintances. They chat comfortably for a short minute.

Thomas ( Tom, surely? ) is a good-looking man. He’s slightly shorter than Sherlock with a stylish swoop of dark hair on his head and intelligent hazel eyes. He’s about as elegant as you’d expect from a man who specializes in accessories in this sort of place.

“The tailoring is fantastic, Sir.” Thomas stands behind Sherlock looking in a mirror and then… well, he looks his fill, is one way of saying it. He’s openly checking Sherlock out, from head to toe. He then crouches down to fix a bunching in the hems of Sherlock’s suit.

This isn’t the first time John has seen Sherlock being eye-balled, of course not. John’s well-equipped for that. He has his game face on.

Thomas’ phone slips out of his back pocket, sliding away on the floor. “Apologies,” he says with a smile. When he turns away to pick it up, John follows Sherlock’s eyes. The detective is checking the salesperson’s ass.

That's never happened before. John doesn’t have a pre-tested face for that .

“Could I interest you in pocket squares? Ties?” Thomas asks as he stands back up and turns, brushing non-existent dust off of Sherlock’s broad shoulders.

Sherlock smiles. “No. Not my style.”

“Ah. Perhaps cufflinks? ” He points at a wall full of accessories. “Your daughter could help you pick a pair.”

John suddenly hates Thomas, because what Thomas is doing is shamelessly testing the waters. Waters John would rather not be disturbed right now, when they’re all looking at the same mirror and his facial expressions are completely exposed.

Sherlock straightens his back, then sends an electrifying smile to Rosie through the mirror. “Charming Ms Watson here is my god-daughter. We’re not a couple.”

John Watson doesn’t believe in karma, absolutely not. Right now though, a small voice in his brain speaks out surely and definitely. ‘Karma is a bitch’. The voice says.

John is unexpectedly hit with the force of the payback for all the many, many times he had insisted he and Sherlock weren’t a couple. Loudly.

Mercifully, Rosie perks up at the sound of her name and directs the room’s attention fully at her. “Me!” She calls as she jumps out of John’s lap towards Sherlock, who picks her up.

Together they join Thomas for an inspection of the colourful accessories spread around the room.

John takes advantage of the distraction to collect himself. Sherlock has been weird lately. For the first time since they had met, John feels like there are parts of Sherlock not shown to him, being kept hidden from him by omission. The quiz night photos, the not-for-work mystery appointment. Now this.

They’re not a couple - it’s not a lie, but there was always a bitter aftertaste to the words when he spoke them. Sherlock had never said the same words himself, had never agreed or disagreed. Never berated him or nodded in agreement. He just let it hang in the air, his reaction open for interpretation.

So, John realizes, he’s shaken by the change in their unspoken agreement. The agreement states that John demands he's Not Gay and Sherlock says absolutely nothing about it. To be fair though, nothing of that sort has happened since Mary died, so it's been a while since he has given thought to this issue.

Something changed, and he has no idea how or what it means.

When they're ready to go, Sherlock thanks Thomas with a wide smile.

“It was a pleasure, Mr Holmes.” Thomas smiles. “You have impeccable taste. I wish all clients were like you.”

“I appreciate it. Might need a pair of gloves once winter comes. I hope you’ll be getting a new batch soon.”

Thomas hands Sherlock his card.

“I’ll be happy to order custom-made ones for you, Mr Holmes. Let me know if you’re interested.” John rolls his eyes behind Sherlock’s back. “You know where to find me.”

Is it always so awkward to be standing next to two people flirting their heads off?

“I certainly do.”

He watches Rosie and Sherlock leave the shop and walk towards the kerb, hand in hand. Sherlock hails a cab.

John sighs.

Chapter Text

They’re in the sitting room at Baker Street, enjoying a whiskey. Rosie’s dozing in John’s arms, a warm and comforting presence - a contrast to the doubt that’s been eating away at him for the past few weeks. It gives him the strength he needs right now. John needs to talk, and he has no patience for anything other than getting straight to the point.

His sudden question disturbs the silence they’ve been sharing since dinner.

“Do you trust me, Sherlock?” He knows he's being dramatic. He doesn't care.

“What?” An incredulous tone with a matching stare.

“Something’s different. You’re different. You've been keeping things from me.”

He expects Sherlock to flail, deny. Instead, Sherlock frowns. “What makes you say that?”

John details the things he has noticed in the past few weeks.

“All these secrets… it’d happened before. It usually ends with you running away or jumping off a roof or high on a plane. I’d just like to know you trust me enough to confide in me.”

“Clever John.” Sherlock mumbles. He’s silent for a few minutes, gathering his thoughts.“I’ve been going to therapy, as you know.”

John nods, signalling him to continue.

“So far, for months, we’ve been talking, dealing mostly with the aftermath of… everything. Eurus, Mary, the drugs.”

“That’s good.” John half-whispers.

Sherlock lets out a bitter laugh, not looking at John. “It’s not good, it’s hateful. So many emotions . Whenever we finish a session I swear it’s the last time, but…" he stops to regroup. "We’ve reached a point where many things have been… processed to a satisfying degree, as David says. We’ve been talking more recently about parts of my past I deleted, and what it means about the core of who I am, my personality.”

So far so good, John thinks.

David, Sherlock’s therapist, works for MI6 and other covert agencies. He’s their solution for the people in the shadows, those whose lives are much different from regular civilians’. He has the highest security clearances available and Sherlock reported being satisfied with David’s no-nonsense approach (“He’s Dutch. I love the Dutch. ” Sherlock told him after their first meeting.)

After Mary died, Sherlock met up with Ella for a while. She helped him through a critical time and then apologized to Sherlock, saying she’s compromising both his treatment and John’s by meeting with both. They’re too close to each other, and she felt she was crossing a professional line. She was the one who recommended David. Mycroft was on board and attained the access required for Sherlock.

“I’ve been… asking questions. About what’s real and what’s not in my personality. About who I was before Eurus, and who I'd have been like today without her interference.”

John allows himself to relax a bit. This is… so much better than he expected.

“Alright.”

Sherlock swallows, then continues. “One of the things David pointed out was that I’m inhumanly strict about the things I do and don’t do. My reactions to situations, my responses to human interactions. My likes and dislikes, the way I judge myself and others. He wants to challenge some of it. He says that as long as I’m questioning who I am, I might as well question my assumptions about the way I interact with the world.”

John is holding his breath, afraid of making the slightest movement. This is the most bare he’d ever seen Sherlock. He doesn’t want him to stop.

“So recently, we’ve been playing a game of dare of sorts. At the end of every session David reads back one thing I said I never did, or never would. And he challenges me to face it, confront it during the week that follows. He wants me to… experiment.”

It’s terribly lucky that John’s sitting down while having Rosie in his lap, otherwise he would have dropped her straight on the floor the second the word experiment left Sherlock’s mouth.

“Oh!” Is all John manages, his voice shrill.

Sherlock chuckles. “Not like that… well. The things you noticed, they’re my responses to his dares. Quiz night… that was the first dare. He said we should start with something simple. I told him I hate pubs and… and crowded places in general. I get overwhelmed by the noise, by having people so close. He sent me to try again with an open mind.”

“I hated it. Can’t blame Eurus for that one, I suppose.” Sherlock looks at John with a shy smile, and they chuckle.

“The purpose of my evening with Mycroft was to address a few things about the decisions he’d made throughout the years for dealing with Eurus. David encouraged me to confront him about that in a safe environment, like my home. Mycroft asked to discuss it in private and I had to respect that.”

John nods.

“I told David there's nothing new left for me to learn in my field of work. David asked me to examine that. The lecture was Molly’s idea, she suggested we go together. A colleague of hers was presenting about pioneering techniques in pathology in cases of extreme trauma and tissue decomposition at the University of London. Molly cancelled last-minute though, I was actually there alone.”

“How was the lecture?” John teases, imagining Sherlock Holmes among a group of dull pathologists.

“One dimensional, but a few things were unexpected enough to be considered interesting.”

John chuckles. That’s Sherlock-speak for ‘It wasn’t half bad’.

“The woman from the Café, Sue. I talked to David about how I wholly hated rehab.” His face is sour and he swallows. “And that I’d never attend an NA meeting, as he suggested. He challenged me on that too. He spared me of going to an actual meeting, but he introduced me to Sue. She’s MI6. She hasn’t used in three years. She told me her story and how much NA helps her through it. It was… eye-opening.”

“Eye-opening is good.” John smiles.

Sherlock takes a big breath and nods, “I suppose.”

“And?” John asks. Sherlock turns to look at him, confused.

“And?”

“The guy at the shop? Thomas?”

“I mentioned one day that I’m incapable of reading certain cues from people in certain situations.” Sherlock averts eyes in shame. “Like when someone’s... flirting, or at least interested in a non-utilitarian connection. When I was in school I misread some situations and things became… unpleasant. So I stopped trying. I learnt to… divert, misdirect. He challenged me on that too. So... Thomas.”

Christ, Sherlock, John thinks. “Why didn’t you just tell me, Sherlock?” John blurts, unsure where to begin. “Wow. I’d have been more…”

John looks away, strategizing. This is the most intimate moment they’ve shared in years, and he’s not about to ruin it. He'd learnt more about Sherlock in one seating today than he had in years.

“This is good, Sherlock. Therapy is hard and I…” He pauses to think, “I’m proud of you. Can you… share them with me going forward, the dares? So I can help?”

Sherlock’s supposed to smile, be happy that John offers his help. Instead, he’s looking down at his hands.

“What is it?”

“From what I understand, I think the general idea is that these are all things I should experience on my own.”

John’s brows furrow. What the hell does that mean?

“David’s aware of our… closeness, and he suggested that while I’m re-examining everything else, I might re-examine…”

“Me?” John asks, a bit too loudly. “He says you should re-examine me?”

Sherlock shakes his head furiously, “No, not you, of course not. Our… codependency, I suppose. Not you as a… concept. Or as a friend. I think he means examining your prominence in my life.”

John blinks uncontrollably at that, his mind going black. He has to gather all his mental prowess in order to not fuck this up. Do not lash out, he tells himself, his breath shallow. Do not make him feel bad.

Unsure what to do now, he stands up and moves behind his chair, grabbing the cushion with one hand while still holding Rosie in the other. His voice trembles and he braces himself for his next question.

“Is this about Culverton Smith?”

Sherlock exhales and shakes his head, like he always does when that name is mentioned.

“No, John. Absolutely not. David wants me to re-examine all my relationships.” John shakes his head in disbelief. “Granted, there aren’t many and you’re the most significant one but…”

I am, he wants to scream. I am fucking significant, Sherlock.

He stops, inhales deeply. Counts to ten before he speaks.

“What does that mean? For… us? For you? What does he expect me to do?”

“Nothing concise, John. Don’t turn this into something it isn’t.” Sherlock shakes his head again.

“He’s merely suggesting that while I put myself in these new situations, I bring only myself. Only this new state of mind I’m in.”

“What’s wrong with sharing this with me? You’re my best friend. I can help, I want to. That’s what friends do.”

“I believe the reasoning is that you know me as a very specific type of person, and by including you in these experiences I’ll be tempted to revert to my old self.”

So I’m supposed to do what, exactly? John wants to ask. Watch you turn into this new, even more amazing person from the front lines? Let you drift away from me as you grow and thrive, after everything we’ve been through?

“You’re my best friend Sherlock, you’re the most important thing in the world to me. I hope you know that by now. You and Rosie, that’s all I have.”

“John-”

“I only ever wanted the best for you. You saved me from myself so many…” He takes a big breath, his whole body shaking with anger. “I only wish you’d let me return the favour, for once. I’ll do… I’ll be whatever you need me to be, always. Always, Sherlock. Just… don’t leave me behind again. Please.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it, John. Never. How can you think that?”

“Because you’ve done it before, Sherlock.” John says, sounding far more accusatory than he planned. “And who’s to say you won’t do it again?”

“John-”

John interrupts Sherlock again, now that a thought had suddenly occurred to him. “Is that why you told Thomas we’re not a couple in the shop? Is that something you’re working on with David too?”

Sherlock blinks in surprise. “We’re not a couple, John.”

“No, we’re not. We both agree on that. But you’ve never said that before. Was that another assignment?”

“Yes. It’s important to have clear boundaries and definitions with people. For my sake as well as others’.”

“You think I’ve been crossing boundaries?”

“John, please.”

“Have I?”

Sherlock’s lips are tight with discomfort. John can see the cogs in his head turning as he’s searching for the right moment. Sherlock finally speaks after a long moment.

“I think maybe we’ve both been, John, to some extent.”

“I see.” John nods, biting his lip in anger. “I see. I see where this is going and I’m... I’m gonna go now. This is… a lot.”

With Rosie on his hip John leaves quickly, wounded and battered. He only stops to take a deep calming breath when he’s out the main door, resting his head against it.

It takes him ten full minutes to regain his bearings before hailing a cab to his flat.

Chapter Text

The following weeks drag on, similar to the ones before their conversation. They talk, they solve cases, they have dinners. Every once in a while Sherlock notifies John of a plan or his unavailability for a day or an evening and sometimes a weekend.

John is silent at first, cooperative. What choice does he have? Sherlock is working on his issues. When John was seeing Ella, he didn’t share any of it with Sherlock, did he?

But as time stretches on, John’s resolve weakens. Sherlock is different - it’s very subtle, and not bad at all. He seems a bit more at ease, a bit more round around his usually sharp edges. There are smiles, responses that are not as grating. Names mentioned that John doesn’t recognize, jokes he’s not in on.

That’s wonderful, it is. Except John can’t stand it. What gives David the right to meddle with their relationship in this way? Is this what John gets for going through all he did with Sherlock - being cast aside once his flaws are no longer comfortable? That's not how friendships work. Doesn’t he get a say in any of this?

John visits Ella. He apologizes in advance for sounding childish, needy. She listens intently and waits for him to finish.

“Have you told Sherlock how you feel?” she asks. He’s struck by how simple that sounds, in theory.

“No, of course not.” John shakes his head. “This is his process and I don’t want to distract him from it.”

“You’re not distracting him by telling him how you feel. If you focus on sharing your feelings, the rest is up to him. You’re giving him all the information, and he gets to pick what to do about it.”

John can’t help himself. “Is that an appropriate thing for David to do, in your opinion? Asking him to shut me out?”

“You’re assuming that the need to create some distance is something that David felt was needed, not Sherlock.”

John’s eyes widen in surprise. “Yes, I guess I do.”

He’s silent for a minute, letting the implication sink in.

“John, I can’t and I won’t criticize David’s methods. He sees Sherlock every week and hears his innermost thoughts.” She crosses her legs. “It’s not uncommon for people close to those in a therapeutic process to feel like collateral. Mostly it’s a good sign. It means something’s changing.”

“Yes.”

“You and Sherlock are very close, and you went through a chain of events not many friendships would bounce back from, let alone survive.”

John is silent at that.

“What are you afraid of, seeing these changes in him?”

“That we’ll drift apart. That I'm only useful in some ways, but now that he's… different, I'm not good enough. That he'll have other people in his life and I'll lose my best friend."

“What’s wrong with having more people in your lives?”

“It’s not wrong. It’s just… not the same.”

“Why is it important for you to know you’re the only person in his life?”

“Because I have so very little else. And... I’m one of the few people who really understand him, who care about him just the way he is.” John shakes his head. "I never wanted him to change."

“So is this about not being alone? Because you have very little else in your life? But you’ve had other people in your life. There was Mary.”

John hums. “Yeah well, we know how that ended.”

His response throws her off but she regroups quickly. “Will Sherlock having other people in his life diminish your importance to him?”

“Yes. I think it will.”

“Did having Mary in your life diminish his importance to you?”

The sheer simplicity of the truth in that question leaves him silent for a long moment.

“I hoped it would.”

Ella looks at him intently. "You hoped it would but it didn't."

John shakes his head.

“John, I recall several instances in your friendship when you distanced yourself from Sherlock. You did that on your own volition, without a therapist’s advice.”

John closes his eyes in defeat. She’s right, of course, she’s right. “When that happened, did that diminish his importance?”

“There were... rough spots. There were times I didn’t want him in my life anymore.”

“I know. But in the long run, or if you were being truly honest with yourself at the time, was he not as important? If he were to completely disappear from your life as you wanted, would that have gone unnoticed?”

“No, of course not.”

Ella stops speaking for a moment, waiting for him to consider her words.

“My best advice to you, as in most cases, is to be honest and tell him how you feel. Not what you think about David, not what you think he should do differently. How you feel. I know that doesn’t come easy to you. I know that. But doing that may turn you into a part of his process... And isn’t that exactly what you’re hoping for?”

Christ, John thinks. She’s good.

The last few days have been good. They’ve been spending a lot of time together, solving cases from 221B, and eating plenty of take outs.

They surprise Mrs. Hudson with a cake on the morning of her birthday ( “Don’t you dare tell her it was my idea, John.” ). Somehow, though, Rosie ends up with all the gifts.

Sherlock goes up to 221B after tea, mentioning he needs to get ready to meet a guest. John knows by now that if Sherlock doesn’t mention whether it’s a client or not, it probably isn’t. He follows in Sherlock’s footsteps after a while and sits down to read a book with Rosie in the sitting room when said guest arrives.

Dr. Emma Ford is Molly’s colleague, the one who gave the talk at the University of London Sherlock attended a few weeks earlier. John listens in and gathers that Sherlock and Dr. Ford spoke after her lecture and have been keeping in touch since. She’s been sending him articles and suggestions for follow-up lectures.

Today, she arrives with a surprising offer.

“A colleague of mine from the University of Salzburg reached out to me. He’d caught a whisper of our acquaintance and admitted to being a great fan of your work.” She smiles. “He wanted to know whether you’d be interested in giving a few lectures to his students as a guest speaker. He thinks they can learn a lot from your incredible talent.”

John smiles proudly at Sherlock, always delighted when others recognize Sherlock's genius.

“I see.” Sherlock’s voice is calm, collected. “I’m flattered, of course, but speaking engagements are not my forte.”

“That’s not uncommon, for guest speakers to feel somewhat intimidated by speaking in universities, but don’t let that deter you. Worst-case scenario, you earn a return trip to Austria. If you don’t mind the freezing temperatures, it’s lovely this time of year.”

“It does sound rather tempting when you put it like that.” Sherlock smiles amiably.

“To be perfectly honest, Mr. Holmes, I think my colleague's real purpose in inviting you is to test the waters and see if you might be interested in joining as a full-time Professor in his faculty.”

“Is that so?”

“It’s only a guess but I wouldn’t be surprised if he did. You told me that your fieldwork in London is physically taxing and quite dangerous. You can’t do that for the rest of your life. It’s good to have a plan B.”

John has to shake his head when he realizes the turn the conversation has taken. Is this something Sherlock’s been considering?

“Would it be alright if I connect you to Professor Theiler? ”

“Yes, please do.” Sherlock nods.

“Excellent. I’m very happy you agreed.”

When she leaves, John gathers his courage to speak. He’s been doing that a lot recently.

“Sherlock…” He's waiting for his mouth to produce words.

Sherlock smiles at him. “I’m not sure it’s a good idea, John.”

“Why not?”

“Speaking in front of audiences, reading a room, is something I find quite difficult.” John nods and his memory takes him back to his wedding and Sherlock’s speech. “It’s very taxing and it inevitably ends badly for everyone involved,” Sherlock adds with a shy smile.

John swallows. He's fraternizing with the enemy. “Wouldn’t something like that be an assumption David might call on you to challenge?”

Sherlock raises his eyes quickly, surprised by John’s insight. “I suppose it is.”

“Plenty of people suffer from stage fright, Sherlock. It’s very common. I’m sure we can figure out how to make it easier for you.”

Sherlock hums. The sitting room is silent while John braces for his next question.

“Is this something you’ve been thinking about? Plan B?” John asks. Am I a part of it?

“I’m sure you know I’ve been thinking about many things.”

Mr. Ambiguous.

“Yes.” John isn’t deterred. “It’s not a bad plan though. Teaching, training the next generation of investigators… idiots or otherwise.”

Sherlock chuckles. “Do you think I should go, then?”

“I think you should give it a go. Why not?”

Sherlock nods.

“Maybe I’ll join you. I’ve never been.” John smiles warmly.

Sherlock’s body language and expression freeze.

“What, Sherlock?”

“I’d like to go alone.”

“Alright. Yeah, you do that.” Sherlock looks at him, hesitant. “No really, it’s alright. I’m not mad. I’m not, Sherlock.”

“You’ve been quite mad at me for a while.”

“I’m not, Sherlock. Please don’t think that.” John pauses, sees an opportunity he’s been waiting for. “I told you I’ll be whatever you need me to be. I’d just like to know if I’m doing anything wrong. If I am, I’d like you to tell me. Tell me what it is, so I can fix it.”

“Nothing’s wrong, John.”

John shakes his head. “That’s not true, Sherlock, and you know it. I just feel… I think there’s a better way of doing whatever it is that we’re doing now.”

Sherlock turns to him, listening intently and waiting for him to continue.

“There are two people in this friendship, and I deserve to be a part of its… retooling.” John sighs. “I know you have your things to solve with yourself, but I wish both you and David recognized that I have a say in our … relationship. Otherwise, Sherlock, it’s not much of a relationship at all.”

Sherlock looks at him intently, scanning his face for a long minute. “I suppose that’s fair.”

“Yeah?” John asks in relief. He’s been working on this speech for a while, so anxious about Sherlock’s response to it.

“Yes.” Sherlock nods. “What would you like to do about it?”

“Maybe… talk to David?” John starts, suddenly unsure what he wants now that he has the option. “Ask for his opinion.”

Sherlock’s phone pings, tearing the man’s attention away from John for a short minute. He does, however, nod back to John, signalling that he was heard.

The text is from Lestrade, and they’re swept away on a case before they know it. John is thankful for the semblance of normality, going along with his mechanism of denial every time he recalls the mention of a plan B.

Chapter Text

A week later finds them sitting in a dingy break room at the Yard. They’ve been poring over inane case details for hours, getting nowhere. Sherlock’s phone pings and he hums. John looks up with interest.

“My contact in Salzburg sent me an itinerary for Austria.” He shows John his phone.

“A week and a half? I thought you planned to give two consecutive lectures.”

“I thought I’d take the time to do some travelling while I’m there,” Sherlock explains. “There’s a hiking trail on the Austrian-Swiss border I thought I’d try. I heard about it last time I was there.”

“You’ve been to Austria bef--” John stops in his tracks when he catches a guilty glimpse in Sherlock’s eyes. “Oh.”

He clears his throat, trying to lighten the mood. “Well, don’t let the Nazis get you.”

“Nazis?” Sherlock frowns and turns to John. ”It’s been years since the Nazi party showed any dominance in Austria’s political landscape… what?”

John chuckles fondly. “It was a joke, Sherlock. The Sound of Music?”

Sherlock gapes at him. “Cultural reference?”

“Yep.”

“Oh. A Nazi joke? I thought those were generally frowned upon.”

“Not when it involves Julie Andrews.” John chuckles. “Didn’t know you hike.”

“Neither did I,” Sherlock says and flips a page, causing John to consider his friend yet again. Sherlock’s been staring at papers with more effort than usual lately. With his 40th birthday around the corner, he’ll probably require reading glasses soon - John can only imagine convincing him into going along with that.

Later, when John returns to the room with two cups of terrible Yard coffee, Sherlock sneaks a hesitant glance his way.

“Alright?” John asks.

Sherlock clears his throat. “I’ve discussed your… feelings about my therapy with David.” He looks at John as if asking for permission to proceed. “He said that your feelings are valid.”

“Yeah?”

“He suggested that I ask if you’d like to join a session. If I’m up for it. And I am. But you don’t have to if you’re uncomfortable.”

“Yes. Yes, please,” John exclaims. “When can I come?”

“Thursday. Thursday evening.” Sherlock blinks. “Are you sure?”

“I’ll be there.”

David’s clinic in Hampstead is posh, neat, and modern. The man himself is much the same. He’s in his fifties, with short silver hair and a tight handshake. His Dutch accent is barely noticeable.

While they’re waiting for their appointment, John is thrown back to a conversation he had with Sherlock while Mary was on the run. Sherlock had suggested John and Mary visit a counsellor together when she returned to work on their “issues”. John remembers laughing at the mere thought.

There was nothing salvageable about his marriage at that point. He hopes his friendship with Sherlock is in a better place than that.

David greets them, and they sit down on one sofa, each sticking to the opposite side of it. Sherlock is incredibly tense, as is John. They go through a brief introduction and David sets up some guidelines.

“Dr. Watson, Sherlock is my client, but since you’re here today I’d like to hear from you as much as possible. I instructed Sherlock to switch to listening mode. That doesn’t mean he can’t share his thoughts, but he and I will be doing a lot of the processing alone, later.”

John nods.

“Feel free to speak to each other even if I’m the one who asked a question. When you do, speak as naturally and normally as possible for the two of you. I need to get a good sense of your interactions.”

John smiles and squeezes an apology in. “I have difficulties expressing my feelings. It’s just... Hard.”

“Believe me when I say I hear that a lot around here.” David smiles warmly. A tight, professional smile, one he’d perfected years ago, one can assume. “Occupational hazard.”

Soon afterward, the session begins.

“Dr. Watson, Sherlock’s been telling me that you have some grievances about various aspects of his therapy.”

No-nonsense, indeed.

John clears his throat nervously. “John, please. No, oh god. Not grievances, just… confused. I feel like our friendship has taken a beating and I don’t want that to happen.”

“How so?”

“There are many aspects of his life I’m not familiar with these days.”

“And why do you feel that’s a bad thing?”

“Because…” John’s confused. How can it not be? “Because we’re friends. We’re best friends, we’re very close. He and my daughter are the most important people to me in this world.”

David flips back in his notebook.

“John, I’m going to read you a quote from my first ever session with Sherlock. I've asked Sherlock’s permission to do this, of course.” Sherlock nods in agreement and David looks down at his notes. “‘John Watson is the most important person in my life. He’s invaluable and irreplaceable.’”

David looks back up at John. “He said that within the first 5 minutes of our session. That means a lot. As a therapist, it’s a clear sign of an important connection.”

“Yes, well.” John nods, his heart in his throat as he steals a glance at Sherlock. “Good. I feel the same.”

“There’s something I learned in my years as a therapist and certainly as a person,” David says with a smile. “It’s the fact that sometimes, the person who means the most to us in the world, isn’t necessarily the person who’s the most right for us.”

John’s eyes widen in silent panic.

“I’m not saying that’s the case here. I think it’s too soon to tell. But it’s something that crosses the minds of very few people and often explains difficulties in relationships and friendships that otherwise make every sense in the world.”

“I…” John starts but trails off.

“I raised that with Sherlock quite early on in the process. I asked him if he’d be interested in exploring that, investigating that. He agreed.”

“I see,” John whispers and lowers his eyes.

“I'm basing this on our short acquaintance, but I’m guessing that you’ve had your share of what some would call ‘normal’ relationships in the past. Normal being a relative term of course. But what I mean is you didn’t have problems creating friendships as a child and teenager, romantic relationships, navigating complex workplace interactions.”

“Yes, I’d say so.” John nods.

“Sherlock is what I consider a neurodiverse person. I haven’t made an official, complete diagnosis but as a doctor, I’m sure you won’t be surprised by that assessment.”

John shakes his head, turning his eyes towards the carpet. It’s a signal for David to continue.

“It’s not uncommon for people on the neurodiversity spectrum to develop a strong attachment to a person who understands them, who cushions their interactions with the world. I think you’ve been doing that for Sherlock. You mean a lot to him in that sense.”

“Right.”

“But your lifelong experience in creating relationships with other people, is something that Sherlock doesn’t have. He lacks the experiences you and many of us have. Add to that the many complicating factors of his family’s history with his sister. Sherlock’s been fighting against above average odds at making any success in this field.”

“Yes.” John swallows, turning monosyllabic. Not much to say, is there?

“So when Sherlock raised the issue of wanting to find out who he is, I suggested we work on gaining new interests, new connections, new perspectives on life. A large part of that is through human relationships. I thought a good way to go would be for him to dip in his toe, if you’d like, so he’ll know what he’s capable or incapable of. That means going back to basics. Friendships and relationships 101, as it were.”

John takes a deep breath. He’s being swept into a storm he’d never even given a second’s thought to.

“Do you have anything to say so far, Sherlock?” David asks and Sherlock shakes his head. “What are you thinking, John?”

“That’s not... that’s not how Sherlock described it all. Everything you just said makes a lot of sense.”

“But?”

John laughs at the undertone of his words being detected. “But, I’m not sure I understand why the two are mutually exclusive. Why our friendship needs to suffer for other friendships to exist. If anything, having experience means I can help Sherlock.”

David thinks for a second. “Do you have many friends besides Sherlock, John? I know you have mutual friends, Sherlock mentioned. But other than the mutual friendships, are there others?”

“Not really. There are... colleagues. Acquaintances,” John says, a tad embarrassed. “Not many. Most friendships didn’t survive my army days.”

“It’s been nearly a decade since your service ended. Would you say it’s a fair amount of time to create new friendships?”

John raises his eyebrows in defiance at that, slightly embarrassed - though he can’t really offer anything to prove David wrong.

“The friendships you did have, were they much like the one you and Sherlock have? Very intense, very solitary?”

“No, not really.”

“Why do you think that is?”

John swallows but doesn’t answer, not really ready to go there.

“You’re a widower. My condolences.” David nods in sympathy. “Your wife, Mary. Did you have mutual friends as a couple?”

“She had friends, very little too. I didn't like most of them. There was Sherlock.”

“Were Sherlock and Mary close?”

John laughs defeatedly, bitterly. “They were two peas in a fucking pod.”

“Was this before or after the shooting incident?”

John huffs. ‘Incident’, what a terrible way to call attempted murder by a friend.

“Both.”

David hesitates for a minute, looks at Sherlock for denial or confirmation.

“I see. I know there’s a lengthy backstory to unpack there, but I don’t want to digress from my point. What I hear so far is that you are a man who doesn’t let people in easily. You’d let Sherlock in, and this relationship is quite codependent. At some point, you’ve let Mary in, another person who didn’t have many friends, and that created a sort of triangle. A problematic one. You’ve alienated each other rather quickly.”

John closes his eyes in horror at that description.

“You’re a person who prefers close and intense relationships. That’s completely legitimate. Sherlock used to feel the same way, but we want to see if things can be different for him. Since he’s starting from scratch, I don’t necessarily want him to feel committed to one type of friendship. Once he feels like he’s explored enough, I’ll encourage him to choose whatever he’d like in that area in his life, but he’s not there just yet.”

John is silent for a while, lost in his head. When David asks him what he thinks, he speaks softly.

“That’s all well and good but… having him run around like that... It feels like he’s leading a double life. It’s like something’s brewing behind my back. That scares me. He’s done things behind my back before and I ended up alone. And… blind sided. I can’t… go through that again.”

Sherlock moves uncomfortably on the sofa. David nods his head repeatedly - they’ve reached the heart of the matter.

“That’s great, John. That’s a powerful insight and I’m glad you shared it. Sherlock, would you like to say anything?”

Sherlock shakes his head.

“Being left behind can mean different things to different people. What would make you feel like you’ve been left behind by Sherlock?”

“Seeing him jump off a building. Seeing him dead on a slab, shot by my wife. Seeing him coding on the floor. Seeing him so high that he doesn’t even recognize me.”

“That’s… very difficult to hear, John.” David clears his throat. “I’m sorry you went through all of that. Let me try it another way: what do you think of as not losing Sherlock? What does your normal life look like?”

“Solving cases together. Eating dinners. Spending weekends together with Rosie. Just… being. Living.”

“And if you still had all of those things, but Sherlock also maintains other friendships in addition to them, would that mean you lost him?”

John thinks hard and shakes his head.

“And if Sherlock creates intimate relationships with other people while maintaining your dinners and cases, would that mean you lost him?”

John's breath catches at David’s implications. His head dips and he stares at his hands. “So that’s what all this is about?”

John looks at Sherlock for an answer. Sherlock doesn't look back.

“Sherlock?” David asks. Sherlock doesn’t respond.

David goes on instead. “That’s not necessarily what Sherlock and I have been talking about, frankly. What we've been talking about is figuring out creating connections of all kinds. It’s up to Sherlock to decide what kinds and to what extent, and to tell me when he feels he’s had enough.”

David’s professional, roundabout answers give John a headache.

“Do you have any requests for Sherlock? Anything you’d like him to do differently so you don’t feel left behind?”

John gives the question a long consideration. “I’d like to know what’s going with you. If I can’t be a part of this… new life of yours, I’d like to still hear about it. We went through so many horrible things together. I’d like to be a part of the good things too. I can… live with that, I suppose. Being in the dark… that’s the hardest part for me.”

“How do you feel about that, Sherlock?” David asks.

“I’ll…” He turns to look at John quickly. “I’ll try to do better.”

David nods. “Very good. How are you feeling, John?”

John doesn’t move, his form signalling defeat. “I don’t know yet. Not great.”

“Understandable. Give it some time, both of you. And John, remember that this is a process, but it won’t go on forever. At some point, Sherlock will have his answers. Thank you for coming and for being so honest. As Sherlock’s therapist, I have a bigger picture now.”

No one speaks for a moment.

“I’d like to come again,” John says quietly. Sherlock turns to look at him, surprised. “I have more to say. I don’t think we’ve… solved anything.”

“I see,” David says and looks at Sherlock. “This is something I’ll need to discuss with Sherlock, to understand whether he’s interested in that. This process is, at the end of the day, his.”

“Yes. Thank you,” John says and gets up. “Excuse me, I need to...” John says and leaves Sherlock behind.

Chapter Text

John drowns himself with work. He takes double shifts at the surgery Friday and Saturday and feels no better by Sunday. He hasn’t heard from Sherlock since Thursday and has no idea where things stand between them.

John can’t find the confidence to just go and visit him on their way to Regent's Park as they normally do. Instead, they stick close to home. He’s watching Rosie on the floor next to him in their local park when a tall figure approaches them and sits on the bench.

“No Regent's today?”

“Didn’t know if we were welcome.”

“Watsons are always welcome.”

“Yeah? That’s good to know.” John’s heart beats once more. “How’ve you been?”

“Preparing for Austria.”

“And what does that entail? Slides? Speaker notes? Perchance, solving a classroom murder?” John teases.

“Oh, one can only hope.” Sherlock smiles. “Molly and Dr. Ford suggested trying other formats. A Q&A and a… live demonstration, if you will. Prof. Theile thinks we should give it a try.”

“That’s a brilliant idea. Are you less nervous now?”

Sherlock throws him a side glance. “I’m not nervous, John. I’m never nervous.”

“No, of course not. The great Sherlock Holmes isn’t scared of PowerPoints.”

They both snort.

“So how are you preparing for the Q&A? Sounds like it defeats the purpose a bit.”

“Some questions have been written in advance. Others will be live questions by students. Idiots all, I’m sure.”

“Charming.” John chuckles. “Need any help preparing?”

Sherlock hums. “The Q&A will be aired live on YouTube. I can send you the link. If you’d like to watch, that is.”

John is so moved he can barely speak. “Of course. Of course, I’ll watch it.” John squeezes Sherlock’s knee. “I’m proud of you. This is good.”

Sherlock smiles down at John’s hand on his knee. “Come for lunch. Tell me what you think about the questions.”

John’s smile could light up the entire City of London. “Let’s go.”

John and Rosie find themselves at Baker Street one evening, ostensibly to check on Mrs. Hudson. She hasn’t been feeling well, so they volunteered to do a short run to the shops on her behalf.

John knows he’s just looking for excuses to see Sherlock. They’re always welcome here, officially, but the lines are a bit blurrier than usual these days. He’s working so hard to balance his need to be around the detective and giving him the space he swore he would give him, but right now his resolve is weakened.

Because Sherlock’s leaving for Salzburg tomorrow. Only for ten days, but the weight of knowing that Sherlock will be in another country without him is weighing on him. He has never felt this way with other people. To have Sherlock’s full attention, all the time. Mary was away for months, and he went on with his daily life, as much as was possible.

He thinks of the words David used to describe their friendship. “Solitary”. “Intense”. Polite terms for possessive, obsessed. He remembers the chill that ran down his spine when David said them. They were frighteningly accurate.

He puts on a fake smile when he walks into the sitting room, looking around. Sherlock is usually a minimalist when it comes to packing, sticking to the bare essentials. Today the room is full of hiking equipment. Navigation devices, a thick coat, a compact tent.

“Looks like you’re planning on conquering Annapurna,” John says. “Bit much, isn’t it?”

“Milena sent me a list of recommended equipment.” Milena and Oskar are university faculty members who heard about Sherlock’s hiking plans and offered to join him. Sherlock shrugs. “Oskar sent a completely different list.”

“Need any help?”

Sherlock tips his chin in Rosie’s direction. “Maybe move Watson away from the breakables.”

“Bought popcorn,” John says and Sherlock looks with a questioning look. “For the live Q&A. Been thinking about playing Sherlock bingo. ‘Sherlock makes female student cry and leave the room.’”

Sherlock chuckles. “I’ll certainly endeavour to.”

“Please don’t.” John smiles in return and sits down in his chair. His eyes scan the mounds of equipment on the floor. “Seriously though, Sherlock. You are coming back, right?”

He hopes it sounds light and breezy, but he can’t be sure.

“Of course I am. Christmas is coming up. Someone needs to stop Mycroft from eating all that cake,” Sherlock says, moving quickly around the many items waiting to be packed. “When I come back…”

“Yeah?”

“If you’re amenable, David suggested you join us again.”

“Right!” John says, delighted. He feels like he’s constantly on a see-saw, switching between anxious and nervous to delighted and hopeful. “Of course. That’s great.”

“Good.” Sherlock tries to hide the smile.

“Good.” John doesn’t.

Later that evening, John goes on with instructions, warnings, and five different goodbyes for ten full minutes (“You’re fussing again, John.”).

At last, he’s left with no choice but to pick Rosie up and descend the stairs with a heavy heart.

John’s days during Sherlock’s trip are a blur.

They’re made of the moments in between waiting for Sherlock to send a sign of life. A forwarded email about a case, a photo of an apple strudel, a tweet.

There’s a text every once in a while (“What is this Sound of Music lark, John? Everyone keeps asking me if I’ve seen it.” “Why not just watch it?” “Goodbye, John.”)

On Sherlock’s third evening away, John settles in for the YouTube broadcast of Sherlock’s Q&A session.

John’s seen Sherlock on a screen before. They occasionally stood next to clients who spoke to reporters or stood at the back of the stage at the Yard during press briefings. But seeing Sherlock like this is completely different. He looks like a different person.

He’s handsome as always in a perfect suit. His body language is deceptively confident and prim, even rigid. John, however, can see the slight cracks in his confidence and prays this goes well.

John’s stomach turns and twists at the sight of him. It’s been doing that for months.

He’s been fighting a battle to save their friendship, that's true. But if he's being honest with himself, he’s desperately trying, as he’s been trying for years, to reserve a space for himself in Sherlock’s heart.

He's been madly in love with 'old' Sherlock, to various degrees, since the day he’d met him. Loved him just the way he’s always been and never needed him to change. There’s no telling what this new and improved Sherlock might inflict on John’s heart.

If Sherlock's going on a journey to discover what he loves and what he needs, John wants to be considered as both. Wants to be a part of the solution. So far, Sherlock hasn't been confiding with him. If there are others Sherlock is involved with, John has seen no signs for that. What John needs is the slightest hint that this is what Sherlock is looking for, and he'll speak up to offer himself.

His mind has never reached the point of planning for rejection, but that is too much to handle right now anyway.

Rosie’s fussing in her bed, probably sensing her father’s mood. He relents and brings her to sit on his lap, pointing at the screen.

“Look here, Rosie,” he whispers.

“Sherlock!” Rosie cries and waves at the screen.

The Q&A session begins with a flattering introduction and a run-through of Sherlock’s career and credentials. He talks about his days reading Chemistry and his experiences working with the Yard.

John’s heart flutters when Sherlock speaks about John and details their work together. He notices that Sherlock sticks mostly to his pre-prepared answers and holds back on scathing comments. Sherlock even smiles once in a while.

John feels the need to belong, to make himself a part of the experience. He picks up his phone and aims for a selfie that includes himself, Rosie, and the YouTube video. Later when he’s in bed, he attaches the photo to a text.

“You were amazing. Thank you for not making anyone cry.”

Sherlock doesn’t answer till morning. John laughs as he reads the reply on his way to the surgery.

“Early days yet. -SH”

John has no time to check in with Sherlock or visit Baker Street once he's back from Austria.

Within a few hours of his landing, the detective drags him along for a case and (admittedly thrilling) car chase. The case is solved within 48 hours and the next time they see each other is at David’s.

John makes a mental note to brace himself to dive headlong into difficult discussions at David’s. The man doesn’t beat around the bush.

“I’d like to hear from both of you about the periods in time when Sherlock went back to using since meeting each other.”

It feels like a silent bomb had exploded in the room. Neither of them had seen that coming.

“He said it was for a case,” John whispers.

“Sorry, John?”

“He said it was for a case.” John repeats, and he hears Sherlock sigh heavily to his left.

“I see. Both times?” David asks and John nods. “Can you talk about that, Sherlock?”

“It was indeed for a case,” Sherlock says and John shakes his head angrily. “I'm a hands-on investigator and there are various ways to approach case-solving. I ran through the various scenarios and realized that pretending to be high was the best way to go about it.”

“John doesn't seem to agree. To be fair, I also doubt that's the best course of action even a hands-on detective can take.”

Sherlock doesn’t respond.

“What I hear you say, though, is that you always have the option to choose the drugs. You don’t usually, but you did during those times. Why would you say that was?”

Sherlock doesn’t respond. He stares at the wall, clearly distraught. “They were… difficult times.”

David nods. “How so?”

“I was overwhelmed.”

“By what?”

“The silence.”

“What sort of silence? In your head?”

“At home. Baker Street.”

John's heart squeezes.

“Baker Street felt empty, is that what you’re saying? You were feeling John’s absence?”

“Yes.”

“How long were you living some place else at that point, John?”

“Since his return? Six, seven months.”

David turns to Sherlock. “Why would you say you started feeling distressed around that time, and not immediately after you came back?”

John bites his lips. He knows the answer to that. “That was when I got married. And… was away for my honeymoon. The day after I came back I found him in a crack den.”

“I see. What about the second time?”

John knows the answer to that, too. “We were... estranged at the time. After Mary died.”

“Is that correct, Sherlock? Is that how you remember things?” David asks and Sherlock nods.

“Alright. Sherlock, were there difficult periods during which you were tempted to use but didn’t?”

Sherlock nods.

“When was that?”

“When I was recovering... from the shot.”

“What kept you from using during that time?”

“John was there. He flushed it all down the toilet,” Sherlock says with a faux-angry smile.

“Was John there a lot at the time?”

“I was living there, for a while. A few months. He needed help,” John explains and shrugs. “Live-in doctor.”

“What was that time like for you, John? It couldn’t have been simple. You were married. Had a baby on the way, if my calculations are correct.” John stares at the floor as David continues to talk. “Leaving your wife behind to treat a friend isn’t something one usually does. It must have put quite a strain on your relationship with her.”

“She shot him,” John says quietly. “He needed my help because she shot him. What was I supposed to do?”

“So you felt obligated?”

“No. I couldn’t be anywhere else if I wanted to. I couldn’t go home to her, could I?”

“And how did it feel to go back to Baker Street? What did your adjustment period look like?”

“There was none. It felt like it always did.”

“Like what?”

John swallows. “Like home.”

David nods. “Would you say that John is a calming presence in your home, Sherlock?”

“He makes better tea,” Sherlock says.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” David chuckles. “How are you managing living alone these days?”

“It’s alright,” Sherlock says. “Still rather… quiet. But John brings Rosie, and Rosie’s definitely not quiet. Clients come over. It’s… manageable. My new… ventures help.”

John takes a deep breath at the thought of Sherlock’s ventures.

“Do you ever visit John and Rosie in their flat?”

Sherlock shakes his head. “No.”

“Why’s that?”

“I prefer Baker Street,” Sherlock says coolly.

“I think we both prefer Baker Street.” John says. “Sherlock never liked coming over. He’d barely come over to Mary’s flat, even when she ran away.”

David’s brows furrow. “How do you mean?” John’s confused so he tries differently. “There was a period when Mary was away?”

John frowns. “Yes. Right before she died. She was gone for three months,” John says and looks at Sherlock, confused. David seems to know everything else. How could he not know that?

“I see. You mentioned Mary’s flat. You don’t live there anymore?” John shakes his head. “Why did you leave?”

“Couldn’t… just couldn’t. It was too much. I didn’t want to be there. I quit the surgery, the one both she and I worked at. Too many memories. I wanted to be closer to the city, closer to Sherlock. I found the job at the current surgery and moved to a flat a few blocks from it.”

“And how do you like the current flat?”

“It’s alright. It’s… beige. All flats seem very beige to me these days. But it’s alright, if terribly expensive. I have to use Mary’s savings to afford it,” John laughs. “Not a day goes by without thinking it’s smaller than Baker Street yet so much more costly. Doesn’t even come with a landlady that bakes cookies.” These last words bring a smile to Sherlock’s face, John notes with relief.

“You mentioned that you picked that location to be closer to Sherlock. Have the two of you ever discussed you moving back there?” David asks.

They both shake their heads, avoiding each other.

“Have you considered it, John?”

John nods. “But I can’t.”

He can sense Sherlock’s tension rise again.

“Why’s that?” David asks.

“It’s unsafe, you know. For Rosie. We’re semi-famous, the address is on the website. People come and go. Some crazy things happened there in the past,” John says. “And Mycroft.”

Sherlock’s head couldn’t move more quickly than it is moving right now. “Mycroft? What’s he got to do with it?”

“He and I had a few… conversations. After Mary died. Don’t get upset, Sherlock.”

“Can you talk more about that, John?”

“After what happened at the mortuary…” John takes a deep breath. “Mycroft texted me and demanded I stay away from Sherlock. I… ignored him. I wasn’t in the right mind to fight or disagree. After a while we… recovered our friendship. Things were semi back to normal and Mycroft took a step back. He knew I was planning on moving and said that for the moment he won’t insist that I break all ties with Sherlock but made me swear I won’t go back to Baker Street.”

“My brother is an imbecile, John,” Sherlock says. “Since when do we listen to anything he says?”

“Were you aware that your brother felt so strongly, Sherlock?” David asks and nods his head.

“Yes, but as I said - my brother is a nosy, overprotective imbecile. He’s no right in demanding that John step away from… me.”

“He is an imbecile, Sherlock,” John says with a sad smile. “But we were in a different place at the time. I couldn't trust myself around you at the time.”

“Are you surprised by all of this, Sherlock? How do you feel?” David asks.

“Yes, very. I always assumed John wasn’t interested in coming back.”

They exchange a meaningful look. He remembers talking to Mary in Morocco. "So many lies." He had told her. So many secrets.

You're making the same mistake all over again, Watson.

“This is all very interesting,” David says. “I learned a few things I wasn’t aware of, today. But I feel like everything we talked about only reinforces what Sherlock and I have been talking about for a while.”

“The two of you are very close. You depend on each other tremendously. I’ve seen some very close relationships in my career but yours is by far the most intense. But as intense as your connection is, it’s equally fragile. I think you never really noticed that you crossed the border from a lovely friendship to extreme codependency. You both talk in terms of friendship, but I don’t think it encompasses everything this relationship is.”

John swallows, worrying at the direction this is going.

“The thing about codependency is that it’s very comforting and just plain wonderful when things are going well, and destructive when they aren’t. You’ve experienced a bit of both through the years. That’s why I feel quite happy with the journey I’ve been encouraging Sherlock to take. To expand his network, to meet new people, to have things to do outside his work. I think Mycroft sees the same thing and that’s why he’d asked John to step back. To give Sherlock some space. We can question his methods - I certainly do - but not his insights.”

David turns to John. “That should be a takeaway for you as well, John. You’ve been having difficulties because Sherlock is distancing himself sometimes. It could be good for you to do the same. The purpose of all of this is not for you two to go your separate ways, not at all. It’s to enable you to take detours alone and then meet again to continue your journey together.”

John is speechless. Sherlock looks much the same.

“I’d like to ask you a question, Sherlock. Please answer as honestly as possible - it’s safe for you to do that here. If John showed interest in moving back to Baker Street tomorrow, would you feel comfortable with that?”

“I always want John and Watson around,” he says.

“That’s not what I asked, Sherlock.”

Sherlock is silent for a long moment. “I admit it might… make things difficult for me right now.”

The room falls silent with the heavy weight of Sherlock’s admission. John grinds his teeth in defeat.

“John?” David asks.

“Yes?”

“Are you alright?”

John isn’t.

"Thank you for speaking honestly, Sherlock," David says. "John, I'm sorry - I know this is difficult to hear."

"Yeah," John half-whispers, closing his eyes in frustration.

“If it’s OK with you, and with Sherlock, you’re welcome to join us again.”

John turns to look at Sherlock, his eyes piercing.

What’s the point?

Chapter Text

John decides he’s been wallowing enough. David’s words were very clear in suggesting that, like Sherlock, he should broaden his circles. He’s determined to do just that.

He’s sitting in a pub with Lestrade. Granted, that doesn’t widen any circles per se, but that’s the best he can muster right now. They meet up and discuss Christmas, Brexit, and Rosie. And Sherlock, of course. John thought he’d like to avoid that but Lestrade brings it up.

“He seems different.” Lestrade takes a sip from his pint, staring at the bar. “Good different.”

John rolls his eyes. “I’ll say.”

Lestrade knows a grumpy John Watson when he sees one, and digs in a little deeper. Hesitant, John shares the very essential details of what’s been going on with the detective. Just general details - he doesn’t want to hurt Sherlock’s privacy. While John’s speaking, he sees a flicker of recognition in Lestrade’s eyes.

“Oh,” Lestrade says.

“Oh?”

“That explains the… rumors.”

Oh god, John thinks. He can feel the ground slipping underneath him.

“You know I don’t… meddle in that. I’m their superior officer. But there have been jabs, jokes about Peter.”

Peter.

Lestrade eyes John thoughtfully. “I dismissed it. Sherlock never… you know.”

“What kind of jokes?” John feels anger at the possibility of Sherlock being teased at the Yard.

“That he did the unthinkable, you know. Managed to grab Sherlock’s attention, get him to actually talk like humans do with each other,” Lestrade smiles. “I don’t think there was any more to it than that. Just some… flirting, I suppose, but it was definitely circulating for a day or two.”

John just stares at Lestrade.

“Mate?” Lestrade asks. “You didn’t… Is that a problem?”

John looks down at the bar.

“Oh, man,” Lestrade says. “I figured you two… figured out where you stand with each other. It’s been so long.”

John exhales. You knew this was coming, he berates himself. The writing was on the wall, stop overreacting.

“Mate, I’m sorry. I wouldn’t have said it like that had I known,” Lestrade apologizes.

“Don’t be, you couldn’t know.” John frowns. “I assumed there were... You know. It’s not your fault.”

"Christ," Lestrade whispers to himself, frustrated.

John drinks.

In the name of widening circles, John obliges his colleagues for once and joins them for a birthday do. He’s having a terrible time of it. Middle-aged, semi-drunk doctors and nurses can bore one out of one’s mind.

He knows he’s one, too. He'd rather not think about it.

When the party’s over, John is a bit too tipsy to notice he’s ended up alone with Ann, a nurse from the surgery. She’s been waiting for a chance ever since Mary died and it looks like she’s going all in.

Bad breath notwithstanding, if she had used these tricks on him at any other time in his life, they’d be in her bed by now.

Right now, John is frozen and uncooperative. She notices.

“I thought you were... free. You took the ring off,” she says.

“I am. I’m just not looking for anyone right now.” He smiles sadly.

She kisses him goodbye as she leaves.

Sherlock surprises John by suggesting that he and Mrs. Hudson celebrate Christmas Eve at John’s flat. John thinks it’s a lovely idea, and he goes all out with decorations, tree and all.

His throat closes when he realizes they have only had one relatively normal Christmas together, dead dominatrices aside. He wonders if Sherlock will choose to spend his future Christmases with him. He’s glad he gets to have this one.

They decide to go easy on the presents. Sherlock and Rosie’s birthdays are right around the corner, so they’ll splurge then.

The evening is pleasant. They eat, watch a film, and chuckle at the passed out Mrs. Hudson on the sofa.

“Merry Christmas, Sherlock.”

“Christmas isn’t even a Christian holiday, John.” Sherlock twists his nose. “The pagans were the fir--”

“Shut it, Sherlock. Just say thank you.”

“Thank you,” Sherlock says quietly. “Merry Christmas, John.”

“I’m happy you’re here. Does this mean you’ll be visiting us more often?” John ventures.

“I might.”

“What’s changed?”

“I don’t resent you for living here anymore.”

John’s heart skips a beat. The words that leave Sherlock’s mouth, when he’s unguarded, are so touching. John lets the silence envelop them for a while, listening to Mrs. Hudson’s snores.

“I hope you find what you’re looking for this year,” John says quietly.

Sherlock nods in thanks wordlessly, staring at the distance.

“Do you know what it is already?”

Sherlock shakes his head sadly. “Does anyone?”

“No, I suppose not.”

John squirms in his chair and clears his throat. “But it’s not Peter?”

Sherlock frowns in surprise. “Of course not.”

The detective waits for a beat before speaking again. “How’s Halitosis Ann?”

John looks up in surprise, then laughs. “Boring.” He shrugs.

Sherlock hums in response, looking away.

“I’m always here, you know.” John says. “In case you’re tired of looking. Always will be.”

“Will you?” Sherlock asks, and the doubt in his voice splits John in two.

“I will. I don’t know how you can possibly still doubt that, but I will.” John takes a sip of his beer, awaiting a response that never arrives.

They pass the rest of the evening quietly, barely speaking. Eventually, Sherlock wakes Mrs. Hudson up, and they leave for Baker Street.

“I’d like to talk about Mary,” David pronounces. He’s about as gentle as an elephant in a china shop.

John laughs bitterly. “Must we?”

“I believe so.” David smiles. “The three of you had a complex relationship, and it left a big mark on Sherlock’s body and mind. I’d like to start this off differently this time. As I said last time, I know there’s a lot to unpack here. John, can you look at Sherlock and tell him something he doesn’t know in connection to Mary?”

John looks at Sherlock and speaks. “My biggest regret is that you never saw her for whom she really was before we got married.”

Sherlock’s eyes widen in surprise and he swallows.

“Why did you just respond like that, Sherlock?” David asks.

“I thought he’d say something else… when he started that sentence.”

“What did you think he’d say?”

“That his biggest regret was that I ever came back.”

John feels like he has been slapped in his face. Hard. He laughs with incredulity, plants his face in his hands.

“Why is that your biggest regret, John?”

“Because it would have saved us a lot of heartache. A lot of pain.”

"Would you have done things differently, had you known?" David asks and John nods.

"I wouldn't have married her," John says and Sherlock turns to look at him, his eyes narrow with disbelief.

“So it’s my fault?” Sherlock whispers.

“John didn’t say that, Sherlock. You’re putting words in his mouth. John, why would you expect your best friend to know your own wife better than you do? You were the person closest to her. Why didn't you notice something was amiss?”

“Because he knows EVERYTHING else.” John raises his voice, frustrated. “Have you seen him deduce? It’s like fucking science fiction. He can tell when a stranger walking down the street likes to cross-dress, but you can't tell that?”

“Sherlock, how would you explain missing essential parts of her identity?”

“She was good. Very good. She was hard to read and though it’s rare, it’s been known to happen before. Mostly with women.”

“I see. Is that the only reason why?”

“The circumstances of my return were…” Sherlock swallows, choosing not to detail. “While it is difficult for me to read social cues, it was clear that John wasn’t interested in my presence. He switched sides. It unnerved me. I think it… clouded my judgment.”

“What unnerved you about her?”

“She seemed to have fully gained his trust. She seemed to have planted herself very firmly in his life,” Sherlock says. “He's not a trusting man. I assumed that if she can do that easily, she must be special to John.”

Sherlock goes quiet for a minute, then continues. "At the time I was thankful to her. She immediately asserted her dominance, if you'd like. She promised she'll turn him around, convince me to talk to him. And she did. In many ways, I felt like I owed her our continued friendship for a long time after that."

David turns to John.

"Your response to Sherlock's return was violent. Abusive, even."

John swallows hard and nods. It was. It's true. As uncomfortable as he is with that, he lives with the memory every day.

"That wasn't the only time that happened."

John nods again.

"Sherlock and I talked about those incidents extensively." David turns to Sherlock, who nods, his movement barely noticeable. He's looking away from John as much as he possibly can. "You apologized to Sherlock, he mentioned that."

"I asked for forgiveness, yes," John says. "I've been working on that with Ella since Mary died. I attended… two anger management courses. One basic, one specific to parents with anger issues. Ella and I are currently working on additional techniques she developed to help me control my anger."

"I'm glad to hear that.” David nods, observing John with sharp, observant eyes. “I trust Ella's judgment. But you should know that I equipped Sherlock with some techniques of my own. I hope he never has to use them. Sherlock, do you feel the need to address this with John here, today?"

Sherlock shakes his head. All are silent, letting the words sink in.

"It's OK to change your mind later and discuss this, Sherlock," David says. "Or even another time."

"No," Sherlock says. "Just like you, I trust Ella and can see the changes in John. I don't feel unsafe these days... or unequipped."

David nods.

"John, I'll leave it at that for now. But I need to stress that doesn't mean I think what happened was excusable, or that I condone it," David says and John stares at the floor. "Our actions don't exist in a vacuum, that's true, but physical violence is a line that's hard to cross and bounce back from. If you've been wondering why I've been recommending creating some distance between the two of you, you should have a partial answer now."

"Of course," John says.

David looks at Sherlock. "Did you hear me, Sherlock? It's important for me that you internalize what I just said. That you understand I'm here to protect you and ensure your safety and your best interests."

Sherlock nods.

David clears his throat. “Alright. What happened when you did realize who Mary was? We spoke about your period back in Baker Street. You resumed your relationship at some point. How did that happen?”

John’s blood boils at the memories. He’s happy David had brought that up. It’s time they talk about this properly.

“Sherlock insisted.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Sherlock insisted that I go back to her. He was obsessed. He wouldn’t stop talking about it.”

“Did he tell you why?”

“He kept talking about the baby. Insisted that she loves me. That she made an error in judgment, that he can understand her.”

“And how did that make you feel?”

“Like a pawn in a game. Like a toy passed around from one angry child to the other. These two were busy proving they were the smartest ones while determining the rest of my life.”

“What I hear from you is that you didn’t feel comfortable going back to her.”

John laughs at the understatement.

“She shot him!” He loses control of his voice, pointing a finger at Sherlock. “How could I possibly go back and live with her? What if she did it again? And all these lies about herself. Everything she used to be. She wasn’t the same person anymore!”

“Sherlock. John is clearly very upset about this. Can you talk about this from your perspective?”

Sherlock sits stock-still.

“Why did you feel you have the right to instruct him on how to live his life?”

Sherlock mumbles inaudibly.

“What’s that?” John asks angrily.

“Because she was dangerous, John!” Sherlock lashes out. “She was gun ready to go, she was scared and cornered. She shot me because she was afraid of losing you. I had to make it seem as if I was pushing you back to her, so she doesn’t do it again.”

John’s shaking, bursting with anger. “I can’t believe this, I can’t believe this Sherlock.” John’s head is in his hands. “So you lied. Of course you lied, why am I even surprised? You plot behind my back, you change the entire course of my life without a thought to what I want!”

“Did you want to die? Did you want me to die?” Sherlock snarls. “Because she would have killed us both, John. You saw her at Leinster Gardens. She was ruthless.”

“So why not tell me? We had all this time on our own. Why can’t you once let me in?”

“Because you would’ve given us away-”

“Oh no, don’t you dare give me that speech again. This was all a game for you. It was a game for her. But who has to suffer in the end? I do. Every fucking time. How could you do that to me?”

“I was protecting you, John. That was the only way I could think of.”

“You sent me back to a miserable life, Sherlock. I hated going back there.” John looks at Sherlock. “How could you do that?”

“You were conflicted about being away from her every day at Baker Street, it was clear as day. I only pushed you in the right direction.”

“That’s NOT your decision to make. You don’t get to play god like that, Sherlock.” John takes a big breath before speaking again. “I was conflicted about the baby, about how to be a father in that situation. I was worried that she'll disappear while still pregnant or have the baby and run away. I was never conflicted about my feelings. I can’t... I had to sleep next to her in bed at night, Sherlock.”

“You need to… You need to give me a choice in things that involve me, Sherlock. You can’t justify everything in the name of saving my life.”

“What else is there for me, John?” Sherlock says bitterly, coolly.

“What do you mean?” John asks, exasperated.

“I have nothing else to offer you besides my protection, besides ensuring that you’re alive and happy.”

John’s blinking in horror, his brain unable to parse that sentence. “What in god’s name does that even mean, Sherlock?” John is outraged. “You can’t honestly...”

“John, I’m well aware of my…” Sherlock squirms and clears his throat. “Deficiencies. I’m not equipped for… creating substance in other people’s lives. What I was always able to bring to the table was to allow you to have everything you wanted. And you wanted her, and you wanted to be a father.”

Shocked and distraught, John looks at David for help. David clears his throat.

“This is… these statements are something I think Sherlock and I should discuss at another time. I think what John is trying to say, Sherlock, is that you need to understand that keeping him alive doesn’t necessarily mean keeping him happy. Keeping Mary and John together didn't fix their problems. And he’s right in saying that he has the right to make decisions in his own life, using all the information available to make an educated decision. Do you agree, John?”

John barely nods, mouth still open and his mind still stuck on Sherlock’s words.

David gives them both space to cool down for a few minutes.

“Sherlock, it sounds like you feel like you’re solely responsible for John’s safety. Is that correct?”

“How do you mean?” Sherlock’s voice is cool and tired, obviously exhausted from the emotional toll of the conversation.

“You make important decisions in the name of saving John’s life because you feel like you’re the only one who can save him. Is that true?”

Sherlock nods.

“But it’s not true, Sherlock. You of all people are aware of the number of limitless resources that exist to save a man’s life. You have access to all different kinds of law enforcement forces, as well as covert organizations. There are safe houses, legal measures that can be exercised.”

Sherlock laughs at that, shaking his head. “The people I deal with, people like Mary, they’re above all of that. I have full access to MI6, and she still shot me. She still managed to run away.”

“I see your point, although I do want you to keep that earlier statement in mind. I want you to remember that John’s life is not your sole responsibility. He’s an ex-soldier, he’s been working with you for years, and he's not worse for wear for it. You’re the one who seems to be taking the brunt of the beatings, to be honest.”

John is quite fond of David at the moment.

“I agree with John on this, Sherlock. Sending him back to live with Mary despite the severe marital problems they were experiencing was not your choice to make.”

Sherlock’s face crumbles. “Am I mistaken for wishing to know I've done everything I can to make sure you're happy?”

“No, Sherlock.” David shakes his head. “But it’s not your job to decide what will make him happy. It’s his.”

Sherlock frowns and looks away for a long moment. There are tears in his eyes - just barely there - when he looks back, and the notion takes John’s breath away.

“What would have made you happy, then, John?” Sherlock asks quietly.

“I…” John starts, his heart in his throat with the realization that… “I… I don’t know, Sherlock.”

There’s not much left to say after that.

Chapter Text

John’s nights are restless following the latest session at David’s. For so long, John assumed Sherlock was simply clueless or downright disinterested in relationships. That’s how he presented himself, claiming to be a frigid psychopath.

The chill that ran down his spine when Sherlock spoke those words makes repeat appearances throughout the day. The thought that Sherlock knows he’s supposed to be offering something but is convinced he isn’t giving enough.

John’s heart aches for him. How long has Sherlock been carrying this load? Is that what he meant when he talked about the young boy who misinterpreted things at school and was ostracized for it? Was he bullied? Did he have a crushing brush with homophobia that made him shut this part in himself so completely? Probably. John thinks to himself. Christ. It’s like I don’t know him at all.

The thought that Sherlock is convinced his role in John’s life is nothing but utilitarian is mind-boggling. What does that say about me? John thinks. I’ve been around him for so long, and he still doesn’t get it. Am I the problem?

He knows Sherlock has been working on improving his ability to read these signals. Has he been getting any better? Are there others succeeding where John has failed so miserably?

It’s early January. They’ve finished giving statements on their latest case at the Yard and decide to go for a bite. Well, John decides, Sherlock tags along. They’re sharing a handful of fish and chips while walking down Westminster.

“Are they helpful, your sessions with David? Do you feel you’re making progress?”

Sherlock, lost in thought, turns his attention to John. He takes a moment to consider John’s question.

“In many ways, yes. The experiments go either way. Some are enlightening, some are excruciating,” Sherlock says.

“I think you’re just describing living your life as a human being.” John smiles warmly. “It was hard for me to hear what you said, about feeling like your only role in my life is to protect me.”

“John-” Sherlock says in protest.

“No, Sherlock. Listen, please,” John says. “You’re loyal, you’re fascinating, you make me laugh like nobody else. You help me with Rosie when I can’t handle her anymore. I learn so much from you every day. No one should go around feeling like they’ve got nothing to offer. It’s a terrible feeling. It’s also incredibly untrue in your case. I need to know you’re working on that with David. Are you?”

“Yes, John. I am,” Sherlock admits and clears his throat. “It’s not easy.”

“I know it’s not, nothing about all of this is,” John says. “For what it’s worth, it’s difficult in one way or another for everyone. I felt like a hollow log when I met Mary. I was confused as to why she would even look my way and it took me a long while to get over that. I think... I think it’s easy for you to excuse your difficulties through the lens of that psychopath veneer, but the truth is you’re going through what the rest of us are. If you’re looking to… meet new people, knowing your worth makes all the difference in the world.”

Sherlock looks away, emotions taking over him.

“You’re going through your process right now, and I decided to work on something myself,” John declares and Sherlock listens intently. “I’m going to speak more openly, more clearly with you from now on. I always assumed we understand each other perfectly, but I don’t think that’s true. I told you last time at David’s that I can’t handle any more secrets. I’m going to demand the same from myself. Does that make sense?”

Sherlock nods.

“It’ll make you uncomfortable. It might even make me uncomfortable, but I think we’ve been having different conversations for years, and we missed out on a lot. So you’ll have to get used to it. Alright?”

Sherlock frowns. “Just… how uncomfortable are we talking about?”

“Molly levels of uncomfortable, I’m afraid.” John smiles.

“Goodness,” Sherlock half-whispers, but the smile is there. John chuckles.

They walk in silence, reaching the high street. Sherlock’s eyes wander across a book store’s window display, his eyes stopping at one of the titles. John encourages him to go in and browse.

“Hiking books?” John asks, looking over Sherlock’s shoulder once inside.

“Hmm,” Sherlock hums. “I barely even scratched the surface when it comes to techniques in Austria.”

John takes a peek at the titles: ‘Hiking Your Way through South America’, ‘Peaks and Summits in Argentina’ .

“Yeah?” John smiles. “That’s good. Why don’t you get those? On me. Consider it your birthday present.”

“John, can you talk about Mary’s time away from London?” David asks.

“Which parts specifically?” John sighs.

“Just generally. It couldn’t have been easy on you. Left behind with a newborn baby, not knowing where your wife was. That can cause a lot of distress.”

“I suppose.”

“You suppose?”

“By then, I preferred her away and distracted than close to home and laser-focused on us.”

“By us, you mean you and Sherlock?”

John nods and adds “And Rosie.”

“So you were relieved that she was gone?”

“In many ways, yes.”

“How did you deal with her disappearance? Were you aware of her whereabouts?”

“We planted a tracker on a memory stick she was carrying. We knew where she was every minute.”

“She was away for… three months? Is that right” David asks and John nods. “What were you doing during this time?”

“Working, raising Rosie. Helping Sherlock as much as I could.”

“So you never actively looked for her?” John shakes his head. “Would you describe it as a good period in your life?”

John’s face contorted with guilt, uncertain about how to answer.

“I’m not here to sit in judgment of you, John. That’s not my job. Say what’s on your mind.”

John clears his throat. “It was hard to know that my wife didn’t trust me to help her and that she left her daughter behind. Other than that... I’d say yes, it was good.”

“How did the two of you get along during this time?” David asks both.

“There were hard moments. We’d argue. Sherlock kept tabs on her location, wanting to go and retrieve her. I didn’t. I kept telling him she’ll come back if and when she wants to. I wasn’t keen on dragging her back.”

David is silent for a minute. “Sherlock, do you agree with that?”

“Yes,” Sherlock says.

“Why did you think you’ll need to drag her back?” David asks.

“Because the cat was out of the bag. Her cover was exposed, and I knew she could never come back and live a normal life again. I don't think she had any plans of doing that, anyway. I barely saw her once we brought her back to London. She ran all over the city doing god knows what, probably making plans to leave again. There Sherlock was, trying to figure out who betrayed her and her friends, while she was gallivanting around London. I honestly don’t think she cared about all the work Sherlock was doing. She was bound to leave again sooner or later.”

“Your dynamic during that period sounds very much like the one during Sherlock’s recovery,” David says and they both nod. “Was that for the same reasons we discussed? You felt the need to protect them?”

“Yes, I did. I was worried she'd slip under the radar. That she’ll show up in London, take Rosie away,” Sherlock says.

“I had a plan,” John says, unprompted. “I had some discussions with Mycroft about meeting up with her at some point. To talk and negotiate some sort of retrieval plan for her. A sort of witness protection scheme - she’ll give Mycroft information about her old life, and he’ll protect her. I wanted her to promise Sherlock was safe, that she’ll cooperate in finding a way to share custody over Rosie.”

Sherlock is already aware of this, not surprised. John had discussed this with him on the way to Morocco.

“So you made plans to essentially end your marriage.”

John nods. “Since that didn’t happen, I was planning on having a conversation with her about that without Mycroft. I was just being realistic and hoped she would take what would have been a pretty good deal. But then Sherlock texted and…”

John looks down.

“So you never really talked about it. She died without knowing the truth.”

John laughs bitterly. “Yes. Sherlock suggested a marriage counsellor while she was away.”

“Why is that funny?”

“There was no way to save that marriage. What do you say when you sit down? This is my murderous wife, she just came back from a world tour?”

“I see,” David says. “And how did Sherlock respond?”

“He didn’t.” John shakes his head.

“That’s not all you said,” Sherlock whispers.

“What’s that, Sherlock?” David asks.

“That’s not all he said. That sentence didn’t end there.”

John’s heart stops. So he did hear me .

“Did you say anything else, John?”

His mouth is dry, his head spins. “I said… ‘And I’m an adrenaline junkie playing house with his best friend’.”

“What did you mean by that, John?”

John exhales loudly. “I was trying to tell him that I see no future with Mary. I wanted to know if he’ll… be taking a part in Rosie’s upbringing.”

“In which capacity?”

John's tongue is heavy in his mouth. “In any capacity he would have liked.”

David’s not buying that, and he signals that to John. “I thought we could move back to Baker Street and… raise her together. In some way.”

“As a couple?” David asks and John closes his eyes as anxiety takes over him.

“As… John and Sherlock,” John swallows. “He doesn’t… do that. Relationships. So… whatever he would have wanted.”

"What was your response to that, Sherlock?"

"He didn't respond. He left shortly after." John turns to look at Sherlock, waiting for his response.

“Why did you leave, Sherlock?”

Sherlock stares at the wall before he finally speaks. “Because he didn’t mean it.”

John’s brows furrow.

“Why would he say that without meaning it?”

“Because he tends to get... swept up in the moment. His emotions swing him from one end to the other. When Mary was there he would keep his distance. When she wasn’t he would gravitate towards me,” Sherlock says. “But playing house wouldn’t have been enough when Mary came back. And if not Mary, somebody else would have come along eventually.”

“So you were worried you’re being offered something that would be taken away from you?” David asks.

Sherlock bites his lip, and looks to the floor. “Yes.”

“So what you’re saying is that you felt like… a stand-in?”

Sherlock nods.

John laughs hysterically, reaching a boiling point.

“Why are you laughing, John?”

“I just think it’s ironic. If Mary heard him say that, she’d have said she was the stand-in.”

David looks at John but doesn’t speak. Then he turns to Sherlock.

“Were there other times you felt like that?”

Sherlock looks away, nervous.

“Are you feeling like a stand-in right now?”

Sherlock nods.

“Why’s that?”

He whispers. “He took his ring off.”

“What’s that?”

“He took his ring off,” he says loudly, angry at the need to repeat himself.

John turns to look at David, surprised. “So?”

David nods before he speaks. “That’s quite common, Sherlock, for a widower to take their ring off. It signals the end of the emotional attachment to their loved one. It means they’ve moved on.”

“When a widower or a divorcee takes their ring off, it's a sign of their availability.”

David looks like he just mined the vein of gold he’s been hacking at for months. His eyes widen in surprise, finally following Sherlock’s logic. He turns to look at John.

“When did you take your ring off, John?” David asks.

“Around four... maybe five months ago.”

David looks knowingly at Sherlock, who looks down, defeated.

“So, around the time Sherlock started talking about needing to create a distance in your relationship to create new ones.”

Oh, is the only thought John manages. Oh, Sherlock.

Chapter Text

As soon as John leaves David’s clinic, he’s overwhelmed by a sense of relief. Sherlock's words were shocking and unexpected, but John has been waiting for a sign. And if this isn’t a sign, he’s not sure what is.

He imagines Sherlock is horrified. No need to imagine. Sherlock had escaped immediately. David had looked at John with raised eyebrows, as if expecting an explosion (“Don’t chase after him, John. Let him go.”)

Waiting for the tube on his way home, he texts Sherlock.

I told you I’ll be more honest and open so here goes: Everything’s alright. Nothing’s ruined. It’s all fine. Please don’t be so hard on yourself. -JW

No response.

There’s nothing you can say that will make me angry or cause me to shut you out. Please don’t shut me out, too. -JW

Nothing.

I know you need some space but Rosie and I have birthday presents. We’d like to come tomorrow as planned. -JW

Alright. -SH

Good, thank you, Sherlock. We’ll see you soon. -JW

John’s hands are full when he shows up at Baker Street the next evening. He’s bringing cake and wine, a gift from Rosie, another gift from himself, and one from Molly.

They find Sherlock in the sitting room and Mrs. Hudson joins John in serving dinner and the cake. It’s a quiet affair. They’re eating slowly, charmed by Rosie’s babble.

After cutting the cake, Mrs. Hudson retires for the night. John is cleaning up and working up the nerves for his plan. After opening the presents, he’ll put Rosie down to sleep. They’ll open up the wine and he’ll finally have a chance to properly talk to Sherlock.

He’s glad he gave himself the license to speak more honestly and openly. He feels like it lays the ground for him, and hopefully, makes his job a little easier.

When he’s done with the cleaning, he turns to join Sherlock and Rosie at the kitchen table. She clings to Sherlock like clam whenever she gets the chance. They’ve opened all the gifts, and now they’re making way onto the last one - a big box from Mycroft.

It looks like photography gear: a DSLR camera, a travel tripod, protective gear for the contents of the box.

“What’s all this then?” John asks, amused. He picks up the attached card. “‘Essential photography equipment for a gap year traveler?’”

John’s smile disappears in a split second. A memory from a few days ago jumps to the front of his mind. ‘Hiking Your Way through South America’, ‘Peaks and Summits in Argentina’.

“'Gap year'? Sherlock, what is this?”

Sherlock’s guilty side glance tells him everything he needs to know.

“Sherlock?”

“It’s not a whole year. Mycroft’s just being dramatic.”

“Jesus, Sherlock, what the hell are you talking about?”

“I enjoyed hiking in Austria. I wanted to explore that a bit more,” Sherlock says. “I’m joining a guided group that leaves from London to Peru. It’s a bit more... Extreme.”

John needs a few moments to collect himself.

“Sherlock, what the hell are you doing?” he says coldly.

“Obtaining new skills. Tackling new challenges.”

“That’s not what I mean and you know it.”

Sherlock blinks. He can’t seem to find words.

John takes Rosie and puts her down to sleep in his old room. He uses the break to recollect. The evening took such a stunning turn he’s quite sure he’s hallucinating.

When he’s back in the kitchen, he continues.

“Sherlock, if this is about yesterday…”

“This isn’t about yesterday, John. This about... Everything. It’s about the past eight years. I thought you’ve been paying attention at David’s.”

“I have. I have Sherlock, and yesterday was so important to me. I thought I’d come here today so we could talk. But now you spring all of this... A year, Sherlock?”

“I told you, it’s not really a year.”

“Well how long, then?”

“I don’t know yet. This group leaves for two months, but people usually find another group, or continue to another country.”

“Fine. OK. But how long? When’s your flight back?”

“It’s a one-way ticket.”

John’s head collapses into his hands. He’s so frustrated, so quickly, his head spins.

He breathes in, trying to regroup. He moves closer to Sherlock, grabbing his hand between both of his, holding on as tight as possible.

“Sherlock, OK. OK. Listen, you don’t have to do this, hmmm,” John begs with panic in his voice.

“I’m not doing anything.”

“I know, I know. I’m sorry. I’m just... surprised.” He breathes in again. “Listen, Sherlock, these past few months... You’ve been amazing. You’re so brave, and I did my absolute best to support you, right?”

Sherlock nods reluctantly.

“Yesterday you told me something I should have known a long time ago and I came here today to talk to you about it. Because I’m happy you told me. You’re always the brave one.”

Sherlock closes his eyes.

“But now... This. What’s the point of all the work we’ve been doing if you leave now?”

“The point was for me to be able to leave.”

The air leaves John’s lungs in one sweeping motion.

“Sherlock, you promised me,” John pleads. “When this all started we were sitting right here in the sitting room and you promised to never leave me behind. You’re doing it again.”

“I’m coming back, John.”

“No. No.” John shakes his head. “That’s not good enough. How would you feel if I told I’m leaving the country with a one-way ticket?”

Sherlock finally looks at him. He swallows hard.

“When are you leaving?” John asks.

“A week from today.”

“Oh god.” John sighs and closes his eyes. “I wanted to talk. I wanted to talk about the things you said yesterday. The things we both said. Can we do that?”

“I’d rather wait till I come back,” Sherlock says, picking up the photography equipment.

“Oh, fuck,” John says, biting his lips. “Are you going alone?”

“I told you, it’s a group-”

“That’s not what I mean. Is there someone? Are you going with someone? Or... meeting someone there?” John's voice is hard as steel. He’s angry and humiliated and tired. “Tell me the truth, please.”

“No,” Sherlock’s voice is just as stern. “No, there isn’t.”

“Can I say anything to make you rethink this, Sherlock?” John asks. “Maybe wait a little bit, leave a bit later?”

“Leaving later means I might miss trekking season,” Sherlock says.

“Alright.” John’s stuck where he stands, unable to move. He’s been dismissed but he doesn’t want to leave. “Is there any point of me staying here right now?”

Silence.

John is shaken when he goes up to his room to pick Rosie up. Sherlock’s bedroom door is closed when he’s back in the kitchen.

“Happy birthday, Sherlock,” he calls behind him as they leave the flat.

They don’t speak or text that entire week.

He texts Mycroft to make sure the elder Holmes will have a copy of Sherlock’s itinerary and emergency details. He then gets an idea and texts Mycroft some more.

On the day of his flight, John and Rosie wait for Sherlock next to the black car that awaits him. When Sherlock notices them, he slows down in surprise for a moment, then goes on as if they’re not there.

John sits down next to Sherlock. They’re silent the entire ride. When John takes Sherlock’s hand in his, Sherlock lets him.

Sherlock is supposed to meet his group at the airport, but they make it in record time and have some time to kill. They find themselves standing next to each other, watching Rosie playing in a children’s playground.

John takes Sherlock’s hand wordlessly.

“Sherlock,” he says. He looks up, searching for the man's eyes. “Go. Do what you need to do. Find whatever it is that you need to find.”

He can tell Sherlock is listening, so he braves through, almost whispering.

“You’re not a stand-in, you never were. No one could ever compete with you. I tried... I went looking for other people but it was never what I needed. Take as much time as you need, but please know that I’m waiting. I’m waiting for you to come back to me, so we can figure this out once and for all.”

“And Sherlock... please, please, I need you to hear me out here. Even if you think and think and decide that this is not what you want, I’m still waiting for you to come back to me. I’ll learn to live with that. But we need you. We need you with us. You told me I’m your family. I need you to show me you meant it.”

Sherlock is quiet. John looks up to him again.

“That’s as clear and open as I can get. Do you understand everything I just said?”

Sherlock nods, his throat tight.

“Do you need me to say it again until you’re sure? Because I will.”

Sherlock shakes his head.

John raises their clasped hands to his mouth and kisses Sherlock’s.

Their bubble is broken when the group appears at the check-in line. Sherlock sends a sad smile John’s way and says a quick goodbye to Rosie.

John exhales loudly and turns to Rosie.

“He’s gone, Ro-ro. Let’s go.” She looks up at him with curious eyes. He picks her up and heads to the exit.

“Can you give daddy a kiss, love?" She nods. "Daddy needs a big, big kiss.”

Chapter Text

In the week leading to Sherlock’s departure, John had worked very hard on himself to let go. That was clearly what Sherlock needed and wanted. John thought they’ve been making progress but this is a two-step-back phase. It hurts, but it is what it is and John promised Sherlock that it’s OK for him to go do what he needs to do.

It’s been a week and a half since Sherlock left. Their communications are brief and concise. Mostly texts, mostly from John.

He’s eating his lunch alone in the surgery’s meeting room right now, and he’s utterly miserable. He feels terribly lonely. He’d braced himself for a repeat of the way he felt when Sherlock was gone but it’s completely different. John always wished he could have been given a chance to talk to Sherlock before the fall, to convince him to stay or to let John join him.

John was given a chance to do just that and Sherlock left, nonetheless.

John picks up his phone and stares at it.

Alive? -JW

This is what their communication has shrunk to.

Then he sends another text.

I don’t know if this is appropriate, but can we talk?

He’s at David’s office four days later.

“I imagined I might hear from you,” David says with a warm smile.

“Thank you for agreeing to talk to me,” John says. “I wasn’t sure if it’s considered proper but I thought I’d give it a try.”

David nods and they talk some more. John is quite honest about how miserable he’s been the past few weeks.

“I must admit, John, that Sherlock’s departure was a bit of a surprise for me too,” David says.

“Yeah?”

“Yes. Admittedly, he dropped hints about wanting to travel but he never had any substantial plans, to the best of my knowledge.”

“So it was about... That last session we had together. The ring thing.”

“Maybe. Maybe not. I don’t know for sure myself,” David says. “Have you spoken since he left?”

John shakes his head. “Only texts. I mostly text him. Haven’t talked to him at all.”

“I did,” David says and John looks up in surprise. “He reached out to me a few days ago and asked if we can have a remote consultation. I don’t usually do that, but he left in the middle of a process so I made an exception.”

“I see,” John says.

“He’s been having some... difficulties in adjusting,” David says and John swallows. “It’s quite common, especially if one leaves a bit too quickly for their trip. There are aspects of his neurodiverse mind that make him feel a bit overwhelmed. He was surprised because he’d traveled for long periods before, under far less joyous occasions.”

Oh, Sherlock. Why didn’t you say?

“Although I think mostly.. it took a while, but the words you said at the airport finally registered.”

“Oh.”

“John, my discussions with Sherlock are confidential, but there are parts of this process you became a part of by choosing to participate. If Sherlock had asked for my advice about leaving the way he did, I would have advised strongly against it. He and I still have a lot of work to do, but that's not the only reason. Only recently have I told him, in your presence, that he’ll have to work hard to regain your trust.”

John has nothing to say to that.

“But he did leave, and I see that as a sign of struggle. He made great progress so far but it’s possible that he felt like things were becoming too much. John, are you alright?”

“I am,” John says. “I’m relieved. A little. It means I wasn’t completely off in feeling blindsided about this.”

“John, there are numerous dynamics in relationships. Some are easy to change and some are not. For many years you’ve let him lead the way, for better or worse. Sherlock makes the decisions. You either go along with them or get upset or both. I think it’s the soldier in you. I’d even venture a guess and say your dynamic with Mary was much the same.” David smiles a knowing smile, which John returns.

“That’s been working well for both of you. No, that’s not true, but we don’t have time to get into that.” David chuckles. “But dynamics can and should change, even if only temporarily. I sense that Sherlock panicked, left, and then panicked again. He has absolutely no idea where the two of you stand now. It’s hard for him to read the situation. My advice to you is to stick with your original plan - ask for what you need. Be as open and honest as you can be. Help him channel his worries and insecurities into productive actions. I don’t mean that you should pressure him to come back before he chooses to. But just as before, make a point to become a part of this journey.”

John sighs a sigh of relief.

“I can do that.”

“I know you can, John. That’s why we’re having this conversation.” David smiles again. “Sherlock has proven to be... unexpected. I don’t know where all this will lead to in the end. For what it’s worth, though, I truly appreciate the way you’ve been supporting him. I know how hard it has been. How hard it still is. But you have good instincts and you clearly love him very much. He’s very lucky in that sense.”

John leaves David’s clinic with a renewed sense of purpose.

“When’s the next time you’re around a good wifi spot? Let’s talk. -JW”

John needs a minute to regroup the second Sherlock’s image shows up on the FaceTime app screen.

He’s sitting at the back of a common room in a hostel, wireless headphones in his ears. His hair is flat and disheveled and he’s wearing a thick white v-neck t-shirt. His cheeks are slightly pink, either from a warm shower or due to his body adjusting to the higher elevation levels. Probably both.

It's charming.

The hair and the clothes, so different from his usual stern uniform, make Sherlock look 15 years younger.

If John had ever thought he’d seen Sherlock Holmes looking his best, he had been completely wrong. This stunning creature is the best thing he has ever laid his eyes on.

“Hullo.” John smiles stupidly, far too besotted.

Sherlock responds with a small, apologetic smile. “Hello.”

“Look at you,” John half-whispers, mostly to himself. His throat closes. He has never wanted to be next to Sherlock as much as he does right now.

“It’s been a long day,” Sherlock says. “This place is wreaking havoc on my hair.”

“Haven’t noticed.” They both smile. “You look good. How’ve you been? What have you been up to?”

“Mostly getting used to this place, so far. Getting equipment we need, waiting for some permits.” They talk for a while. Sherlock tells him about the recent weeks.

“It’s so good to hear your voice again,” John says. He’s being consciously, shamelessly soppy. He has David’s official permission to do so. “I’m happy we’re doing this.”

Sherlock’s smile turns into a straight line. “What?”

“That word. Happy. That you’d still be happy after everything this past year...” Sherlock says.

“Is it weird for you?” John asks and Sherlock nods. “Why?”

“You know I pride myself on knowing many things, John. Very few things can escape me.”

“Well I can argue about that, but go on,” John says with a smile.

“Your happiness is the greatest mystery in the universe,” Sherlock says and takes John’s breath away. “No matter how hard I tried, I could never get it right.”

John chooses his words carefully. “That is... categorically untrue, Sherlock.”

“Is it?”

“Yes, it is.”

“Well, that’s the way it always felt to me,” Sherlock whispers.

John nods. “I get it. I do. But I promise you it isn't. We've had rough patches. But you were the reason for some of the happiest moments in my life.”

They share a long hard stare through their phones. "I'm sorry you never knew that," John says.

They’re silent for a moment.

“I’d like to take a page out of David’s book, if I may,” John says. “While you’re out there, traveling. Think about who I am, what I am. Think of things that you think will make me happy. Whenever you come up with one, we can chat like we are right now and I’ll tell you if you’re right. I won't judge.”

Sherlock stares at the screen, wide-eyed.

“What do you think?”

“Yeah,” Sherlock says. “That’s... Good.”

“Good,” John says.

“I can think of something right now.”

“Already?”

“Hold on. Don’t hang up.”

When Sherlock returns, John can’t see at first what he’s holding in his hand. When he does, he starts laughing.

Sherlock is holding an apple and a fruit knife. He’s picking the apple apart and eating it silently, in front of the camera. Sherlock’s sneaky, teasing smile is one he hasn’t seen in a long time.

“That’s fantastic, Sherlock,” John laughs. “You're a bloody menace. But that does make me happy. So so happy.”

Chapter Text

Three weeks pass. They’re finally communicating more freely. The first video chat broke the ice, John was happy to note. Every other day or so, he settles in his bed or the living room waiting for midnight. The time zone differences make it harder to speak in more normal hours, but John doesn’t care.

Sherlock shares his thoughts and ideas as to how to make John happy.

John isn’t surprised that he gets it right every time.

He’s having his tea at the surgery one day, nearly the end of his workday. His FaceTime app pings and he sees Sherlock’s contact name.

Surprised, he takes the call. Sherlock’s camera is in selfie mode and his face is blurry with motion.

“John, look!” Sherlock says and maneuvers the camera using a selfie stick. John’s breath catches. To be honest, he expected to see a gruesome crime scene.

It’s not a crime scene. He sees Sherlock’s face and, behind it, a great valley with snow-covered peaks and several small lagoons.

“Oh my god, Sherlock,” John says and laughs. “It looks like paradise.”

John expects a scathing remark about how paradise is a fictional location created by idiots to provide comfort and what-not. Sherlock surprises him.

“Hmmm,” he hums in agreement. “I think it would have made you happy to be here. With me.”

John smiles. “It would’ve. It absolutely would have.”

Later, John receives a mountain of photos from Sherlock. Some are selfies, some are group photos. John looks at all of them, happy to see Sherlock smile in more than a couple.

Later at dinner, his stomach turns a little. Something in those photos caught his eyes and he just caught on to it.

Around midnight, Sherlock calls and they’re talking comfortably. Sherlock tells him his most recent idea for making John happy (“Yes, I do love it when you play the violin. Definitely makes me happy.”)

After a while, John can’t hold it in, can’t help himself anymore.

“What’s his name?” he asks, his cheek resting in his palm.

“What’s whose name?”

“Hipster beard with blue eyes.”

Sherlock is silent for a moment, then smiles. John knows this smile. In his head, Sherlock is thinking ‘clever John’ when he smiles like that.

“How did you know?” Sherlock asks and John’s stomach twists and turns. He was right.

“He looks at you like a lovesick puppy in every single photo.” John smiles apologetically. “I thought that was my job.”

“Michael. His name is Michael.”

“Yeah?”

“He’s American. Philadelphia,” Sherlock says. “He’s the Search and Rescue expert attached to us. He’s usually attached to groups in Argentina but he’s been visiting Peru so he joined us.”

“Ah... I see.”

“The beard... It tickles,” Sherlock barely whispers.

“What’s that?”

“It tickled when he kissed me.”

John is so dizzy with this new piece of information he has to cover his face with his hands.

“He suddenly... kissed me. I’m not sure why.”

John is now, officially, half-crying and half-laughing. “Of course he kissed you, Sherlock. Of course he did. How could anyone not? You’re Sherlock-Fucking-Holmes.”

They share a moment of laughter and a comfortable silence at that.

“Well good for you, Sherlock. Good.” It’s now or never, Watson. “He’s a good looking bloke. I’d let him kiss me.”

Sherlock’s eyes widen with shock, then mischief. “You would.”

“Yeah, I would. Pretty eyes. Search and Rescue is kinda sexy,” John teases. “Why not. I’d let him kiss me if he wanted to.”

Sherlock mumbles softly.

“What’s that?” John asks.

“He’ll have to go through me, first.”

“Looks like he’s doing exactly that.”

They both laugh so hard it takes them a while to come down. And it’s amazing, it feels amazing, to be able to talk and laugh with Sherlock about these things.

“He wouldn’t be the first,” John says.

“Hmm?”

“He wouldn’t be the first bloke to kiss me.”

“I know.”

“Oh do you?”

“Yes, I do. I deduced it the day I met you.”

“Of course you did.” John exhales loudly. It’s finally out there. “Is he the first bloke to kiss you?”

“No.”

“Mmm.”

Who was the first, Sherlock? Did you love him? Did he treat you well? Did he break your heart? No, I bet you broke his. You’ve broken mine so many times. Who was the last one before you met me? Was there anyone since we met? Are they only men? Were there women too? Irene? Janine? Tell me everything, Sherlock. I want to know about everything and everyone. I want names, I want to look them all up on Facebook and compare myself to them. Tell me everything there is to know about you.

They go on talking for a few more minutes, about Michael (“If you tell me to use protection I will hang up, John.”) and Sherlock’s plans for the next few days.

When John hangs up, he’s wearing the stupidest smile on his face. He should be angry and jealous about this Michael guy but he’s... not really. John just low-key came out to Sherlock. Sherlock finally let him in on something personal that’s been happening to him. The world didn’t end. They hung up smiling and promised to talk soon.

This is the breakthrough John has been waiting for in months. Who’s he kidding? Years. This is the conversation he’s been hoping to have for years and it finally happened.

The weeks pass. They speak every other day, whenever conditions allow. If Sherlock is on a multi-day hike, John waits patiently. It’s good. It’s lovely. Sherlock seems to be blossoming.

John misses him.

John chokes on his tea when he sees who’s calling him.

“Mycroft?” John answers urgently.

“Relax, Dr. Watson. My brother is alive and well. Sherlock couldn’t reach you earlier so he called me. He asked that I tell you that his phone has faulted and it’ll take him around 72 hours to procure a new one. He’ll try to be available via email a few times a day. He’ll soon be leaving Peru.”

John’s heart skips a beat. “He’s coming back?”

“Not coming back yet, from my understanding. I believe he mentioned moving on to Argentina next.”

“Argentina?” John swallows. “With Michael?”

There’s a short, stunned silence on Mycroft’s end. “Who’s Michael?”

He’s the beautiful boy who’s been keeping your brother warm at night, Mycroft Holmes. Make yourself useful for once and make him disappear.

“No one. Forget I said anything.”

“Alright,” Mycroft says suspiciously.

John can just imagine every available satellite in Earth’s orbit turning and zooming in on an unsuspecting Search and Rescue expert in Peru.

John clears his throat. “Thank you for letting me know, Mycroft.”

John is nervous when Sherlock connects to their first call from Argentina.

“How’s Michael?” he blurts out stupidly, forgoing greetings.

“Michael?” Sherlock asks, confused. “He went home last week.”

“Oh,” John says.

“Back to his girlfriend,” Sherlock says.

“Oh!” John exclaims. “I’m... I’m sorry Sherlock.”

“Why?”

“You know.” John frowns. “That he didn’t say he has a girlfriend.”

“I knew he had a girlfriend.”

“Oh. So he did tell you?”

“No,” Sherlock says, waiting for John to catch up.

“Oh!” John says again. “I see… alright. For what it’s worth, Sherlock, that’s still not on. Just because you know doesn’t make it OK to not tell you.”

“Apparently it’s a thing now.”

“What’s that?”

“Open relationships.” Who'll pick me up if I faint in my bed? John thinks when he hears Sherlock talk about having an open relationship with an American called Michael. “Apparently it’s a thing and he went on and on about it for about 40 minutes one day. I had to kiss just to shut him up about it.”

“Alright, alright,” John stops him, not needing the full image. “So... you’re not... you’re OK?”

“Of course,” Sherlock says and frowns. John chuckles. He looks and sounds exactly like Mycroft when he does that. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Goodbye, then, Michael, John thinks and they talk for another 45 minutes.

Chapter Text

It’s a Sunday, and John’s birthday. Sherlock is calling from Chile this time. They calculate time zone differences so Rosie can join in on the fun.

John has Rosie in his lap at the kitchen table while they’re talking. Rosie is fascinated with Sherlock’s voice as he’s telling her stories about the animals he met in his travels, the old woman who gave him food despite not having a home of her own (“That's sad.” “Not really. She used to be a Madame who catered exclusively to the Nazi elite in Argentina in the 50s.” "Oh.” “Yep.”).

John lights up a candle stuck in a cupcake. He blows the candle and makes a wish.

“Happy Birthday, John.” Sherlock says with a crooked smile. “Is that one of Mrs. Hudson’s cupcakes?” He crowds in on his phone’s camera, trying to get a better look. John’s breath catches. Sherlock has a small bunch of silver hairs in his curls, next to his right temple. They weren’t there when he left.

He chokes up when Sherlock raises his head back up, unsuspecting.

“What?” Sherlock asks.

John smiles before he speaks. “You’ve gone grey.”

“Oh.” Sherlock smiles. “You noticed?”

“I notice everything about you, Sherlock Holmes.”

They’re both silent.

“Suppose you’ll dye it when you come back,” John babbles, nervous. “You shouldn’t. It’s lovely.”

“Do you think so?” Sherlock asks.

“I really do.” John nods and smiles a sad smile. “We’re getting old, Sherlock.”

Sherlock huffs, but John can see the sentiment in his eyes. “You’re getting old, John.”

John’s face sobers up. “You are coming back, though. Right? I wish you did. I miss you.”

That’s the first time John has said that. He’s been holding it in. He never wants to sound like he’s pushing Sherlock to come back.

“I am, John. Yes.” John’s stomach flutters.

“Yeah? So birthday wishes do come true,” John says. “That’s exactly what I wished for a minute ago.”

“Is it?”

“It is. I was rather hoping you’d surprise me for my birthday and be back here. That’s usually what happens in the movies.”

Sherlock’s eyes expand in horror, unfamiliar with the trope. “It is?”

“Yes. But don’t worry about it.” John shakes his head. “I promised I’d wait, didn’t I? It’s just... seeing grey hair on you. Don’t take this the wrong way, Sherlock, but I hate that we’re wasting time. I love you. I want you here with me.”

That’s the first time he has said that, too.

Sherlock gathers his strength and looks straight into John’s soul. “Are you sure, John?”

“I’ve never been surer in my life.”

“When I come back. I still have work to do,” Sherlock says and John nods.

“We all do, Sherlock. We all need to work on ourselves all the time,” John says. “Do you think... can things be different when you come back? Will you let me in again?”

“I’ve been letting you in for a while.”

“You have, Sherlock,” John says. “That’s all I ever wanted.”

John smiles back, shy. It’s a smile full of love and warmth.

“I can’t wait, Sherlock. I’ve been so... restless... since you left.”

“I... know how you feel.”

John smiles again and finally, finally, Sherlock smiles back. He can see the understanding in Sherlock’s eyes and relaxes.

“What will it be like? When I come back?” Sherlock asks and John understands the question. Sherlock wants to know details. Logistics. Where will they live, what they’ll be to each other.

“Whatever you want. I’m up for anything. Think about it while you’re still there and tell me everything when you’re back,” John says. “There are no wrong answers, I promise.”

When they hang up, John beams proudly at Rosie. It’s the best birthday he’s ever had.

And just like that, time suddenly moves slightly faster and John feels slightly less heavy with every step he takes.

He doesn’t know exactly when Sherlock is coming back, but he is. He’s coming back.

I’ve done everything I can, John thinks. Now it’s up to him.

John spends his days thinking about life with Sherlock, making mental lists and semi-embarrassing Google searches. He thinks about moving to 221B (renovate the whole thing and install multiple security systems), raising Rosie with Sherlock (where does one buy child safety goggles?), and sex. He hopes. He’s definitely holding out for sex but he’s not entirely sure where Sherlock stands when it comes to sex (buy lube) (“wall soundproofing price”).

John and Rosie have been spending the afternoon in their local park. David’s advice to expand his circle still rings true, and he recently joined a Daddy and Me group. He was skeptical at first, but Rosie needs new friends her age and with Sherlock away, the loneliness was leaving a mark on him.

He was happily surprised: most are single or widowed dads from the area, all needing a bit of adult time in their day. There are some interesting blokes in the group, and he tries to actually make at least one meaningful conversation every time.

He’s deep in conversation with two other dads while cleaning Rosie’s hands of the mess she's been making. She pokes him on his thigh once, twice. “Daddy,” she says, but John is mid-sentence so he continues.

She pokes some more, calling him again. “Daddy!”

“Hang on a minute, Ro, I’m talking.”

“Daddy!”

“What?!”

“Sherlock!” she says and points and he looks over his shoulder, stunned.

Chapter Text

“Berk,” John whispers to himself and shakes his head profusely. “Bloody idiot.” I love you so much.

Sherlock Holmes, the man himself, is sitting on a bench observing their group from afar.

John hastily picks up Rosie and their belongings and says a quick goodbye. He starts walking towards Sherlock; it couldn’t have taken more than a minute but he feels like he’s been walking for days.

Sherlock is wearing casual clothes John doesn’t recognize. Form-fitting jeans and a tight, light dark-blue jumper. John takes his fill, enjoying the view. He wants to remember him looking like this till the day he dies.

When they reach the detective, he looks up at them and smiles. Not a second later, Rosie takes a head dive straight into his arms.

“Nosy Rosie. You’ve gotten bigger,” Sherlock whispers and, if John notices Sherlock inhaling her blond hair, he doesn’t say anything.

“Kids do that,” John says and smiles, his body switching from hot to cold uncontrollably.

“I was waiting for you to notice me when I realized it might seem weird that a lone man is watching a group of children in a playground,” Sherlock says with a crooked smile.

“Yes. Bit not good,” John laughs, anxious to get his hands on Sherlock. “You git. Why didn’t you tell us you were coming back?”

“I thought I’d surprise you,” Sherlock explains, a twinkle of mirth in his eyes. “Like they do in the movies.”

“Right,” John says and inhales deeply. He reaches his hand out to Sherlock’s. “Let’s go.”

“Shouldn’t you stay for the rest of the playdate?” Sherlock asks.

“Nope,” John says defiantly. “Nope.” Because if we stay things will get way too inappropriate for Daddy and Me.

Time to go, detective.

He shakes his hand, signaling Sherlock to move. He notices Sherlock looking at him, then at the group behind them. I’m not ashamed, Sherlock. Take my hand. “Come on.”

Sherlock takes his hand and is completely unbalanced when John grabs his face with both hands and kisses him deeply. When it’s over, Sherlock opens his eyes and he’s... frazzled.

John chuckles. Frazzled Sherlock was always his favorite.

They go back to John’s flat. It’s a short walk and Rosie needs her dinner. John is anxious, anxious to have Sherlock all to himself. He’s right here in his flat, so close. Alas, toddlers cannot be ignored and they must be fed, bathed, and put to sleep. They cautiously circle each other for a few hours. John steals glances, cataloging the various subtle changes in the man.

Rosie puts up quite a fight against bedtime; she hasn't seen Sherlock in months and she’s just as keyed up about having him in their flat, let alone seeing him.

Cleaning up is his last chore and then he’s all free to move his considerably full attention to Sherlock. He’s nearly done when he feels Sherlock behind him.

Sherlock encircles John in a tight, crushing hug (“ooof”), his hands around John’s shoulders. John worries that his soul has left his body when Sherlock rests a cheek on his head.

“Thank you,” Sherlock whispers into the top of John’s scalp.

“Hmmm,” is all John is capable of for a minute. He picks up his hands and grabs Sherlock’s arm, bringing him closer still. It's incredibly comforting. “What for?”

It takes Sherlock a long moment to speak again. “For waiting,” he says. “For… listening. And for seeing that I... feel. That I have. Feelings.”

John closes his eyes, his heart aching. “Christ, Sherlock. Don’t say that. Not after everything you’ve been through. After all the work you’ve been doing.”

“Alright,” Sherlock says. “Still, though. Thank you.”

“It’s my pleasure.” John says.

"I still have a long way to go, John," Sherlock says. "David and I have an appointment later this week. He says to not assume everything is magically solved now that we're... this."

John nods. "Of course it isn't. Of course. You do what you need to do. And if you need me there with you, just tell me."

They stand like that for a few more minutes, talking. Then John moves to pour two glasses of wine and they go to the sitting room.

They spend the rest of the night talking. They talk so much that John wonders if they ever really talked at all before this. How could you feel so close to someone, and yet know so very little about them?

It’s past 3 am when John realizes Rosie will be up soon.

He stands up and reaches his hand out like he did at the park.

“Come to bed.”

John is up by 6 am, his biological clock working overtime. He leaves the room quietly. Sherlock is dead to the world and Rosie isn’t showing signs of waking up. Her late bedtime last night means she’ll be sleeping for a bit longer.

John heads to the kitchen, rumpled and blurry. He stops in his tracks when he sees a thick, brown envelope on the kitchen table.

“Christ, give it a break Mycroft,” he huffs, then realizes he’ll soon be known to Mycroft as the guy doing his brother.

He gives the envelope another look, suddenly recognizing the handwriting. “John”, it reads, in Sherlock’s distinct scroll.

“When did he…?” he wonders and opens the envelope quickly.

When he realizes what he’s looking at, his jaw drops.

There’s a piece of paper on top, containing a long, itemized list in Sherlock’s handwriting. The list had been updated using different pens and pencils. He knows what this is - they’re the things that Sherlock came up with that make, or will make, John Watson Happy.

1. Sherlock eating
2. Sherlock playing the violin
3. Rosie in the theatre
4. A trip to Italy
5. Blue-eyed Search and Rescue experts
6. Writing a book

….

The list goes on and on. Scattered inside the envelope are other things: note sheets stapled together, simply titled “John” (Did he take his violin?); an itinerary for a trip to Northern Italy later that year; 3 VIP tickets to a Christmas showing of The Nutcracker. There’s a small bag containing old, dried out apple seeds. A stack of papers that makes John cry in shock - it’s a contract with a famous publishing house, addressed specifically to John.

An A4 printout drops from the stack. John looks at it and laughs out loud. It’s stunning; Sherlock is standing near the edge of a cliff. He’s looking at the valley below, a violin* resting on his shoulder. Whoever took the photo did an amazing job. They captured his beautiful stance, the tilt of his head. John can imagine the exact look on his face when he's standing like this.

You gorgeous, gorgeous drama queen, John laughs. What did I ever do to deserve you?

Every single difficult, frustrating moment from the past few years suddenly seems ridiculous, inconsequential when he’s staring at the stack of paper on his kitchen table.

There was never really any other choice for John, he thinks. Once he realized he might lose Sherlock forever this time, John knew there was not, and never will be, anyone else. He didn't lie to Sherlock when he told him he will always wait for him to choose him, to come back to him.

They had both left each other so many times, misguided and wounded. They've paid their dues. They can finally be what they always really wanted to be.

Shaking his head, John leaves everything behind and walks towards the bedroom. When he opens the door, the previously snoring detective is looking at him with knowing eyes, waiting.

He walks into the room and closes the door behind him.