Chapter Text
If he had been given a choice, Sherlock would have skipped the party following the Coronation ceremony. As things stand however, he’s forced to attend and put on a smile for everyone’s sakes.
He really doesn’t want anyone’s pity and so he tries not to let his darker thoughts to show, but it’s difficult. Everyone seem to be doing just fine, everyone seems so over it and yet he can’t-
But tonight is not the night to dwell on that. So instead he talks and smiles and jokes and dances and prays nobody notices his inner misery. The small Crown resting on his head feels too heavy and he wants to throw it away with all his might, but he keeps reminding himself it could be so much worse.
All in all, things turned out better than he expected and so he doesn’t get to complain.
Deep inside however-
Well, it doesn’t matter, does it?
In John’s arms, the world seems so much more bearable. He realizes however, that that’s not the answer to all his troubles: there’s a long way to recovery and he’s not entirely sure he wants to walk it.
Now that Magnussen has been dealt with, that John is back and that Abigail is safe, he really doesn’t feel like he has a reason to push forward. He wants to, because he feels like he has earned his right to be happy but sometimes-
He catches sight of Mycroft and Lestrade leaving and something that feels like jealousy burns bright in his chest. It’s unfair to begrudge his brother his happiness of course, but why doesn’t he get to have that too?
John squeezes his hand gently, dragging his attention back to him and he can tell the doctor knows what he’s thinking. The thing he has always loved the most about John is how he always seems to know what he’s thinking and never judges him for it.
God, he has missed him.
“I don’t know how I managed without you” he whispers softly, pressing himself closer to the older male. “I don’t know if I could do it again.”
“You won’t have to” John promises, pressing a quick kiss against his cheek. “Never again.”
Oh, if only he could believe that-
He doesn’t notice when it happens, too entertained with Molly’s tale. Everyone is laughing around him and the good cheer is contagious, despite what’s going on in his inside, so he allows himself to get lost in the story and laughs along, ignoring most of what’s happening around him.
He’s vaguely aware of picking Abigail up and of the girl messing with his curls, but it’s not until he hears John’s soft oh that he realizes his daughter has taken his Crown from him and has placed it on top of her own curls.
Sherlock’s breath catches as his daughter smiles brightly at him. Despite all her brilliance, she’s still just a child, just a girl playing dress up, completely unaware of the responsibilities the Crown on her head implies and yet-
“Papa?” she asks softly, sensing there’s something wrong and Sherlock bites the inside of his cheek to distract himself from the anxiety he’s feeling.
His daughter can’t go through the hell he has gone through, he won’t allow that and yet- didn’t he tell Mycroft-? “You look lovely, sweetheart” he whispers brokenly and Abigail eyes him funnily, obviously not fooled one bit. Molly, bless her heart, has noticed his uncomfortableness and hurries to take the girl from him and distract her with an exaggerated retell of her previous story.
Suddenly it’s hard to breath and someone is dragging him out of the ballroom, but he’s barely aware of that. He follows along, panicking a bit, remembering all too well the last time someone manhandled him, but the grip on his arm is gentle, not one bit threatening and yet-
He pulls away, pressing his back against the wall and breathing hard. John stands in front of him, staring at him worriedly and Sherlock growls angrily. He doesn’t want anyone pitying him, least of all John and-
They stand in silence for a long while, neither moving and Sherlock trying to get himself under control. He’s breathing hard and his chest aches unpleasantly; he hugs himself, suddenly feeling very alone and very scared.
“Maybe we should retire” John suggests gently, hesitating to touch him and Sherlock hates it- he hates it so much that things can’t go back to what they were before this whole nightmare began, but-
“Yes please” he whispers and John places a hand on his waist, careful not to put much pressure on his touch. He guides him towards the bedroom and Sherlock forces himself to keep taking deep breaths so he won’t panic again.
Once inside the room, John makes him sit on the bed and quickly checks his pulse. He seems more worried now and that angers the Prince, because this isn’t how it’s supposed to go, things had been going fine and- and-
“Sherlock” John says, lightly grabbing his wrists, drawing small circles over his pulse point. “What’s wrong?”
He finds he really doesn’t want to talk about that, he wants to ignore all his troubles for the time being. It’s been a long day (or week, or month, or year) and he just wants-
He pulls John towards him, taking the older male by surprise and making him almost fall on top of him. Now this… this he can work with.
He starts with a kiss, soft and gentle, more loving than anything else. John hums contently, looking a tad unsure, but for now willing to go with it. The Prince smiles, carefully moving towards the middle of the bed, kissing his partner all the while.
“Are you sure-?” John begins, uncertain, but Sherlock pulls him into another kiss, this one more heated. They haven’t done anything since their reunion, too many limitations between them and now- He doesn’t need to talk right now, he needs- he needs-
John’s body of top of his is a comforting weight, nothing like what he had gotten used to. The blond kisses him enthusiastically, without much finesse, just as messily as they did the first time around, almost with the same desperation. Their situation has changed since then and yet, it has the same hopelessness edge of their last time.
They kiss for what feels like a lifetime, Sherlock’s previous anxiety taking the back of his mind. He’s not completely relaxed, he feels a bit on edge and yet, he knows he wants this. In fact, he might need this. He needs to be reminded of what it’s like to be loved, to be taken care of, to-
His gagging reflex hits then, the scent of the Alpha’s arousal almost overwhelming. It’s simple biology, his body reacting to a strange Alpha, but-
John seems to be having the same difficulty, judging by how quickly he pulls away. Sherlock’s scent has changed permanently, it’s supposed to keep other Alphas away. They both are breathing hard, trying not to be sick all over themselves, their arousal quickly vanishing.
The Prince rolls on his side, tears streaming down his cheeks. It seems that even this will be denied to him and isn’t that the most unfair thing in the world? He draws his knees close, hugging them to himself, feeling despondent and frustrated.
John stands by the edge of the bed, looking at him with obvious worry. “Just leave” the younger male pleads, his voice a broken murmur. “It’s fine.”
The doctor sighs, sitting down once more and lightly placing a hand over Sherlock’s shoulder. “It’s a natural reaction, Sherlock. You can hardly-”
“It’s not fair!” the Prince exclaims finally, sitting up and letting all of his frustration and anger show. “It’s not fair that after everything- after everything-!”
John takes him in his arms and starts humming softly. It’s not exactly ideal, because his stupid body craves comfort from someone else but eventually he does relax, his anger fading a bit. “It’s going to be alright” John promises, pressing a kiss against the top of his head. “We’re together now and that’s what matters.”
That might be true but he still wishes-
Well, it doesn’t really matter, does it?