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Sherlock turned his face toward him, resting his chin on his arm. His facial expression was solemn but beautiful in the dwindling sunlight, John thought.
“I’m sorry for dragging you into this. I didn’t realise how many memories it would pull back up to the surface.”
John had said yes when he had asked him to join him on the trip up north to a specific beach he remembered from his childhood. He had played pirates with Victor here when they had spent the summer together. Sherlock had said something cryptic about wanting to see if the water looked the same way it did when he was a child.
The wind was gently moving his curls and he pulled the blanket tighter around himself, glancing at the vast sea in front of him.
“It’s okay, I’m glad to be here with you. It’s a beautiful place. Did it help?”
“I don’t know. I feel strange.”
They looked at each other for a long moment, in comfortable silence.
The drive up had been silent and calm. They listened to some of John’s playlists and mostly focussed on the road and route. When they stopped for food and a bathroom Sherlock had lit a cigarette and John had let him.
“I set up the bed in the car, it looks like it will rain soon. Let’s go.”
John got up and extended his hand to Sherlock who took it to pull himself up. When John was halfway back to the car he turned and saw Sherlock had stood facing the water for another moment. He leaned against the side of the vehicle and watched him as he made his way back, his face looking tense and lost in thought. A very stark image against the dreary rain clouds encroaching behind him.
“Do you want to stay here or try to find that campsite we had looked up? Could use a shower.”
“We should go.”
So they got in the car and John drove, his eyes firmly set on the road, determined to make it before dark and Sherlock craning his neck to catch every last glimpse of the spot on the beach that he had occupied.
By the time they had made it to the campsite it was raining heavily and they rounded the beaten path only to discover the site abandoned and facilities torn down. Where once was a fenced in area with a cabin, the path ended in a field before the cliffs. A small gap between them led down to the water where waves hit the grass and soaked the earth.
They sat in silence for a bit and watched the rain crash onto the windshield. Finally, John took his phone and checked the map. They were in the middle of nowhere and it would be an hour to get back to civilisation. The rain also wasn’t going to stop any time soon.
“Oh christ, 'Storm Henry to hit coastline in late evening, gusts of up to 60 miles per hour expected'” John read from his phone. "I guess we should wait it out.”
He put down his phone and turned to look at Sherlock who nodded thoughtfully.
“Park behind that big hedge over there, it will make us less vulnerable.”
He did as he was told and then braved the storm to relieve himself. When he came back inside his hair, jacket and jeans were soaked halfway and Sherlock looked at him with the most curious expression. They took off their trousers and jackets and quietly moved around to the back of the car where John had positioned the air mattress and the blankets earlier.
Then they lay next to each other staring at the glass roof of the car that was being pelted with rain. Sherlock on the right and John on the left, a modest 20 centimetres of space separating them.
“Have I ever told you how much I love rain?”
“I’m sure you did.”
Neither of them said anything for a while not because of a lack of things to say but rather because they knew each other so well, so intimately, that they felt like anything they would share, the other already knew. They had felt like this before, like it was just them in a vast universe, separated from everyone else through a sea of rain drops.
Three years ago that equilibrium had been shattered irreversibly, or so he thought, but in this moment, John could feel it crawling back, could feel them crawling back towards each other.
There are so many things to say and yet, none at all, because they know both question and answer simultaneously. There is no more apology to make, and no more absolution to give. So when he slowly turns towards him, puts his hand on his shoulder and gently strokes his thumb along it, he means it.
He’s met with a face and a look that he’s never seen before. Eyes dark and alert and asking for something that he finally understands to give. He gently moves closer, and kisses him, right as the wind picks up and howls around the car, the rain crashes against the sides and flashes light up the car. They kiss and the moment is so perfect that it drags on for minutes.
When John pulls away Sherlock’s eyes are closed and his face is calm. John gently brushes his fingers through his hair, pushing the curls behind his ear. They are soft and slick and slightly cool from the early spring air. He pulls the blankets closer up around them and lays his arm around his partner’s shoulders.
Wordlessly and still shrouded in the blissful aftermath of their kiss, Sherlock shifts closer and finds himself buried in his arms where they fall asleep listening to the rain and they dream that it washes away all the pain and the heartbreak they have had to endure so that the earth they inhabit may be clean and viable for new life.