Chapter Text
They decided to go for a walk and get some fresh air while it was still warm enough to be able to breathe without seeing puffs of vapors from the cold. Still, it was nighttime and quite cold, even with the alcohol. The two stumbled the familiar well-lit streets. It was cold enough to justify the frequent brushing of arms against each other as they walked. Another thing that hadn’t happened since the Before. They used to walk this close all the time. John didn’t realize how much he missed it.
He was happy. Of all things. He should be drinking his troubles away and mourning the loss of a marriage to the most right-for-him woman he’d ever met. And he was a bit sad. But even though Mary would have never asked him to pick, and even though she had encouraged his friendship with Sherlock, John had put distance there with Sherlock anyway. Some of it was due to being angry still, yes, but if he was honest with himself, which he hadn’t been in a long time, he knew that if he got sucked back into Sherlock’s orbit, he might never escape. Ella would have likely called that codependence. And perhaps she was right. And clearly he did need to work on that, if for no other reason than Sherlock could leave him for two years and apparently not even miss him.
Well, maybe that bit wasn’t quite a true as John had thought.
He needed to think of something else.
“Ok Sherlock, I can understand the other notes in that folder. But why in god’s name was my face glued onto The Viturvian Man?”
After a pause, Sherlock looked over at John and moved his body just slightly further… just out of brushing distance. “I must say, you always surprise me. Of all the topics tonight, that was not one I expected.”
There was another long pause - Sherlock likely was hoping John would fill the silence, maybe ask a better question. And maybe he should. But it was unexplainable. Which John was used to, around Sherlock, but not about himself. Sherlock, a man of utter beauty, making that reference in connection to John.
“It was simply… a way to manifest the ups and downs of drinking,” Sherlock tried.
But John was already shaking his head. “But with the Viturvian Man, Sherlock? The perfect man? The ideal male form?” John laughed in what could almost be a self-depreciating sound. “Was it some kind of joke? The invalid war vet former-surgeon who needs a cane and has shaking hands?” He exhaled deeply and stopped walking.
Sherlock turned on his heels to face him, “A joke? John… you must know I don’t find any part of you… at fault. Least of all your…” he hesitated. John could swear he heard him gulp. “body.”
John raised his eyebrows at that. He knew he still had alcohol running through him when he heard himself vocalize what came next. “I don’t see why not. Sherlock, you’re… a… you’re a gorgeous man. I’m just saying what anyone with eyes would say. You’re tall, have thick hair, stunning cheekbones, perfect skin, long beautiful fingers, cupid b—“ he cut himself off when he realized Sherlock was blushing deeper as he continued. A bit too far, perhaps. “What I mean is that in comparison to you…” John shook his head and looked over Sherlock’s shoulder. “Well, there’s a reason I had to make up for in confidence with flirting when I was standing next to a man who looked like you.”
John shut his eyes. He could not believe himself. And well, in for a penny… “And now learning that you’re… well… at least aware of men, you can’t tell me that you really would mean that as anything other than a joke.”
He forced his eyes open to see Sherlock watching him. “John… were you… I mean to say… just for clarity’s sake, you see…”
Sherlock, tongue-tied. Will wonders never cease.
“Were you hitting on me at Angelo’s? That… that first case?”
John scoffed. “What would it even matter? Avoiding the question, then. Great.” He turned to continue walking, knowing Sherlock would follow him. An odd reversal of roles, but John really didn’t want to answer.
“It would,” Sherlock announced loudly. John paused and turned around. Sherlock was still about 6 meters away. It was quiet - they had unintentionally headed towards Bakers Street and this part of town didn’t have any nightlife. “It would matter.”
Sherlock took a few steps closer but kept his distance. His voice dropped down to a normal volume, but it carried easily to John. “There are not many who do find me attractive, actually. Even less when I open my mouth. I am unlike you in every way. You are the heart that I never knew would be useful.” He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “The Viturvian Man… I was trying to write my speech. Accessing my emotions for a concise open display of emotions that an audience would find not horrifying while also be something that was pleasing for both you and Mary…. well, it was challenging.” He looked up and met John’s gaze. “So a visual helped. Despite whatever the current fad on appearance is, you, John, are indeed as close to perfect as anyone can be. Moreso, truly, because you’re real. And you have forgiven me for the unforgivable. I decided to keep the image as I planned for the stag do because I wanted tonight to be perfect. If it was the last gift I could give you before you… confirmed that the room upstairs would always remain empty.”
At this, Sherlock moved closer. Still not close enough to touch, but just barely. He kept his arms behind his back as he watched John. “That was my answer. Now, I believe it is your turn.”
John was gaping. It sounded like… his brain jumped back to Mary, just that morning, looking at him with her eyes full of pity. You really don’t know…. ‘your’ Sherlock…
“Yes. I was,” John said as he took a step closer. Touching distance, now. “Flirting, that night.” He moved another step closer. Personal bubble space. Sherlock didn’t move. He needed to lift his chin now to look up at him, so he did. God, all he had to do was reach up and-
Sherlock took a step back. “I suppose that has-” But John took a step forward and did just what he had been imagining doing for years now. Sherlock snapped his mouth shut as their lips brushed and John let the chaste kiss hold. Sherlock let out a small whimper and John felt his heart soar. He tried to bring his hand up to grab onto Sherlock’s shoulder when he felt the large hands push at his chest.
“This is ill-advised. Mary and you only just broke up. It was only this morning that you were engaged. You’ll need time to-”
“Mary dumped me because she thought I was still in love with you.”
Sherlock’s eyes widened. “… in… love?”
John rolled his eyes. Maybe people waited months to say ‘I love you’ in normal relationships, but him and Sherlock were hardly normal. Besides, there was no way they’d change their relationship unless John was honest about how he felt. “You were dead for two years. You came back. If you don’t want… whatever this is…” John motioned between them, “that’s fine. I am happy being your friend. But I would never kiss you if I wasn’t completely and madly in love with you. I know my track record and I could see why you might be unsure. But you’re different, Sherlock. What we have is different.”
John rocked backwards on his heels. “And Mary… god help her, she knew it. She knew from the start that I’d never love her the way I loved you. And she was okay with that. She’s had her share of loss too. It made it easier, knowing we both had lost the love of our lives.” John laughed at this. “We never even talked about it. We never said it. We just… knew.” He sighed. “So, yes, Sherlock. I’m in love with you. But it doesn’t have to change anything. But you can trust me that I am not rebounding, or taking this lightly.”
“John, I—” Sherlock seemed to be rebooting, and weirdly the thought of that made John relax a bit.
“Give me your hand, love. While you think. I’ll walk us back. It’s getting cold.”
“Yes,” Sherlock replied, holding his hand out.
—————
About an hour later, they were in their chairs at 221B. John had made tea, setting one cup in front of Sherlock and sipped at his own as he scrolled through his phone. Sherlock was still silent, and John had started to grow concerned about 15 minutes ago. But he didn’t want to rush him. He had wanted to sit them on the couch, but the urge to touch Sherlock would’ve been too strong… and he wasn’t sure how he’d respond still.
He got up to grab some blankets and when he got back, Sherlock’s eyes were focused.
“Thank god,” John said to him, smiling. “Wasn’t sure how long you’d be gone for.” He propped himself up against the arm of Sherlock’s chair.
“I had a lot to rearrange. May have gotten caught up rewatching a few memories that were shining for my attention.”
“Rewatching? So, you what? Sit in your mind palace couch and watch memories like a film?” John whistled. “That sounds both incredible and also like torture.”
Sherlock chuckled. “It is. I got very good at it while I was away.” The two paused and John waited for Sherlock to explain what he was thinking. “You… really meant it. You have loved me from the start. I saw, but I didn’t observe. I didn’t trust myself to.”
John nodded. He was still unsure how Sherlock felt. He thought he could guess, but he didn’t want to. He wanted to hear it from the man himself.
“Earlier, when you said you were bisexual, my response had been that I had always assumed that if you were sexually attracted to men, then something would have happened between us by now. I assumed it would have been me instead of your laundry list of women. But I told myself you didn’t feel those things for men, and so I never allowed myself to observe. But John- I have been … I have loved you since the moment I realized you shot the cabbie.”
He wasn’t sure what he had been expecting, but hearing Sherlock felt the same thing from the start was a shock. He thought maybe after the pool at the earliest, but likely not until he came back…
“We’ve been idiots,” he said out loud.
“It seems we have,” Sherlock agreed.
“Thank god I didn’t get married,” John realized suddenly the gravity of it all. He grabbed at Sherlock’s hand. “Is this okay? I just… I think I need to hold on.”
Sherlock wordlessly stood and moved to the couch, reaching out for John. Once sat, he twisted himself into the shorter man’s embrace and they sat in silence for several minutes. John found a way to pull the blanket over their laps, although the body heat would be more than enough.
“Well,” John said, then realized he was running his fingers up and down Sherlock’s arm. “Ah, my small brain doesn’t need as much time to process. But all I know for sure is that I do not want to ever let go of you again. You’re never allowed to leave again, Sherlock. No more fake deaths. No matter what the reason.”
Sherlock sighed and snuggled closer. John shivered as the detective’s lips gently brushed his neck. “We’ll need to talk about that later, John. Not tonight.”
“Just promise me. No more leaving.”
The pause only lasted a couple seconds. “I promise.”
“Okay then,” John said, turning his head to kiss Sherlock’s forehead. “Then everything else can wait. I’m exhausted.”
“Your bed upstairs is made. You could turn in,” Sherlock reminded him, not moving at all.
“That bed was never very comfortable, you know. Not like yours.”
Sherlock pulled away and eyed John suspiciously. “How do you know what my bed feels like?”
John giggled - giggled! - at that. Of all things. Giggled about the worst week of his entire life and his grief. “I’ll save that for another day. Let’s just go lay down. And no funny business, you. I just want to cuddle.”
Sherlock stretched his arms over his head, shirt riding up and the blanket slipping down past his waist, revealing a line of beautiful skin. “You’ll regret that, but it is probably for the best. I’ll meet you in there after I shower.”
As Sherlock walked away - it was John’s turn to watch a glorious ass walk away now - John called out, “Oh and Sherlock?” The man paused. “Remind me to ask you - tomorrow of course - what was up with the strange dust patterns in the upstairs bedroom.” He smiled as Sherlock’s spine straighten and the man hurried to the bathroom.
They certainly had a lot to talk about, but John was positive they’d have plenty of laughs to go with the tears.