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John sat at the table, shoulders slumped, staring into space with the papers lying lifeless in his hands.
Sherlock was at a loss. How did one compensate for this? How did one console their significant other about an issue of paternity with someone they didn't even like anymore? For goodness' sake, she had tried to kill Sherlock, had tried to kill John so long ago. Her first sight of him had been through the scope of a sniper rifle.
On second thought, maybe this would be better for John, to not have such a personal connection to the woman who had tried to destroy them, or at least help.
"John," he tried to start a conversation but drifted off, trying to hang onto scattered thoughts.
His thoughts had often been scattered where the subject of John was, lately.
Sherlock shook his head. It didn't matter; John was worth all the scattered thoughts. Sherlock could live with an unclear and disorganized mind where John was concerned. He almost preferred it to the never ending maelstrom his thoughts were when John wasn't around as a focus anyway.
He cleared his throat nervously and John looked up expectantly.
"You should realize this and of course you can I mean it's obvious." He tried to state clearly. John looked at him through narrowed eyes.
"I cannot give you.....that," he indicated the paper.
Though apparently Mary couldn't either.
John had already started shaking his head.
"I know what you can give me," John said. He smiled tightly, but his eyes held a light in them, a kind light.
"There are many things in life John Watson's need," he said, getting up and moving toward Sherlock, leaving the papers to lie, forgotten, on the table.
He lovingly drew his hands down the lapels of Sherlock's dress shirt, that kindness and love in his eyes shining so brightly that Sherlock couldn't breathe for the shock of it.
"The most important of them being a Sherlock Holmes."
And he leaned in.