Chapter Text
Being sober is so much more difficult than what people realize.
But then, if you had never been an addict, it’s nearly impossible to imagine how it’s like to go through every minute of your life, feeling a craving for your drug of choice, so intense that it can actually be equaled to thirst or hunger. You might be able to ignore it for a while and you might get distracted, but the slightest slip…
Well.
Sherlock contemplates his options as the plane takes off, a syringe ready at hand. He wonders how exactly did it end up inside his coat pocket, but he supposes it really matters not. It’s here now and the temptation is strong.
He looks outside the window, where John’s figure is becoming increasingly small as the plane leaves the tarmac. He looks at the syringe once more, thinking there’s not a single reason not to take this unexpected gift. He’s a dead man, anyway, so what’s one last indulgence before heading to his death?
Promise me you’ll come back to me. To us.
He did promise, of course, but the odds are… the odds are definitely not on his favour. And in any case, it’s not like John will know about this: if by some miracle he does make it back to his beloved, he’ll be sober once again.
He sighs, dropping the syringe and hurrying to step over it, making sure to break it. He has always made up excuses like this: no one will know, he has it under control, he can stop whenever he wants. But he knows they’re all lies and he’s tired of lying to himself.
He leans back on the comfortable seat, wondering just how many strings Mycroft pulled to make sure his last trip would be comfortable. He’s beginning to wish he had had time to say goodbye to his brother, but between talking to Mycroft and talking to John one last time… well, it really wasn’t a competition.
He takes out his phone, thinking he’ll entertain himself with browsing through John’s old blog posts. It’s likely he won’t have internet connection very soon (in fact, it’s almost certain his phone will completely stop working in a bit) and so-
But then the phone starts ringing and he frowns, staring at his brother’s name on the screen. His heart skips a bit, hope surging despite his best efforts to rationalize with himself this doesn’t need to mean anything.
It seems his luck hasn’t quite run out; or maybe it has, depending on how you see it.
After all, Moriarty’s sudden reappearance can’t be a good thing, right?
Two months later.
“Can you believe this?” John demands, slamming the tabloid against the kitchen table with a little too much strength. Sherlock hums, continuing making breakfast for himself. He thought he was past the pregnancy constant cravings but they seem to get worse with each passing day nursing his daughter.
“I mean, it’s not- people would talk, of course, that’s to be expected but this… I thought Mycroft said he’d make sure it was handled with perfect secrecy?” John continues, gesturing widely, obviously not bothered by Sherlock’s silence. “I just- I don’t want of bunch of so called reporters standing outside the courthouse waiting to get a pic of us.”
Sherlock hums once more, chewing on his food thoughtfully. “We could always try a disguise,” he offers, smiling at the thought. He’s always enjoyed dressing up, even when he’s not working on a case. It can be quite fun to pretend to be someone else, although given the circumstances-
“Aren’t you bothered by this?” John asks, gesturing towards the tabloid and Sherlock shrugs non committedly.
“The papers have been speculating about our relationship for years, John. Then I end up pregnant and you move back here after a while. Honestly, I’m surprised it took them this long to find out about the divorce.”
John flinches, but doesn’t comment. Sherlock smiles ruefully; he’s not pleased with people speculating about his love life behind his back, but then he has never particularly cared about what people might think.
He thinks the problem with the tabloids particular handling of their relationship is the fact that not even John or Sherlock know for sure what their relationship is. The minute Sherlock had gotten off the plane, John had swept him off his feet and kissed him breathless, but afterwards-
Well.
Before either of them can add anything, a cry coming from the living room distracts them. Sherlock sighs, eying his half eaten eggs regretfully and starts heading towards his daughter’s crib, but John stops him by placing a hand on his shoulder gently. “I’ve got this. You finish your breakfast,” he says, before going to pick Joan up and Sherlock smiles as he watches the man he loves interacting with their daughter.
It’s not quite the life he dared to fantasize with when the plane had turned back but-
It’s good enough.
A part of him had been a bit confused by John’s decision of moving back to Baker Street. After all, all of Sherlock’s crazy efforts to keep Mary’s secret had been to ensure they both would be happy together. He had thought that without the threat of Mary’s past coming to light again, John and Mary would-
But it seems he was quite mistaken. And while he had been dreaming of John coming back to live with him in Baker Street, he had thought it was a baseless hope. Of course now John actually knew Sherlock loved him and he knew Joan was his, but-
Well. He honestly hadn’t expected things to turn this way. At best, he had thought John would drop by often enough to visit their daughter, but he hadn’t quite imagined him being this involved in Joan’s life.
He continues pacing in front of the window, attempting to get Joan to sleep. Mary is picking them up for their trip to the courthouse and Sherlock had wanted to leave Joan with Mrs. Hudson, since it’s very likely there’ll be a hoard of paparazzis just waiting to take their picture. As he told John, he’s not surprised by the turn of events, but he’s certainly not happy about it.
Joan, however, seems pretty dead set on not going to sleep.
He wonders if she takes that after himself.
He watches Mary parking in front of Speedy’s. She doesn’t get out of the car, probably just wanting to get this over with and Sherlock sighs, looking down at Joan who’s peering at him curiously. “Fine,” he mutters, going to grab his coat. “You can come. But when the noisy reporters surround us… well, I warned you.” In lieu of a response, Joan smiles at him and Sherlock can’t help smiling back. “John, Mary is here!” he calls, not taking his eyes off his daughter.
“Right,” John says, appearing out of nowhere. “I…” he hesitates, biting his lip softly and Sherlock frowns. “I… You don’t have to come.”
Sherlock stares at him for a beat, tilting his head to the side a little. “Don’t you want me to come?”
“I…” John hesitates once more, evidently torn over something. “It’s likely we’ll run into some paparazzis and so I was thinking maybe...” He gestures vaguely, not knowing how to finish that phrase.
There’s really no point on Sherlock joining John and Mary to sign their divorce papers (it’s probably a bit weird, actually), but right until this moment, it hadn’t honestly occurred him he could stay home.
“Alright,” Sherlock agrees, unsure of why it feels so important to go with John. “I’ll- I’ll wait here.”
John nods tightly, looking unconvinced and Sherlock frowns. John leans to press a quick kiss against Joan’s forehead and then he’s out of the flat, closing the front door with a little more strength than strictly necessary.
Sherlock moves back to the window, watching John go and if his chest feels a little bit tight as he watches the car drive away-
Well, surely there’s no need to read anything into that.
There’s a soft knock on the door, but it sounds very far. Sherlock blinks awake, trying to make sense of his surroundings. He has no memory of having fallen asleep, but in all truthness that’s not a strange occurrence. Looking after a newborn is much more tiring than he ever thought and it seems he’s constantly tired enough to fall asleep the minute he sits down.
Another knock and he grunts in acknowledgment, barely managing to keep his eyes open. The door opens and John slips in, bringing their daughter with him. Sherlock peers at the small clock on the bedside and he sighs.
“I’m sorry,” John murmurs, passing Joan to him. “I tried to get her back to sleep after changing her, but I think she’s hungry. Again.”
Sherlock hums. “Takes after her uncle,” he murmurs, lifting his shirt and arranging his daughter so she can nurse. “Keep up like that and you’ll be as round as him,” he chides playfully, but Joan isn’t paying attention, already nursing happily.
John chuckles, standing by the bed awkwardly. Sherlock rolls his eyes, rearranging himself so John can sit at his feet. His friend offers him a hesitant smile before taking a seat, looking around the room distractedly in an effort to not look directly at Sherlock feeding their daughter.
Which is all kind of ridiculous. “John, you’ve seen me in various states of undress. Do you really think I’d feel self concious about you seeing me feeding Joan?”
The other man sighs, running a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry. I just… we haven’t really discussed where we’re standing and I don’t want to make this… weird. ”
Well, that’s one way to call it.
Sherlock sighs, leaning back against the cushions in an attempt of getting more comfortable. By experience he knows this can take quite a bit and more often than not, his back ends up aching after a feeding session.
He and John sit in silence, surveying each other and attempting to look like they’re not doing that. Sherlock shifts a bit, feeling uncertain. As John said, they haven’t really discussed where are they standing and after John’s earlier trip to the courthouse…
“So, how did it go?” he asks, figuring he might as well say something. They’ve hurt each other a lot by keeping quiet and he thinks it’s high time they start actually talking to each other.
“There were quite a lot of so-called reporters,” John says after a while, as if he’s seriously considering his every word, afraid of saying the wrong thing. “It was uncomfortable. Got asked a lot of questions that… well, you can imagine.” He sighs, running his fingers through his hair. “Mary was- she seemed fine until the very end, when she snapped at a reporter. I’m still not sure if it was an honest reaction or if she was pretending; I never-” He stops himself, sighing once more. “It doesn’t matter. The point is we signed the papers. And she said- she mentioned Mycroft offered to put her in contact with some foreign agency.”
Sherlock huffs. “My brother needs to learn not to meddle in my business.”
John shrugs. “I suppose it doesn’t really matter. And it might be for the best. I don’t-” he interrupts himself once more, biting his lip. “It’s for the best.”
Sherlock wonders what his friend isn’t saying. “So, that’s it?”
“It seems so,” John agrees softly, one hand now resting over Sherlock’s knee and drawing circles over it, although Sherlock doubts the other has noticed.
For a while, they simply continue sitting in silence. It’s not uncomfortable, not exactly, but it’s obvious there’s much left unsaid. “John, I- I think it might be time for us to talk. Really talk, I mean.”
John nods thoughtfully. “Perhaps. I was…” He huffs, annoyed with himself. “I don’t know what I was waiting for.”
Neither does Sherlock, but it doesn’t matter any longer. They continue staring at each other in silence, both unsure of what they want to say and then John chuckles nervously. “We’re really bad at this,” he says, earning himself an amused huff from Sherlock. “But we need to start working on it. If this is going to work… we need to start talking.”
Sherlock nods thoughtfully. “What’s this , exactly?” he asks, not quite meeting John’s eyes and his friend offers him a small self depreciating smile.
“What do you want it to be, Sherlock?”
The younger man considers this for a while, eyes fixed on Joan now. Her eyelids are drooping and she’ll fall asleep soon enough, so he figures it’s time to switch sides. “I don’t know,” he answers slowly, once he has rearranged his daughter. “I- I told you before my past sexual experiences weren’t exactly… positive , so I don’t think… I’m not sure I want that.”
“That’s fine,” John assures him, probably sensing how nervous the subject is making Sherlock. “But do you… do you want us to try a romantic relationship? Or do you wish we simply remain friends?”
Sherlock considers this for a bit. “I- I’m not sure if we can have a romantic relationship without sex being a expectation.”
“Of course that’s- how can you-” John is angry, it’s easy to tell by the way his tone has raised and his wild gesturing, but Sherlock isn’t exactly sure why he’s so upset. “I mean,” John says, taking a deep breath to calm himself. “It’s perfectly fine if you don’t want to have sex, Sherlock. It’s not- it shouldn’t be an expectation in any relationship.”
Sherlock frowns. “You like sex. In all your previous relationships I noticed-”
“Yes, I do. But it doesn’t mean I can’t go without it,” John says, interrupting him while blushing furiously. “I don’t…” He bites his lip, unsure of what to say. “What I meant is, I want to be with you. And if you don’t… if sex is something you don’t want, then that’s fine.”
Sherlock frowns, still unconvinced. “But you do want to have a romantic relationship. With me.” John nods and Sherlock’s frown deepens. “What if I don’t want that? What if… what if I’d be more comfortable just remaining friends?”
It’s not what he wants, certainly, but it seems safer than agreeing to an actual relationship just to find out John is exactly as all the others before. He doesn’t think he could stomach that and while it might be unfair to be thinking of John like that, he has no guarantee he won’t start acting different towards him if they become something else.
“Then that’s fine too,” John says, although he looks pained and Sherlock nods, looking down at Joan once more.
“But if we’re just friends,” Sherlock says, forcing himself to voice his darkest fear. “Will you start… dating once more?” John stares at him, looking puzzled and Sherlock hurries to finish his thought. “It’s just… you might meet someone else. And I don’t… I don’t want to lose you again. I can’t lose you again.”
John looks pained now and he stands up, coming to sit right next to Sherlock, putting an arm around him and embracing him the best he can considering Sherlock still has their daughter in his arms. “I don’t think I can. I mean, I… I love you, Sherlock. And nothing’s going to change that, so no, I wouldn’t start dating again. I can’t- I can’t be with someone else now that I’ve admitted to myself you’ll always have my heart.”
Sherlock realizes he’s crying and allows himself to be comforted by John’s warmth next to him. “I do- I think I’d like to give it a try,” he murmurs finally, nuzzling the underside of John’s jaw the best he can. “But John I… I’m not sure how to go about it.”
His friend chuckles, pressing a quick kiss against the top of his head. “We’ll figure it out, love. We’ll figure it out together.”
That does sound nice.
“Do you… ummm… would you like to come back once you’ve put Joan back in her crib?”
John stares at Sherlock for a beat, trying to decipher what might be going through his mind. His friend does look nervous, but not in a bad way and so he supposes it might not be a bad idea. After all, despite the familiarity, his bedroom upstairs seems awfully… empty.
He nods, exiting the room gingerly. He puts Joan in her crib and makes sure she’s deeply asleep before turning around and entering Sherlock’s bedroom once more. His friend is still sitting, propped up by the sea of cushions and he smiles coyly at him, evidently nervous but willing.
John approaches the bed slowly, uncertain of what happens now. Just a few minutes ago they agreed they wanted to pursue a romantic relationship, but they haven’t quite discussed what that might involve. He sits right next to Sherlock at the bed’s edge and slowly leans down, giving Sherlock all the time in the world to push him away if he so wishes.
Luckily, that doesn’t seem to be what Sherlock wants.
Their lips meet hesitantly, just a brief brush at first and growing bolder as the minutes pass. John presses Sherlock against the pillows, coming to straddle him so they can keep kissing while on a more comfortable position.
All of John’s fantasies have nothing on the real thing.
Nor do his memories, to be honest, hazy as they are. Sherlock’s lips are soft and pliant beneath his and John smiles into the kiss, murmuring sweet endearments against his friend's lips, careful to keep his hands from wandering, despite how much he wants to touch every inch of the other man.
“John,” Sherlock murmurs suddenly, pushing him off very gently, almost unwillingly. “I think- I think that’s quite enough for now.”
John hurries to pull away, despite his by now very urgent arousal. He promised himself that if Sherlock decided he did want to be with him, he’d let him set whatever pace he’s comfortable with and just because they have already slept together once, he’s not about to press for something his friend isn’t ready to give (or maybe doesn’t even want.)
Sherlock watches him in silence, breathing heavily. It’s evident he wasn’t actually expecting him to stop and John’s heart aches for him, thinking of all those other people Sherlock had dated in the past. He’s determined to prove to his friend that he does love him and that he’s willing to let Sherlock set the pace.
“I-” his friend starts after a while, now toying with the hem of his shirt and John tries not to get distracted by the expanse of creamy skin now visible. It’s somehow different seeing Sherlock like this, in this particular context, despite the hundred times he has seen his friend in other states of undress. “I told you before I don’t…” he bites his lip, unsure and John frowns, growing worried. “I might have the body parts you usually prefer, but I’m not a woman, John. I don’t- I want to be very clear about that.”
John nods, wondering if he has done something to make Sherlock uncomfortable. He can’t think of something, but- “I know,” he says, gently caressing Sherlock’s cheek, startling him a bit. “I’m not quite sure… did I do something wrong?”
“No. Not yet,” Sherlock murmurs, biting his lip. “I don’t think I can’t quite explain it but I just… I just don’t want you to treat me differently, afterwards. I know last time… but then we were pretty drunk last time, so…” He looks away, chewing on his lip viciously now, hard enough to draw blood. “I just wanted to make that clear.”
John nods seriously, leaning in for a quick peck on Sherlock’s lips. “I’m going to need you to show me what exactly do you like and what you don’t want me to do. In bed, I mean, because outside- nothing’s going to change, Sherlock, I swear. You’re still the same man I’m madly in love with.”
Sherlock huffs out a laugh, not quite certain he believes him but wanting desperately to. “Alright. Back to kissing, then.”
John chuckles and then kisses him again.
It’s not going to be easy, he knows, but he’s going to do his best to make it work.
It’s definitely worth it.
Their domestic life isn’t idyllic, but it’s close enough to perfect. They argue and they bicker and Sherlock continues leaving body parts on places where there shouldn’t be body parts and they’re generally happy together.
All in all, Sherlock thinks their new arrangement is working well enough.
He and John haven’t done anything other than kissing after their late night conversation following John’s divorce, but things are good between them. In all truthness, being in a romantic relationship with John doesn’t seem to have changed things between them outside the bedroom and that’s, Sherlock thinks, all he could have wanted.
“It’s weird, don’t you think?” John muses out loud, while Sherlock is busy finishing an experiment, hoping against hope Joan won’t wake up right now. He adores her, really, but she has very bad timing when it comes to Sherlock’s experiments.
“Huh?” he asks, not really paying attention, sparing a quick glance at his watch. Any minute now-
“Moriarty,” John says, making Sherlock’s attention snap immediately back to him. “I mean- after his little stunt, there hasn’t been any further signs of him actually being alive. It’s all… I’m not complaining, of course, but the timing is… it’s weird, isn’t it?
To be honest, Sherlock hadn’t actually thought about it. Distracted as he’s been by his messy feelings for John, not to mention looking after Joan, he hadn’t actually spared one second to think about the man he saw shot himself on that fatidic day at Bart’s and that yet, despite all odds, is somehow still alive.
Before he can answer though, a cry coming from the living room informs him his daughter is awake and, most likely, hungry.
John sighs, eying the mess on the table and Sherlock smiles sheepishly. “You go, I’ll clean this up,” John says, sounding like he’d much rather not have to clean after Sherlock’s mess.
The consulting detective goes to pick up his daughter, murmuring soothing nonsense as he carries her towards his usual chair, all the while thinking about John’s words.
It is quite weird.
“What exactly are you accusing me of?” Mycroft asks, toying with a pen and so giving himself away: he is indeed somehow involved with Moriarty’s timely reappearance.
“What did you do?” Sherlock demands, attempting to look intimidating, but that’s hard to do when you’re holding an adorable baby in your arms.
“Nothing,” Mycroft answers, sounding honest and Sherlock frowns. “I had nothing to do with Moriarty’s reappearance.” Yes, the statement is true, but there’s something his brother isn’t telling him and Sherlock doesn’t like it one bit. “Try not to worry just yet, brother dear. In time, I’m sure we’ll get the answers we need.”
“I’d like to be prepared for what might come.”
Mycroft smiles tightly. “You and me both, brother dear. But I’m afraid I don’t have any answers for you on this particular subject and anyway… you don’t look a gift horse in the mouth, do you?”
Sherlock huffs.
No, he supposes you don’t.
It’s a cold morning and while there a few travelers sitting around, waiting for their flight, the particular door where they’re waiting is fairly empty. Mary looks around, surveying her surroundings carefully, looking for anything that might seem amiss, but nothing grabs her attention. There are a couple of agents standing guard, pretending to be tourists of course, but other than that, everything is perfectly calm.
She turns her attention back to John and Sherlock, who are standing in front of her. The first one is looking around awkwardly, working up his nerve to tell her something and Mary smiles fondly, thinking she’s definitely going to miss him. She feels a pang of longing somewhere inside her, but she quickly shakes it away.
How does the saying goes? Ah, yes: if you love someone, you have to let them go.
Funny how many things this seemingly ordinary man can make her feel and yet, she supposes John Watson is not ordinary at all: he can make his way into any heart, no matter how many barriers and defenses are around it.
She smiles at Sherlock, who looks a tad nervous. It’s evident he’s not quite sure what is he supposed to be doing or if he’s supposed to say anything at all: in all truth, there’s no actual love lost between him and Mary, although she supposes they have a certain… understanding of each other. She also thinks he might pity her, just a little and while unpleasant, the notion doesn’t anger her as it would coming from anyone else.
Passengers traveling towards Madrid, please board through gate 13.
Mary grabs her small traveling bag and offers her companions a last smile. “Well then. I guess this is the goodbye,” she says, aiming to keep her tone light but not quite succeeding. She’s sad and she thinks she might allow herself to shed a couple of tears, but that’ll be later. Right now she doesn’t want to give either man further reason to pity her.
“Mary,” John begins and then bites his lip, unsure of what he wants to say. Mary smiles encouragingly, her grip on her bag tightening. “I- We’re both at fault for things not working between us but I- I wanted to say I’m sorry.”
Mary huffs, a tad amused. “It would have never worked. But I- I’m sorry too.” She turns to Sherlock, hesitant. “I do wish you had consulted me before rushing into a senseless, suicidal mission, but I’m thankful for everything you did, Sherlock. I hope you understand that while I might not like you very much… it’s nothing personal.”
Sherlock smiles, a bit sadly perhaps. “Have a nice trip, Mary.”
She nods, turning around before she says something horribly sentimental. After the whole Magnussen incident, she warmed up a bit to Sherlock, but in all truth, she’s happy with the thought of never seeing him again. Not so happy about losing John too, but well-
You don’t always get what you want.
She looks over her shoulder at the happy couple that has already gotten lost in their private world and she bites her lip. She once thought she would never want a regular life but then she changed her mind. She wonders if she can have it or if she’s better off getting back to what she actually knows how to do.
Well, she supposes time will tell.
It turns out sharing a bed is quite a pleasant experience.
Of course last time they did this, both had been too drunk to really bask into the experience and while after their talk about their relationship and what they wanted there had been a lot of kissing and holding one another, they actually hadn’t sleep together, not even in the purest sense of the word, but tonight-
Tonight they had finished working on the first case they had taken since Joan was born and while they both were tired, they were giddy with adrenaline and not quite ready to let the other go, so they had stumbled into Sherlock’s bedroom, where sleep had eventually sneak upon them and so they had fallen asleep in each other's’ arms.
Now, in the dim light of the early morning, Sherlock allows himself to bask in the warmth from his companion and love of his life. He knows he should probably go to pick Joan up at Mrs. Hudson’s, since he knows his little girl doesn’t really sleep much and it’d only be polite to do so but-
Right now he can’t bring himself to move.
John tightens his arms around him unconsciously and Sherlock hums, curling closer to him. He had wanted this for so long and he had never actually thought he would get and now he can’t help wondering if it’s all a pleasant dream and so fearing he’ll wake up any minute now.
But then John opens his eyes, sleepy still, and offers him a bright, loving smile and Sherlock can’t help smiling back.
It’s not a dream, he realizes.
Which of course just makes the whole thing better.