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“Sherlock.” John lay sprawled against the armchair, legs splayed and hand pressed against his head in a vain attempt to halt a persistent headache.
“Hmmmmm?”
“You know I love you, right?” The room swam despite attempts at focusing his eyeballs on the man in front of him. Yet, he had to say this. This one alcohol-induced window he had was precious, and fleeting.
“Yep.” He watched as Sherlock attempted to take another sip of his whiskey while missing his mouth entirely. “I-I know.”
“You don't understand,” John persisted. He just had to make him understand. “I love you like a... like I want you to... Like... I want to live with you.”
“We already lived together,” Sherlock rightfully pointed out, swaying dubiously in his seat.
“But, if I – I mean if we, now, if we lived together now, I wouldn't need anyone else. Ever.” John, with great effort, leaned forward in his seat and braced his hands against his knees to keep from falling onto the carpet. “I didn't know this... -hiccup- before you died. Now I know.”
Sherlock scrunched his eyebrows at him, seemingly unconvinced. “You would miss your girlf.. girlfriends.”
“No, I wouldn't.”
“But you like women.” Sherlock sighed, as if preparing himself to explain a very basic concept to a very stupid person. “John, you would miss the physical thingies with the women. And other thingies with the women. I know you.”
“Yeah not as well as you know ash, apparently.”
“I know ash!”
“Shhhh.” John took a hold of both of Sherlock's wrists in his hands. “Hey.” He focused on the blue eyes in front of him, trying very hard to hold his gaze. “I'm not gay. Okay?”
“Okay.”
“But I'm saying that... I need only you.” Now John leaned forward enough that their foreheads collided, the two men using one another to keep from pitching forward. “I don't care about an-any of it.”
“I'm not an expert on human ermmmm needs...” Sherlock admitted. “But... I feel like you would eventually require physical intimacy. With a woman.”
“You mean ssssex?” And of course John chose this moment to burp very, very loudly. Sherlock giggled. “I know. I know what you mean.” John removed himself from Sherlock's forehead and instead clumsily cupped his friend's face between his palms. “I would learn to be attracted to you,” he said, voice suddenly very serious despite the alcohol still coursing happily through his veins. “I would learn.”
Sherlock's eyes widened, suddenly filled with a sadness that squeezed at John's heart and threatened to tear it entirely out of his chest. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” John said, not missing a beat. “Of course. Of course.”
“But I'm not a wom-”
“That's not how it works,” John interjected. “It's about the person inside, yeah? The physical body is just a random outcome. It's all just random.” And then John inhaled sharply, startling himself with his own revelation. Where had this come from? And, more tragically, where was all of this before Sherlock had jumped off the roof two years ago?
“I...” Sherlock whispered, nothing more coming out. He tenderly cupped John's face in his hands, now both of them holding onto one another.
“I just love you.” A sob escaped John's lips, and suddenly he was mourning the life they could have had... If only, if only...
Sherlock kissed him first, lips timid and soft. John's eyes slid shut as he kissed back, so gently, and he was so in love, and it hurt so much.
“I love you,” Sherlock's breath quivered against his lips. “I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.”
“I'm sorry too.” Tears escaped John's eyes, and he moved his lips along Sherlock's cheek, his jaw, his neck. “It's all wrong now.” Sherlock moaned, and John continued to kiss him, harder.
There should have been a lifetime of these kisses. An entire lifetime. But there was only this one night, and John kissed Sherlock with his lips and his soul, wondering how everything had turned out the way it did, how the love of his life was not his to keep.
Sherlock kissed him back, and neither man now bothered with the tears rolling down their faces.