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#i was gonna add the ending scene where holmes closes his eyes after seeing watson before he falls off the balcony
preacherboyd · 1 year
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Sherlock Holmes // Sherlock Holmes: A Game of Shadows
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He has always loved her.
I was always convinced of that fact. I was one of the very few Sherlolly shippers out there who firmly believed that it would become canon. I knew I could be wrong, of course. But I think this is it. Or rather as close to canon as we can get. To me, the Final Problem confirms all of the suspicions I’ve ever had as to why they wrote Sherlock and Molly the way they did. Take note that what follows is obviously with shipper goggles on. But still. 
Quite a long post under the cut.
You do count. I need you. You mattered the most. But why?
I like the idea of Sherlock realising that he loved Molly under duress. I see no issue with the idea at all. It makes perfect sense to me. This is Sherlock Holmes after all. Loving someone romantically has never been an option. He wouldn’t even consider asking himself the question. Add his life-long conviction taught by Mycroft that caring is a disadvantage, the repressed loss of Victor, the loss of Mary, the constant threat of losing John and the case of Irene Adler to the mix and that’s what you get: Being in love? Never.
But seriously, guys. He lost the battle against friendship long ago. What would be the point of that scene if not to prove that he lost the battle against love too? More of that in my other meta: Why I think Eurus knew Sherlock loved Molly.
Can Sherlock Holmes love? 
If yes, who? 
This has been the unknown in the equation for John Watson since the very first episode, at Angelo’s (girlfriend? boyfriend?). Same question asked to Mrs. Hudson in ASiB. And an itch he needs to scratch both in Sherlock’s mind (murderous ghost scene in TAB) and in real life (the chat before The Hug in TLD). In a story, if a question is asked more than once, you can safely assume that it will be addressed later on. Another example: both John and Mycroft wonder what his feelings regarding Irene Adler can possibly be at Speedy’s as well. 
And, coincidence (?) both are in the room when the phone call happens. Passive and silent. Spectators. An audience. Us. The scene is set to be a revelation for them as well as for the viewer regarding Sherlock’s heart. A forced and long overdue introspection into the one area left unexplored. Three minutes of unbearable tension leading to an outstanding emotional breakthrough. What could that be? That Sherlock loves Molly as a friend? Nothing new under the sun. 
John believes that loving someone will complete Sherlock as a human being. A notion Sherlock doesn’t understand (”That doesn’t even mean anything.”) And it would have stayed that way. If not for Eurus. If not for his psychopathic sister who spent ‘such a good day’ reconciling his brother with what he suspected he already was. Human. And a very emotional one at that. John thinks that Irene will be the one to do the trick. Then distances himself from the idea and figures that Sherlock needs his own Mary. Unconsciously describing this potential person to be exactly what Molly always has been. Right before they go out to meet her for cake. Right before TFP happens. The universe is rarely so lazy. 
If you consider the possibility that Sherlock discovers in the span of 3 minutes that he has loved Molly Hooper in that way all along, every single interaction clicks into place. 
- His civility and, dare I say, enthusiasm with her in the early days. He is awkward in his approach and sometimes even indelicate. But he is also tempting to be nice. (He even drinks her awful coffee and doesn’t say a word!!). Keep in mind that this is before John Watson started to do his magic. Sherlock is at the peak of his sociopathic behaviour. 
- His passive aggressive behaviour towards her regarding any potential suitor in the first two series (Jim in TGG, the mysterious recipient of her gift in ASiB, her lunch date in TRF). These scenes are, in fact, the only moments he becomes cruel. With Jim from IT, he even thinks he is being kind. Oh, and the line Molly says “He’s not gay. Why do you always spoil…?! He’s not.” suggests that Sherlock frequently deduces her dates to death.
- The idea of her not counting immediately sounds preposterous to him. Foreign. 
- He comes to her when things become really dangerous and dark. The fall is coming. He’s got Mycroft and the entirety of the British Secret Forces or whatever on his side. He knows what is to come. He could have done without her involvement, surely. But he needs someone he cares deeply about to know the truth about him. That he is not a fraud. And so, he goes to her. Tells her he needs her. With tears in his eyes. 
- His uncharacteristic tenderness on their crime-solving day.
- Why she’s the one who keeps him grounded and focused so he can fall on his back and prevent further damage when he gets shot. 
- Why he hides away at her place when he needs it.
- His behaviour towards Hooper in TAB. He never strikes back in the morgue. Holmes is deliberately unresponsive. Better than that, BC acted tongue-tied. Same for the Christening scene in TST. She chastises him, knocks him in the ribs, teases him. He never looks annoyed. You can conclude from that interaction alone that he is incredibly fond of her.
Not to mention that the writers kept Molly intentionally free from any other man (end of her engagement). Because yes, to execute the Sherlolly becomes canon plan, Molly also has to stay emotionally available until he is on the same page. I see no other reason for it. Seriously. From a feminist perspective, that doesn’t sound very good. But Mofftiss have been careful. Molly is in love but it’s not gratuitous and purposeless, nor is it what defines her as a person. They made sure she always stands her ground. She takes care of him but doesn’t take any of his shit. She is not a bloody doormat. Up until the very end, she has the upper hand: “You say it. Go on”.  Her love matters. Makes him a better man. 
No matter what, through thick and thin, she is always, always there. It’s a beautiful thing from both perspectives. Molly stays because she is strong, she loves him and would rather be his friend than nothing at all. She doesn’t ask for anything in return. This is a lesson of bravery, selflessness and kindness. The lesson Louise Brealey cares so much about. From Sherlock’s point of view, and up until TFP, it’s not clear as to why, she stays because he wouldn’t have it any other way. He knows of her feelings and how difficult it must be for her stay. Still, Sherlock needs her to. The mere concept of her not being by his side is inconceivable. We know it is. She would have been long gone otherwise.
You could argue that he kept her around only because he loved her very very much as a friend. But if Mofftiss wanted Sherlock to become a good man (which is the whole point of the show) but not for him to fall in love, then Sherlock would have stayed away from Molly for good after he realised what she felt for him. Because that’s what you do when you deeply love your friend and want them to be happy. Not doing so would be the most selfish thing in the world. 
After TRF, two golden opportunities presented themselves to kindly deal with the problem of Molly Hooper and prevent her from becoming a potential love interest. One where she stays in his circle and one where she leaves. In a way, Mofftiss used both. And destroyed them in the next breath.
1. Happy ending. She stays.
She marries another man. Perfectly reasonable. She doesn’t see him for two years, falls in love and never looks back. She can stay his friend and we don’t lose awesome Molly. A very handy solution because she is Mofftiss’ original creation and they want her to stick around. Ideal to have her develop a beautiful dynamic with Sherlock based on deep respect and camaraderie. “God, you’re such a dick sometimes. I can’t believe I fell for you.” “I know. I don’t get it either, Molly Hooper.” They twisted that option and used it instead to prove that no one but Sherlock will do for her. It started as being a few hints in TEH and TSoT and became the truth in HLV with one single line “Sorry your engagement’s over, although I’m grateful for the lack of a ring”. 
I won’t even talk about that line. Come on. It’s so ambiguous it’s laughable. 
Also, Tom was purposely made to be a facsimile of the real thing and Molly was droolin’ all over Sherlock during his speech in TSoT. So yeah. It’s him or nothing. 
Not to mention THAT SCENE RIGHT THERE. At the time, also known in my book as: Sherlolly is gonna become sooo canon bitches. I knew there and then, that something big was coming.
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2. Bittersweet ending. She leaves.
The solution I mentioned before. Sherlock decides to do the right thing and lets her go. As a friend, as someone who cares (and we know he does), he cuts himself from her life and thus allows her to move on. Rings a bell? This is the hallway seen in TEH. It could have been the very last interaction between Sherlock and Molly on the show. And it would have been beautiful. If it was definitive, it would have been as effective to make Sherlock a good man as him destroying her coffin because he couldn’t bear to break her heart. I would have been sad, devastated even but all in all not surprised by this turn of event. I think we can all agree on that. We would have been proud of Sherlock. Relieved for Molly. He grew up. He wants to protect her. He lets her go, even if it means losing her friendship in the process. 
But again, they nipped it in the bud. Again, with a single line. 
“Maybe it’s just my type”. 
Both keep coming back to one another. Like magnets.
Molly because she knows who Sherlock is deep down and loves what she sees. He’s her type, and it is what it is. Sherlock because he needs to have her in his life. In any way he can. He refuses to free her from him. Why? When you think about it, I think Mofftiss made crystal clear the fact that he just can’t. 
Because he is, and perhaps always has been, in love with her. 
Lastly, best of all for me, the I Love You scene finally explains why he never made a move. I don’t know for you but my take on that was that he knew of his feelings for her but repressed them because he considered himself unworthy of Molly Hooper. It made my shipper’s heart happy. I never asked for more. It fit his behaviour as I read it and the show could have ended with them staying apart. I was satisfied with that view of things. In fact, if not for Sherlock Holmes to realise that he was in love with Molly Hooper, the I Love You scene was completely unnecessary. Just like the end of TSoT in the gif above.
And it makes perfect sense, now.
He simply was not aware of the depth of his own feelings, clueless idiot that he was. He needed a big push, in his case, a life or death situation, him contemplating a life with no Molly Hooper in it, for him to face the truth. 
This is not far fetched at all, you know. It does happen in real life. I’ve known two specific examples, both with the same pattern. They are the best of friends. They spend so much time with one another that people keep asking them what is really going on there. They keep insisting that it’s only friendship. And then life takes over and threatens to tear them apart. That’s when they realise. 
« I love you. »
Oh.
Oh..
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agrlsname · 7 years
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The Tarmac - a fix-it fic
so i wrote a story of the tarmac scene gone differently, based on m-theory. it got kind of angsty since that’s how i’m feeling after the fucky problem, but it made me feel a lot better to let sherlock and john kiss, and to establish mary is a villain. i hope it can help some of you feel slightly better as well! (it ends on a hopeful note of course, i’m never again gonna even look at a johnlock story that doesn’t end well.)
John sees him through the car window. He's standing beside Mycroft in front of a plane, hands behind his back, looking to the car. John quickly closes his eyes, but it doesn't help, the picture of Sherlock is already burned into his eyes – the dark curls, the impossibly high cheekbones, the scarf and the coat that's so familiar John's stomach aches.
The car pulls over and Mary opens her door. John wants to stay inside the car and hide, but he's a soldier he tells himself, and he forces himself to get out of the car. He has to face Sherlock, and he has to be as distant as he possibly can or else he'll fall to pieces. And that's not what soldiers do.
Mary goes straight up to Sherlock and gives him a hug. John keeps his eyes away, determined not to look too closely at Sherlock again.
“You will look after him for me, won't you?” Sherlock's voice sends daggers through John's body. He holds his head high and pushes the never ending spiral of thoughts away, he already knows how it ends: It wasn't supposed to be like this. Sherlock is about to be replaced in John's life by the lying assassin who's carrying his child. If John wasn't such a god-damn good man he'd leave her and follow Sherlock – where? He doesn't even know where Sherlock's going and he wouldn't care – but he loves his unborn daughter and he's a good man.
“Don't worry”, Mary says. “I'll keep him in trouble.”
“That's my girl.”
A memory comes to John uninvited; Sherlock's intense eyes fixed in his, his face dangerously close, a red wound crosses his gorgeous lower lip as a substitute for the furious kiss John had wanted to put there. His hypnotizing voice: The thrill of the chase, the blood pumping through your veins, just the two of us against the rest of the world…
John's a soldier. He needs that, he craves that, just as Sherlock so well knew. But he doesn't want it with Mary.
Because you chose her.
The self hatred that fills John gives him enough fuel to push the paralyzing regret aside. He will have a lifetime to think about how none of this would have happened if he had just canceled the wedding once Sherlock came back. But right now he needs to be a soldier. Soldier.
Mary comes back to his side. He forces himself to a half smile and finally meets Sherlock's eyes. The smile he heard in Sherlock's voice has faded, and John's face hurts from the effort not to show the heartbreak. He gives Sherlock a short nod before he turns his eyes to the ground. Sherlock turns to Mycroft.
“Since this is likely to be the last conversation I'll have with John Watson, would you mind if we took a moment?”
John draws a deep, painful breath, he can't smile, he just can't, he can't breathe when Sherlock says his name.
Mary and Mycroft leaves, and John walks up to Sherlock. Sherlock's looking at him in that way again, like he sees everything that John is, however badly he wants to hide it. Like he's intending to never look away. Usually John doesn't want him to ever stop looking, but now he can't bear it. He tries a smile and another nod, but Sherlock just keeps watching him expectantly and John has to turn away.
“So here we are.” John clears his throat.
“William Sherlock Scott Holmes.”
John turns his eyes back to Sherlock. “Sorry?”
“That's the whole of it. If you're looking for baby names.”
John chuckles and looks to his feet, shortly relieved to laugh together, to see Sherlock's face and hear his words and know that he's the same, that he still… exists. “No we've had a scan, we're pretty sure it's a girl.”
“Oh”, Sherlock says softly. “Okay.” It almost looks as if his eyes have become wet before he breaks the eye contact.
John turns away once more. “Yeah”, he says, looking around as if he's searching the tarmac for words. “Yeah, I… I can't think of a single thing to say.”
“No, neither can I.”
John is impressed by his own soldier facade. He will handle this. He can't help but feeling the comfort of talking to Sherlock, it feels so much like home. No matter what has happened and no matter what situation they are in, his pain is always, always eased by Sherlock's presence. He even lets his guard down so much that he involuntarily steps closer to Sherlock as he says: “The game is over.”
“The game is never over, John”, Sherlock immediately answers. “But there may be some new players now. That's okay. The east wind takes us all in the end.”
“What's that?”
“It's a story my brother told me when we were kids. The east wind, this terrifying force that lays waste to all in its path. Seeks out the unworthy and plucks them from the earth. That was generally me.”
“Nice.”
“He was a rubbish big brother.”
They smile, even though Sherlock's eyes look a little red in the edges. John would never be able to explain what it is about Sherlock that makes him love even the way Sherlock phrases his words. So often John laughs at what Sherlock says without knowing what's even funny, maybe it's just that it's all so Sherlock that makes him so warm inside he has to laugh.
This doesn't feel real any more. They are standing here together, laughing and talking as they always do and this is Sherlock Bloody Holmes, the man of miracles. This won't be the last conversation they'll ever have, it can't be. Sherlock always comes back, it's his thing, he's untouchable. He will come back. John is suddenly sure, and he clears his throat again, now able to ask the question.
“So what about you then? Where are you actually going now?”
“Oh, some undercover work in eastern Europe”, Sherlock says in a low, breathy voice without meeting John's eyes.
“For how long?”
“Six months, my brother estimates.” Sherlock pauses before he adds: “He's never wrong.”
John keeps looking and Sherlock's face, and Sherlock keeps avoiding his gaze. “And then what?”
Sherlock presses his lips together, finally looking back at John. It's not in John's head; Sherlock's eyes are wet. He makes a pause before making a little shrug, silently managing: “Who knows.”
John nods and turns his head away. He will come back. Sherlock will come back. It's what he does. It's his thing.
“John, there's something…”, Sherlock pauses and John looks back to see the nakedness of Sherlock's face when he stammers: “I-I should say, I've meant to say always and then never have… Since it's unlikely we'll ever meet again, I might as well say it now.”
John stares at Sherlock's face, suddenly unable to look away. Every fraction of a second that passes is physically hurting him. Stop it, he tells himself. That's not it. He doesn't feel things that way. He could never feel the way you feel about him. He's almost angry with Sherlock for making him think like this again, because he has made his peace with what Sherlock has to offer him even if it's never been enough. He's angry with himself for still hoping. Trust you to fall for a sociopath, he bitterly mocks himself.
But he can't keep those feelings away when Sherlock is dangling the hope in front of his eyes like this. John braces himself as he watches every tiny movement in Sherlock's face, he looks so vulnerable and tiny. How can a sociopath have such a soft yet scared look on his face?
Sherlock lifts his eyes to meet John's one more time, and John is caught slightly off-guard. He has never seen Sherlock so open and honest. Sherlock takes a slow breath, and his deep voice is softer than ever before.
“I love you.”
And John stops breathing. He's completely, physically unable to move, he just stares into Sherlock's eyes and Sherlock doesn't look away. Not even now, not even in all this mortifying humanity does Sherlock look away, he keeps John's gaze as though he wants to make sure every word he says goes directly into John's heart.
“I'm in love with you”, he continues, “I have been since the day I met you, and I strongly suspect I always will be.”
John's breathing comes back in a harsh exhalation, he's panting now and when he tries to talk it only comes out as a whisper. “Christ, Sherlock.” He waits a few more seconds for Sherlock to start laughing, but he doesn't. John's breathing comes even harder and his voice is louder when he repeats: “Christ, Sherlock”, and when Sherlock hears the desperate anger he finally drops his gaze. John feels tears leave his eyes that he didn't even know were there, and he starts trampling with his feet as an outlet for the impossible mixture of feelings swelling in his chest.
“I'm sorry”, Sherlock says with a voice so low John can barely hear him over his own panting, “I should…”
“Shut up”, John interrupts. “Shut up, Sherlock.” Sherlock immediately goes silent, looking back at John with flinching eyes.
“How…” John begins, but he doesn't know what to say. “Why…” he tries instead, but has to restart: “Why didn't you tell me before, you… moron!” He's almost shouting the last words.
Sherlock looks anxiously at him, apparently not sure if he's supposed to answer. “Because…” he tries, but John doesn't let him finish.
“Don't say it, do not say it!” His voice is a whisper again, and he looks down at his feet, and then shots a glance at Mary standing by the other end of the plane. Neither she nor Mycroft is watching them, but they are there. It doesn't matter any more.
When John's eyes go back to Sherlock, the beautiful man is a blur through his tears. Finally John follows the impulse he has fought every day he's spent with the detective, and he grabs the collar of Sherlock's coat. But this time John doesn't push him to the ground and hurt him. This time he pulls Sherlock towards him, gripping at the coat as though his life depended on it, and presses his lips against Sherlock's.
Even though he's been dreaming about what this would feel like for years, John is completely floored by the sensation of Sherlock's lips. Sherlock makes a little noise of surprise and John inhales deeply through his nose, the smell of Sherlock fills him and erases every single trace of pain inside him. He squeezes his eyelids together even tighter, demanding the world around them to disappear.
And then he feels Sherlock's hands on him, more confident than he would have expected. One is on his waist, one gently searching his neck to finally settle. John shudders as he feels the palm of Sherlock's hand against his bare skin, he didn't notice when Sherlock took the glove off. The mouth John has been staring at for so long makes a shy movement, hardly noticeable, just enough to let John know Sherlock is there.
John draws his head back for a moment, eyes still closed, to be able to catch one breath before leaning back in. This time Sherlock is waiting for him. He presses his firm lips against John's so tenderly, and the braveness of this makes John want to cry because he's suddenly sure that Sherlock has never done this before. The inexperience tastes so fragile on Sherlock's lips, and still none of John's experiences have even remotely prepared him for this one. Nothing has ever consumed him in such a way, and he allows himself to let go of everything. He lets go of the tarmac, he lets go of the plane, he lets go of Sherlock's brother and his own pregnant wife standing next to it. He knows he'll eventually have to let go of Sherlock's lips as well, and he knows it will hurt even more the more he gives in now, but he doesn't care. He doesn't care about anything in the world except for Sherlock kissing him, again and again, and he isn't sure if the salty taste comes from Sherlock's tears or his own.
He has no idea how long it has been when Sherlock draws back, rests his forehead against John's and murmurs: “John.”
John violently shakes his head, refusing to open his eyes. “No.” He steals another desperate kiss, but Sherlock ends this one too.
“John”, he repeats, his voice so broken new tears squeeze out through John's eyelids.
“It's not enough”, John whispers, still shaking his head, “it's not enough time.”
“I know.” John can barely hear Sherlock's voice but he feels it vibrate in his chest. “But it never will be.”
John feels the hand leave his neck, and he instinctively grabs harder at the thick fabric in his hands. “Sherlock”, he whispers, and when Sherlock's forehead leaves his, he finally opens his eyes. “Sherlock”, he repeats when he sees the open wound that is Sherlock's face. How could he ever believe Sherlock was actually a sociopath? He has never seen someone look so human.
He has never seen someone look so broken.
“Goodbye, John Watson.” Sherlock's voice cracks.
“No”, John says, sounding just like he did on the worst day of his life, the day he lost him the first time, “Sherlock-”
Sherlock puts his hands on John's and gently makes them let go of his collar. “Sherlock”, John continues, unable to stop saying it as Sherlock turns away. John doesn't know he's tried to reach for Sherlock until he feels a pair of hands taking hold of his shoulders to keep him back.
Sherlock walks towards the stairs of the plane and it's like seeing him fall from the roof one more time. “Sherlock”, John desperately repeats, “Sherlock”, not even aware he's saying it any more. Sherlock doesn't turn, and even though every inch he moves further away hurts to watch, John can't take his eyes off him, just as he couldn't as Sherlock fell to his death on the pavement.
And so the coat vanishes into the plane. Time passes in a strange manner now, John has no idea what he's done before the engines roar and the plane starts moving, but he's on his knees now and his mouth somehow feels sore, and he notices he's still repeating the only name that matters in this world. He finally closes his mouth as he watches the plane take up speed and leave the ground.
John drops his head and supports his hands on the pavement. He hears sounds coming out of his chest as if though he was standing next to himself, he doesn't recognize these sounds, he doesn't know what they're supposed to be. He sees a flash of bright red in the corner of his eye, and he slowly lifts his head to look at Mary hesitantly approaching him. She immediately stops when she sees his face.
“Don't you dare”, he fiercely whispers. “This is on you. This is all on you.” His whole body is shaking.
Mary says nothing. Just like she didn't bother explaining herself when it turned out everything she'd told him was a lie. Just like she never apologized for shooting and almost killing the love of his life, when she knew what the loss had done to him the first time. Just like she never thanked Sherlock for sacrificing himself to ensure her safety, even though she'd stolen the man he loved. John can see in her face now that she knew all along, she knew the man she married belonged to someone else.
John lowers his head again, unable to look at her face any more. Nothing moves. Everything is silent. Everything except the tiny sounds escaping John's throat now and then, he sounds like a lost child, he doesn't care.
Suddenly a sharp telephone signal cuts through the silence. He hears a movement behind him, and then Mycroft's voice. “Holmes.”
A long pause, and then: “But that's not possible. That is simply not possible.”
***
The wheels meet the ground, Sherlock feels the impact through his body. He's staring out the window of the plane. Scanning the tarmac, he needs to see John. Not rational, this staring bit, he knows he doesn't have to wait long for John to be standing in front of him again. He can't help himself though, he's tried to stop before and has come to the conclusion that it won't work.
And there's a tightness in his stomach. Not a pleasant one. He makes a short sound, almost like a laughter. Sherlock Holmes is scared.
The worst day of his life keeps playing and replaying in his head as the plane rushes through the tarmac. The gray air. The sun barely reaching through the clouds. The pavement so far beneath him. Fear of his friends dying, fast flaming hope that he might be able to save them and also himself, despair when the gun goes off.
Bang. Moriarty flying backwards. Blood spreading. Sherlock turning away.
In his coat pocket at that very moment was a squash ball, Sherlock was going to use it to momentarily cut off his own pulse if John were to check it. Yet he didn't check Moriarty's. It's all a blur, he can hardly remember, all those feelings, feelings everywhere when he realized he would have to fall. Another annoying proof of Moriarty being way ahead of him the whole time. The more Sherlock thinks about it, the surer he gets. He didn't check. And Moriarty knew he wouldn't check.
But that wasn't the end of Sir Boast-A-Lot's problem. No, that wasn't the final problem.
What was the final problem?
The plane is slowing down. Sherlock's eyes are still searching. The worst day of his life – such a dramatic expression. Drama queen. John once called him that. Sherlock was quite offended, as he can recall. But still. John had been the fierce commander, ordering him to solve the bloody game that was apparently on. Sherlock liked that.
Concerning dramatic expressions, to be fair, John was the one who called his wedding day the most important one. Therefore Sherlock's decided to not pick that one for his own worst.
The plane comes to a halt. Sherlock's stomach makes an attempt to turn itself inside out when he sees John's back. He's holding his head high and his shoulders all soldiery. Arguing. Winning the argument, Sherlock deduces from Mycroft's face. Mary isn't there.
And then John turns, and it takes Sherlock two seconds to see from his face, hands and knees how he's spent the eight and a half minutes they've been apart. John. Sherlock's heart feels like it's suddenly too big to fit inside his chest. Stupid, irrational comparison. Real, however.
John walks towards the plane. Alone. Interesting, how emotions aren't clear cut; such a hopeless mess of renewed fear mixed with excitement.
John slightly bows his head as he enters the plane, even though he really doesn't have to given his height. He stops in the aisle, silently meeting Sherlock's gaze. Too shy to come forward? No, not it. He doesn't look uncomfortable. His face is wide open – has he ever looked at Sherlock this way before? Maybe. Maybe it was just too dangerous to see. Chemical defects.
Sherlock doesn't know if he's imagining things – that would not be very much like him, but then again, nothing of this is – but as he looks at John's mouth he thinks he can actually see the kisses he put there only minutes ago. Oh, and now he's thinking about the kissing again. Stupid, how is he supposed to function if he can only think about the kissing. Strangest thing is, he can't really bring himself to mind it.
Sherlock feels his mouth twitch. Can't help it. He can never help it when he meets John's eyes. “Miss me?” he says.
John makes a short, quiet laugh. Sherlock's favorite laugh. No, not favorite, oh screw that, he can't choose that now. “Idiot”, John mumbles.
Sherlock looks to the door, and then back at John. “Mary?”
John just shakes his head. “Nope.”
“Oh.”
Their eye contact is so electric it almost makes sparks by now – also irrational, also real – and John clears his throat, turning away. “Moriarty”, he says, trying to sound casual. “Moriarty's alive, then?”
“Yes he is”, Sherlock answers.
“So what do we do?” John rises his eyebrows, looking back to Sherlock.
Sherlock places his hands on the armrests and pulls himself up from the chair. “Moriarty can wait”, he says boldly. Because Sherlock certainly can't.
His hands reach out before he's even close enough to touch John, they seem to work on their own and not really care about his mind by now. Surprisingly he doesn't mind that either. Sherlock gently grabs John by the shoulders and draws him in. John's arms immediately close behind Sherlock's back and oh god. John buries his face against the bottom of Sherlock's throat, god. John's breath is warm, John's skin is soft, Sherlock feels his own breath pick up speed so he can't even deduce if John's does as well. Sherlock is not wearing his coat this time, this time John must feel Sherlock's heart violently racing. He slowly lowers his head to rest his chin against John's hair. Nice scent, John scent, and shampoo. He recognizes it from the bottles in the bathroom of 221b. Smells more now. John.
Sherlock closes his eyes and feels the tears in the corners of them. He notices his thumbs have decided to make small patterns on John's neck and back. John's whole body pressed against his, warm, compact, concrete. John's arms firm around him. Sherlock tries to believe it's real but fails.
Something wet on his collar bone. John's shoulders makes a slight shake and he sniffs his nose.
“John”, Sherlock murmurs.
“I can't believe I almost didn't get to say it.” Tears in John's voice.
“What?”
John's voice is muffled against Sherlock's skin. “I love you, Sherlock.”
Before Sherlock can react, John raises his head and presses his lips against Sherlock's. Since they parted Sherlock has been unable to not think about the kisses, still he had apparently managed to forget the pure serenity of it. Who knew kissing would be such a high. People had not been exaggerating, on the contrary they had been downplaying it quite a lot, he'd say. Stupid to never try that before. From now on, he's never going to waste his time on anything else than kissing John.
Head feels dizzy. Legs weakened. Warm face, too warm. Breathing faster. Predictable, but not in the slightest boring. Chemical reactions, can't control it. Doesn't want to.
John draws his head back and waits until Sherlock opens his eyes again. Red cheeks. Bright eyes. Happiness? No, too simple, too light.
“I love you”, John repeats.
This must be it. This one's love. Sherlock smiles like a child, can't help it. “Jo-” he starts, but cuts himself off. His smile fades.
“Sherlock?” John's voice still soft. Sherlock narrows his eyebrows, shakes his head slightly, closes his eyes. “Sherlock, what's wrong?”
Sherlock takes his hands off John and puts them to his temples. He feels his face making a tight grimace. Brain's spinning, incredibly fast, god he's glad he didn't take those drugs after all. When he opens his eyes again he lets out a short sigh, as if of relief. But he's not relieved, not in the slightest – the only thing he is, is sure.
“The final problem”, Sherlock all but whispers. “That's the final problem.��
“Sherlock, what is it?” John says, once again making Sherlock aware of his presence.
“John, where's Mary?”
John looks slightly worried, and he quickly drops his eyes before replying: “Dunno. I told her to leave.”
“I need to speak to Mycroft.” Sherlock pushes past John in the aisle, grabs his coat on his way to the door and swings it in a wide circle as he puts it on while running down the stairs.
Mycroft is standing on the pavement, looking all serious and important. “Brother dear”, he says with a frosty smile. “I hope you…”
“I think you should probably get someone to keep an eye on Mary”, Sherlock interrupts.
Mycroft raises his eyebrows. “Mary?”
“Yes of course Mary”, Sherlock says, impatient. “Probably about right now, it'd be such a boring and exhausting day's work to track her down once she's decided to disappear.”
John reaches the pavement behind him. “Sherlock, do you mind explaining to us?”
Sherlock turns around. “Moriarty is alive”, he says, “and he's coming back for another attempt to burn the heart out of me. Possibly he's quite disappointed that he failed last minute on the first try.” He's speaking fast now, turning his gaze between John and Mycroft, trying to use his own eyes to make them see. They don't seem to. “Don't you see? The final problem, what is it?”
“We don't know, Sherlock”, Mycroft says with his most annoying big brother voice, “you're not making any sense right now.”
Sherlock pretends he doesn't hear him. “To burn me. That's what he calls the final problem. So he made me fake my own death to stay away from John for a period of time, just enough time for Mary to…” He cuts himself off. John would disapprove of his insensibility and bad timing if he showed his excitement over having solved a puzzle. He has to be gentle now. He owes it to John to be gentle.
John looks expectantly at him, and Sherlock gravely meets his eyes. “I'm so sorry, John. I am so, so sorry.”
“What, Sherlock, what is it?”
“You heard Moriarty's threat. To burn the heart out of me.” Sherlock stands still now, intently watching John, speaking slowly. “I've been thinking he meant killing you, and giving me the choice to kill myself to prevent that from happening… but it was more than that. John. He knew I would try to fake my own death, and he went up on that roof prepared to fake his own. He never intended for any of us to die. God, I've been such an idiot. The game was much longer than that.”
“Okay”, John says, “so how did he fake his own death? And what does it have to do with Mary?”
“He would have needed a confidante, wouldn't he? Someone to make a gunshot instead of him, someone to puncture the blood bag he had hidden in his collar. Someone capable of shooting with surgical precision.”
Now John sees where he's going. He's going to protest, saying it could be anyone, so Sherlock quickly continues before John can speak:
“The real problem of the fall wasn't to get me to kill myself. It was to get me to stay away from you. Moriarty knew I'd eventually come back, and that was his intention, he wanted me to come back to find you with someone else. He made sure my name was cleared the very same day you were going to propose to Mary.”
“That doesn't mean…” John tries, but Sherlock interrupts:
“It did go awfully fast, didn't it?”
John opens his mouth but closes it again. Sherlock tries to deduce how long he should wait to say the words out loud. He doesn't know how to spare people's feelings, normally he doesn't care. Feelings are so impractical, always in the way of logical reasoning. But this is John. And John will be broken by this.
“If I'm right, John”, Sherlock begins, “and quite frankly I most usually am… Mary's been working for Moriarty.”
The words are out. John's head does the untouchable soldier thing. Sherlock turns to Mycroft.
“Now would you please go deal with this?”
Mycroft gives a small nod and walks away while lifting his phone from his pocket. Sherlock unwillingly turns back to John who's standing very still.
“How can you be sure”, John says, and it barely sounds like a question.
“John, please know this.” Sherlock takes a few steps closer to him, lowering his voice. He can see now the effect this has on John, the way his breathing barely noticeably changes. A good thing. “What I said before, I meant it”, Sherlock says intensely. “I love you. I. Love. You. I've always considered love a dangerous disadvantage, and I was right. With you, I don't care, but it's still the truth. As long as I'm alone, no one can burn me. But I have in fact become very easy to burn. People have threatened to kill you to make me suffer, and I'm the first to admit that would destroy my whole being. There is, however, another way to burn me, quite effectively. In fact, I burned in front of hundreds of people, wearing a pretty outfit, celebrating the most important day of your life as you put it. Laying out my complete and utter devotion to you for everyone to see, and then toasting the man I love marrying someone else.”
John has tears in his eyes. He's silent for a few moments before he can speak. “You…” he starts. “You…”, and his voice becomes a whisper when he finishes: “… love me.”
“Yes I do”, Sherlock says softly. “And you love me, and Moriarty knew that, and that's the final problem. So Moriarty hired Mary to burn the heart out of me. He hired her…”
“… to marry me”, John fills in. He bends over, lifting his hands to his face, panting.
Sherlock swiftly closes his eyes and opens them again. “I'm so sorry, John.”
***
Sherlock lies on top of the covers, arms and legs apparently in the positions they happened to take as he collapsed onto the bed. He looks so utterly tired, like he wouldn't be able to lift a finger any more today. John rarely sees him this exhausted, maybe because Sherlock's not used to days filled with so many strong emotions, or maybe because he just never lets John see it. Maybe Sherlock's always been such an emotional wreck, and it's only John who's been stupid enough to believe the high functioning sociopath nonsense. Probably John has been a complete idiot; Mrs Hudson has apparently seen through this exterior long ago. He should have, too.
John stands in the door opening for a moment, glad he gets to see this. He gets it now. Like everyone, Sherlock Holmes gets scared; he was scared when Moriarty destroyed him before he fell, and he's scared of what Moriarty might do now. Well, this time they'll face him together.
John puts his phone carefully on Sherlock's nightstand, resisting the urge to once again check that the sound is on. He hesitates for a moment, looking at Sherlock's face – there's no way he's fallen asleep already. John puts his knee on the bed, and when Sherlock doesn't react he lies down near the edge.
Apparently he was wrong about Sherlock being unable to move; a slender hand comes creeping over the covers, searching for him. John catches it, pulling Sherlock's hand to his nose to smell it and give it a small kiss.
Sherlock gives a short mumble, and John smiles briefly when he hears his own name in it.
After another moment, Sherlock opens his eyes. His voice is deep from relaxation when he speaks. “No news then?”
“None.”
Sherlock watches his face closely. “It'll be alright”, he says.
“You don't know that”, John says softly.
“No I don't”, Sherlock agrees. “That's just what people say.”
John sighs and turns on his back, looking up at Sherlock's ceiling. It feels intimate somehow, to see what Sherlock sees every time he goes to sleep. “This would be so much easier if it wasn't for the baby”, he says. “So much easier.”
“I know”, Sherlock says and makes a slight movement with his fingers, still trapped inside John's hand. A few seconds pass. “What time is it?”
“Almost eleven.”
“You should get some sleep. Preferably here.”
John chuckles, still looking to the ceiling. “That's a bold proposition.”
“Just, you look like you wouldn't make it up the stairs.”
“Shut up”, John says, rolling over and crawling into the warmth of Sherlock's arms. Sherlock folds around him with a pleased sigh.
John places his head a few inches apart from Sherlock's. Wow, those eyes are so beautiful. He allows himself to let his eyes wonder over Sherlock's face, and when John lifts his hand to rest on his smooth cheek, Sherlock closes his eyes. John lays there a moment, breathing in the scent of Sherlock's exhalations, getting light-headed from it.
“Sherlock”, he eventually whispers. “I'm sorry.”
“What for?” Sherlock asks, eyes still closed.
“For saying that. That my marriage was the most important day of my life. I didn't realize that would hurt you. I didn't know.”
Sherlock opens his eyes, silently looking back at him.
“And I'm sorry I got married”, John continues.
“Don't…” Sherlock starts.
“No, let me say this. I didn't know you loved me back, but I'm still sorry. You know I told her a lie as I was proposing, I told her she was the best thing that could have happened to me… but it wasn't, the best thing that could happen was you coming back, and then there you were, and I… god, I just wish I had done what I was dying to do, right at that moment. I should have just kissed you.”
John has so much more to say, but all of a sudden he hasn't got enough air to say it. Sherlock stays silent. John's still holding his hand to Sherlock's cheek, and Sherlock places a hand at John's wrist. He leans forward to give John the softest kiss he's ever received, so soft John can feel every tiny movement of the muscles in Sherlock's lips.
“I am so sorry I left you”, Sherlock says as he draws back. John opens his eyes to see the earnest look in Sherlock's. “I will never leave you again.”
He kisses John once more. They have so much more to say, but at this moment it dawns on John that they don't need to say it right away. Right now he can allow himself to only care for Sherlock's lips, the warm comfort of his body and the firm certainty that they love each other. Everything that needs to be said, eventually will be. There will be enough time.
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