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John felt himself standing. A few heartbeats ago he was looking at the terror in Sherlock’s eyes, words unspoken heavy on his tongue as he felt himself vanish. Time had passed, he knew that much.
Slowly he blinked his eyes open. He stood in a dusty and abandoned Baker Street, one arm in his jacket, sun peeking through dirty windows.
He breathed slowly, taking in the debris of a life clearly interrupted.
Movement downstairs caught his attention. He turned on his heel and hurried downstairs, nearly running into an equally confused Mrs. Hudson.
“John,” she said wrapping him in a hug.
“Where are they?” John asked roughly, hugging her back, clinging to her as something familiar.
“I rang his mobile but the number was disconnected. Mycroft’s house I’d wager. I’ll drive.”
“How do you know Mycroft wasn’t...like us?”
“I didn’t see him, did you?” Asked Mrs. Hudson, leading the way.
“It’s all a bit… hazy.” John blinked under the London skies. Familiar in their cloudiness, even as the streets seemed nearly empty.
“We’ll sort it soon enough.” Mrs. Hudson unlocked her car, pleased to see there was still gas in it.
John got in, then held on as Mrs. Hudson tore into the street. He laughed despite everything, heart full of fear and hope. “If you kill us before we get there I will haunt you,” muttered John.
“Nonsense, we’ll be fine.” Mrs. Hudson took a corner at an excessive speed, dodging detritus and abandoned cars. John could see others stumbling onto the kerbs, flashes of people hugging loved ones and staring around them.
**
Rosie stood by the front window. Behind her the adults stood around the telly, watching the news. A car suddenly came screeching up the drive. “Dad?”
Sherlock was by her side in moments. He froze, as if not daring to believe, then rushed out the door, leaving it wide open behind him.
“John!” he called.
Sherlock and John hurried towards each other, only to pause. John looked shocked as Sherlock pulled him into a hug.
Mycroft and Greg moved up behind her. Mycroft leaned on his cane. “Go on, Rosie.”
Rosie looked up at them, then stepped through the open door. “Rosie?” asked John.
She nodded, rooted in place as he approached her. “You look like your mother,” he murmured, pulling her into a hug. Rosie looked at Sherlock, only relaxing into the hug when he nodded.
Sherlock reached out and put a comforting arm around her. Rosie stepped closer to him, swallowing hard as she looked John over.
John looked at her, nearly disbelieving, then back up at Sherlock.
“I put the kettle on,” said Greg from the doorway. “We should talk.”
“Come on,” said Sherlock quietly.
**
It had been five years, but to John it seemed like everyone had grown so much older. He kept looking at Rosie, as if trying to see the toddler he’d left behind in the girl before him now. She sipped her tea and watched him with wide blue eyes. Sherlock sat between her and John, hand lying open in offering.
Greg sat across the table, Mycroft by his side, white streaks in the official’s hair. Mrs. Hudson had gone off to check on some other people.
“So,” said John. “Five years?”
“Yes,” said Mycroft, glancing at his brother. “It made more sense for them to come here with Gregory and I with everything else going on. Half the world’s population vanishing at once caused a few issues.”
“More than a few,” muttered Greg, squeezing his hand.
“I didn’t know you two…”
Mycroft gave him a thin smile. “I am aware.”
John looked at Sherlock. He recognized the look in Sherlock’s eyes; it was similar to the one he’d had eight years before.
“Dad, I’m going to go to my room,” said Rosie suddenly, pushing back from the table and hurrying out of the kitchen.
John watched her go, swallowing hard. “She calls you Dad,” he said quietly.
Sherlock nodded. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly.
“Don’t be,” John looked at him. “I’m glad you were here for her.”
“Mycroft and Greg did help quite a bit,” murmured Sherlock, looking at his hands.
“We helped each other,” said Greg. “And she’s a good kid, John. You’ll just have to give her time.”
“She doesn’t remember me,” said John, looking in the direction she’d gone.
“We told her stories about you. She’s seen pictures. Of you and Mary,” said Sherlock.
“But not the same thing as me walking in the door,” said John.
Mycroft’s mobile alerted and his eyes went wide. “I need to go,” he said, getting to his feet and grabbing his cane. To John’s complete shock he leaned down and gave Greg a quick kiss. “Don’t wait up.”
Greg smiled at him. “Don’t be gone all night.”
Mycroft nodded and made his way out.
John closed his mouth as Greg turned back around to face him. “A lot of things changed,” said Greg quietly.
“You are also wondering about the cane and the limp,” said Sherlock. “Two years ago someone tried to assassinate him.”
“I’d ask why, but I’m sure that’s a stupid question,” said John.
“He is the British government,” said Greg, looking towards the sound of the front door closing. “Someone had to be. Him and the Queen did good work.”
“I suppose it’s good she survived,” said John.
“Kate, actually,” said Greg. “Don’t worry, we’ll get you caught up on current events.”
John scrubbed his face in his hands. “Jesus. Yes, I’m going to need a crash course.”
“You and a lot of other people,” said Greg sympathetically.
**
Rosie sat in her room playing with her dolls. She could hear them talking downstairs and got up to turn on some music. She glanced at the pictures on her dresser: a man and a woman on their wedding day. A christening. Sitting on the knee of the man downstairs.
Dad had missed John, she knew that. They’d gone to the memorial a few times and of course, Dad had told her stories about their adventures and read John’s blog entries to her. But she didn’t know who John was, not really, not outside of stories and pictures.
There was a knock on the door and she looked up as Uncle Greg stepped into the room. “How you doing, kiddo?” he asked, coming over and sitting on the floor next to her.
Rosie scooted closer and tucked herself against his side. “Do I have to leave?”
“Well that’s up to Sherlock and John, but no, I think you’re going to stay here, at least for a while longer.” Greg put an arm around her. “I know it’ll take time, for both of you.”
“Would you tell me a story?” Rosie asked.
“Any one in particular?” asked Greg.
“Tell me the one about the night they met?” she asked.
Greg smiled softly, sadly and kissed the top of Rosie’s head before beginning the familiar tale.
**
In the kitchen, John watched Sherlock washing up their mugs in the sink.
Sherlock put the mugs in the drainer and turning around, leaning on the counter. “John.”
John looked up at him, caught by the same intelligent pale eyes that had held him from the first.
Sherlock hesitated. “I have had a great deal of time to think things over. I… understand now, or at least I understand better.”
John’s heart skipped. “What are you saying?”
“I love you,” said Sherlock.
John froze, feeling his world crashing around his ears for the second time that day.
Sherlock studied his face, then crossed to the table, clutching the back of a chair as if restraining himself from moving closer.
John slowly got to his feet.
“It’s always been you,” said Sherlock, panic at the edges of his eyes, as if he was afraid John was going to walk out, as if John would vanish again.
“I know,” said John, coming around the table and pulling him into a kiss.
It was a desperate kiss, a kiss born of a decade of longing, of loss and fear. Of hope. They clung to one another until it was hard to tell where one ended and the other began.
A small noise made them break apart and turn.
Rosie stood in the hall, watching them.
Rosie looked at the two of them for a very long moment. Finally, hesitating, she moved forward and reached out for her dad’s hand, then John’s. “Are we going to be a family?” she asked.
“We already are.”