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He had no doubt news would release about the murder on the train heading for Grantham, the mystery solved by the great detective Sherlock Holmes and nobleman William James Moriarty. Headlines could be seen on every newspaper, but as he thought back on the case, Sherlock wondered all the more about what would have happened if he failed to clear his friend’s name. The look in John’s eyes, the look of fear mixed with shreds of confusion and hope, haunted him for the first few nights after the incident.
Had it not been for that fight, John wouldn’t have been in that position.
No, if it had not been for me, John would not have faced the possibility of being labeled a murderer.
The two had been sitting in the apartment, enjoying the warmth of the afternoon in silence when Sherlock’s doubts plagued his mind, tormenting him with reminders of what occurred. John’s fearful gaze awakened in his mind once more, setting a fire in his chest that he couldn’t put out. The more he resisted the storm of his mind, the more he found himself desperate for answers.
“John.”
Said man glanced up from his book to look at Sherlock. “Hmm? Did you need something, Sherlock?”
Sherlock lay back on the couch in their apartment and gazed up at the ceiling. “What were you thinking during the train ride?”
“After everything happened?”
“After you were taken into custody.”
He thought for a moment, placing the book down in his lap, then hummed. “Well, I dare say I would be lying if I said I wasn’t a little bit nervous about the incident. My mind was running at a hundred kilometers an hour.”
Sherlock eyed him. Nothing on John’s face said the man was lying. “Is that so?”
“Mhmm.” John tilted his head. “May I ask why?”
Thoughts spiraled through Sherlock’s head. What exactly was John thinking about during that time - their fight, the irony of the situation, his regrets?
Or perhaps, he began to doubt the detective would help him out of the situation successfully.
Why does this bother me so much? It is all over now, is it not?
“Sherlock?”
He gave his attention to John again, who gazed at him with scrunched brows. “Yes?”
“You seem distracted. Is something the matter?”
Wincing, Sherlock sighed, slipping a hand under his head. “John, did you have any doubts while you were on board?”
“Maybe some.”
A frown. “Some?”
“Mainly about myself.”
Sherlock raised an eyebrow. “Yourself? Why about yourself?”
“I suppose,” John smiled sheepishly, “it is because I felt I could have done more to help the case. If I had not reacted in anger, I could have also contributed to the investigation and did something more worthwhile than sit and wait for a ‘not guilty’ verdict.”
“Your reaction was justified.”
“And yet, I cannot help but feel I was a burden and a hindrance rather than helpful.”
John flinched when Sherlock suddenly swung his legs off the couch and sat up properly to meet his partner’s gaze. Sherlock’s eyes glistened in the rays of the sunlight, allowing him to see something that hadn’t been there before.
“You have always been helpful. If you should have had doubts about anyone, it should have been me.”
He shook his head and gave Sherlock a small smile.
“What is wrong with being confident?”
Sherlock blinked.
That was not a statement he foresaw coming from John. Perhaps from someone like William, but John? The most humble man he knew? No, this had to be a mistake. They hadn’t lived with each other long. Although they had solved a case together, John had no reason to fully put his trust in him yet. He wouldn’t - no, couldn’t - say something like that. I must be dreaming.
“John-”
“I never doubted you.” John smiled brighter as he picked up a glass of water from the table and took. “Not for a second, Sherlock. I knew you would solve the case, just as you did when I met you.”
Sherlock gaped, but shut his mouth quickly. “Ahh.”
Letting out a chuckle, he continued. “You need not worry. I do not believe you would have left me to take the blame, not after your initial reaction upon seeing me. Although we have not lived together long, I trust you with my life, Sherlock.”
The detective snuck a peek out the window. The sun had almost departed from view, ready to take its leave from the stage so the moon could shine. Sherlock nodded slowly, holding back a sigh of relief he didn’t know he had. When had it gotten there?
“Do you have a match, John?”
“I do.”
He pulled out the box of matches and handed it to Sherlock, who gingerly held it in his hands for a few moments, content to stare while he gathered his thoughts. Eventually he took out the box of cigarettes, pulled out a match and a stick of nicotine, then lit the stick, placing it in his mouth. He released a puff of air before turning his attention back to John.
“I hope you continue to provide me with matches.”
John snickered. “In moderation as long as you do not go through them too quickly.”
He returned the gesture with his signature smirk. “Heh, I can assure you that much.”
The rays of sunlight disappeared behind the horizon, but the light in the room shone brighter than before.
I have confidence we will be alright.