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Sherlock
Sherlock slowly woke up on his couch, wasted from the night before. He groaned and his mind spun.
Maybe it was too much this time. Maybe the double dose would kill him. He didn't care. He had nothing to live for anymore.
Sherlock Holmes had injected himself, hoping it would dull his aching heart. He'd been doing this for a while now, but it never worked. The painful reality of his loneliness always came back to haunt him.
He was alone, empty, and drowning in his own mind.
Holmes sat up, his mind spinning. The walls of the room melted into each other, creating a kaleidoscope of color. He groaned again and flopped back down. Sherlock needed to think.
To think about John.
Sherlock knew one thing. He was empty without John Watson. He knew it didn't matter though, because John still blamed him for causing Mary’s death.
Or so Sherlock thought.
He put his head in his hands.
“God, John. It's been three years. Please. I've tried to talk to you, but you always push me away, and I don't know why…”
Sherlock mumbled to himself.
It was true. The brilliant man was confused. He didn't understand why John was still upset with Sherlock.
The drugs made his brain hurt, so he couldn't concentrate. They meddled with his mind so even he didn't know what was real and what wasn't.
Sherlock was tired of being confused. He hated being confused.
Even though the haze of his fogged head, he managed to think of a solution.
Sherlock decided that tonight, after the substance wore off, he would enter his Mind Palace, and not leave until he found the answers he was looking for.
With that last thought, his eyes closed again, and he fell into the sweet release of sleep.
Sherlock Holmes knew one thing; he was tired of living without John Watson.
John
“Hey, hey, don't cry. Daddy's coming.”
John softly spoke to Rosie, his baby daughter, trying to calm her.
John had been woken up by Rosie's screams in the middle of the night. He had forced himself to walk over to the crib.
He was tired, so each step felt like lead was dragging him down. He hadn't been sleeping well. In fact, he often had nightmares.
Nightmares about Sherlock.
In these dreams, Sherlock Holmes would be trying to talk to John, desperately wanting to explain something, but he didn't listen. He kept pushing him away.
This dream happened over and over again, until a dream of Sherlock's death broke the cycle.
John had realized in horror many months ago that this was happening in real life. Sherlock had knocked on the door to John's flat, and tried to talk to him, but John refused to acknowledge anything he said.
He just kept pushing him away, and even he didn't know why.
John Watson didn't want Sherlock to die, but for some reason, he couldn't bring himself to talk to him. He was over Mary's death. He forgave Sherlock, but no matter how hard he tried, he could not be reminded of the brilliant detective without breaking down.
After pulling himself into Rosie's room, John carefully lifted his daughter out of the small bed, stroking her.
“Daddy, I had nightmares! I'm scared…”
Rosie wailed.
“Shhh. It's okay. Daddy's here. He has been having nightmares too.”
He said, as he kissed the top of her head.
John put one arm under the toddler, and the other on her head, unsuccessfully attempting to console Rosie. She started to cry harder, wailing into poor John's ear.
He thought for a moment, then got an idea that might have just saved him from Rosie's tantrum.
“Hey, Rosie. I'm going to go find your lamb stuffed-animal. Would you like that?”
She stopped crying for a moment and looked up at her father.
“Yes pwease.”
Sherlock
It has been four and a half days since he had entered his Mind Palace. Sherlock Holmes refused to eat, drink, or sleep. He sat on the floor of his messy flat, with his legs crossed and eyes closed. To an observer, it would seem that Sherlock was dead in the upright position, but Ms. Hudson knew.
She had been trying her very hardest to make sure Sherlock didn't die while in this state. She brought him food, though he never ate it.
It was in the early morning when Sherlock opened his eyes and bounced up, startling a unsuspecting Ms. Hudson.
“I've got it! I understand now!”
The detective exclaimed as he pushed himself off the floor.
Ms. Hudson fell and looked up at Sherlock in absolute shock.
“Oh my goodness! Understand what?! Oh and there's tea on the table, Sherlock dear.”
Holmes looked casually down at the fallen woman.
“Oh, sorry Ms. Hudson. Didn't see you there.”
He said as he waved at her. He grinned.
The tired landlady got up, brushed herself off, and took Sherlock's hand.
“I was so wor-”
Sherlock Holmes’ impatient and excited voice cut through the air like a sharp blade.
“I understand everything now! All the little hints that John has given. About my emotions too! Isn't this great?”
With that, Holmes pulled away from Ms.Hudson, grabbed his coat, and briskly walked out the door pausing only to yell back at a miffed Ms. Hudson.
“I have to find John, and tell him I'll set him apart!”
Sherlock did, in fact, understand everything. In his Mind Palace, Sherlock had replayed John and his most important memories over, and over. He noticed a pattern. In fact, he felt it too.
In these moments John had looked at him with a glint in his eyes, but it was so miniscule that only Sherlock Holmes could deduce it. He also noticed an occasional lasting touch that seemed just a little too intimate for friends.
There were many small hints and clues that lead the detective to the truth about John's heart.
While in his Mind Palace trying to figure out John, Sherlock discovered something about himself too. He was in love. Sherlock was never good with emotions, so he only realized this when he saw himself act in such a loving, caring way towards John. He also noticed that he never denied the allegations of a romantic relationship from others.
As brilliant as the detective was, he never would have known that the pains in his heart were aches of love.
Only now has Sherlock realized that he cannot live without John Watson.
John
John walked down the stairs that led into his basement. He knew that if the promised stuffed-animal was anywhere, it would be here.
“I really hope this bloody toy is down here,”
He muttered to himself, exhausted.
“If it isn't, then neither Rosie or I will be sleeping tonight.”
When he got to the bottom of the stairs, he looked around, deciding what storage box to start on.
He grabbed the closest one that was labeled:
‘Old Stuff, 3 Years’
He opened it and began to search for Rosie's precious toy, hoping he would find it soon.
He had gone through three boxes with no sign of the lamb. He was just about to give up and accept the fact that he might not be getting any sleep, when he saw something lying at the bottom of a bin that caused him to freeze.
It was a photo with a simple wooden frame. It depicted Sherlock and John, sitting at the counter at Speedy's cafe. It seemed as though Sherlock had just cracked a joke, because both men were laughing so hard that even the other customers in the background gave them looks.
He grabbed the picture and looked at it closer, brushing his finger forlornly against the frame.
John noticed how in the photo, he was smiling and looking at Sherlock with an affection that was hard to describe.
John gripped the photo tighter.
“Sherlock…”
He whispered.
A pang hit John Watson. He swallowed hard, trying to forget, but it was too late. The picture had stirred a feeling that John had buried deep inside him.
All of the emotions that John had bottled up came rushing forth once again, causing him to inhale sharply.
During the time when John and Sherlock were still close, John had realized that he was in love with Sherlock. At first when he came to this conclusion, he was jarred.
After John came to terms and accepted his love, he felt it would cause his and Sherlock’s worlds to crumble, so he suppressed it. He tried to convince himself that ‘he was not gay’. Eventually it worked, and he forgot about it for a while. Although sometimes, John would wake up in a cold sweat, dreaming about how he missed his chance to tell the detective how he felt.
This was the first time in a long time that John had remembered about all of that pent up affection.
After glancing at the photo for one last second, he dropped it, and with a crash, it shattered on the ground.
Tears filled his eyes as he realized that he might never be able to tell Sherlock about the way he felt.
“I'm so sorry. I thought we'd be happier this way…”
He muttered, sobs racking his body.
John kneeled on the ground and cried for hours, his hands covering his face. Somehow it felt good to let all of that out, so he continued, not caring anymore about suppressing it.
Eventually, he started to calm. He picked himself up off the floor of the basement.
As he walked upstairs, John remembered why he went down in the first place.
“Rosie!”
He shouted as he entered her room, hoping she would be okay.
In fact, she was okay. Ironically, Rosie was fast asleep in her crib, even without the lamb stuffed animal.
John sighed.
He approached the bed.
“Well, good night sweetheart.”
He whispered as he kissed the top of her head.
John dragged himself to his own bed and layed down, exhausted. He quickly closed his eyes, thinking about Sherlock.
He wasn't worried though. In fact, he felt the most at peace that he ever had in years. This was because John Watson had come to a conclusion.
He was tired of closing out his feelings for the detective. John was tired of trying not to care about him. He wanted to tell him how he felt.
He had lived too long without Sherlock Holmes.
Sherlock
Sherlock rushed into the busy streets of London, winding in between the morning foot traffic.
He glanced around at the road.
“Taxi!”
He waved his arms, trying to alert a nearby cab.
Sherlock didn't have to wait long until one pulled up beside him.
He got in the car and quickly told the driver John's address.
Sherlock was trembling with excitement. He could barely sit still. He finally understood his own emotions and John's as well. For once in his life, he felt complete.
Sherlock just hoped that all of the hints he deduced from John were correct.
John
He woke up feeling the most rested he had been in weeks. He sighed and he quickly pulled on his clothes and brushed his teeth.
John Watson had something very important to do. He was going to tell Sherlock everything. He didn't care. He couldn't hide it anymore.
The blogger walked downstairs and started to make toast.
“Damn.”
He muttered, as smoke poured from the toaster. John was so preoccupied that he had burned it.
His mind whirled. He finally had the courage to tell the detective, but he didn't know what he was going to say!
After a few moments of hard thinking, he suddenly stopped.
“Bloody hell, I'll just say how I feel. I don't need to plan everything.”
He said, throwing his hands in the air.
Finally, he was ready.
John sighed and took a step towards the door. He put his hand on the knob, ready to turn it, and he was just about to when the sound of knocking stopped him in his tracks.
John inhaled sharply. Could it be? Could it really be Sherlock? He pulled his hand away from the door, hesitating. If this was Sherlock, why had he come? Maybe he was going to tell John that he didn't want to see him anymore. Or perhaps is wasn't Sherlock at all, and John was overthinking.
After a moment he put his hand on the door knob again, took a deep breath, and opened it wide.
Little did he know that standing right behind the opening door, was the man of his obsession and love, ready to fall for John's heart.
+ Epilogue +
It had been six months since their little confession.
John had explained to the detective how he didn't realize it before, but he loved him with all his heart. He said he was sorry that he hadn't noticed sooner, and made him go through all of that loneliness. John had never felt so vulnerable before.
Sherlock had also explained how he didn't notice all of the small signs John was giving him.
Sherlock Holmes was just doing what he was best at; guessing at numbers and figures, pulling the puzzles apart. But he couldn't see the most important puzzle that was right in front of him. The affection of his and John's heart.
Sherlock told John how he loved him, even though he himself didn't realize it before.
The fact was that Sherlock wasn't very good with emotions or feelings, and he really could not identify the affection he had for his best friend.
After they both spoke, John couldn't take it anymore and he collapsed into the detective's arms, sobbing.
“I'm so sorry, Sherlock. I- I love you.”
He had spoken, Sherlock stroking his back gently.
Then, Sherlock tilting John's face towards his, he leaned down and pressed his lips against John's.
But six months later, they had healed together from the traumatic three years of loneliness and emptiness. In fact, Sherlock and John were together, happy, and taking care of tiny Roise.
+++++++++
Sherlock and John sat on a bench at the park, gazing around at the beautiful landscape. Flowers were in full bloom, and Sherlock noticed how they looked like confetti on the ground. They could hear birds chirping, and the cars of the busy London streets.
The doctor moved his hand over Sherlock's, clutching it gently. He gazed at the detective, and he smiled.
“Thanks for taking me on this little date, love.”
He spoke.
Sherlock shifted and gave John a quick peck on the cheek.
“Of course! I thought you'd like the park, and because you like the flowers and thing-”
John leaned in and fully kissed Sherlock on the lips this time, cutting him off.
The detective cupped John's face in his hands.
A moment passed before they pulled away.
“What'd you do that for?”
Sherlock muttered, pretending to be annoyed, although he was actually quite excited.
“You get so cute when you talk too much.”
John said, and stood up pulling Sherlock up with him.
The consulting detective blushed and pulled his coat tighter against the sharp spring air.
“We better get going. Roise needs to eat, and I'm pretty sure Molly would hate me if she had to do that. Roise has some pretty special eating habits.”
John spoke.
The detective laughed.
John and Sherlock started down the gravel path, holding hands. They had n
ever felt this happy in their lives.
John Watson loved Sherlock more than anything, and Sherlock loved John just the same. Nothing could break their devotion towards each other.
As they walked, they glanced at each other and smiled.
Now that they were together, John and Sherlock felt complete.