Work Text:
A dirty blonde man was sat rubbing his face slowly. It had been months now, nearly a year actually, and he was still crying over it; granted less than when it had happened. He’d lost a friend, and never did he think he’d cry for a death of a friend again. He couldn’t bear it any longer. He licked his lips and took a deep and shaky breath. He’d moved out of his previous residence, and into the flat of 221C Baker Street. He hadn’t been able to handle the amount of memories, and anxiety that the entirety of the flat 221B had given him, and so he’d moved to the flat downstairs. He hadn’t moved very far, because at that particular time he could never have dreamed to leave Mrs. Hudson.
He stood up and found himself wandering into the kitchen to make himself a cup of tea and take his anti-depressants. He’d only started taking them because Mrs. Hudson said, “I can’t stand to hear you sniffling, and tossing at night, deary. You should get out more, it would help, you know.” She had told him so matter of factly, and he couldn’t take causing her any grief, so instead of getting out as suggested he’d began taking his pills. He had been finishing making his pot when he realized they were out of sugar. Months ago this wouldn’t have happened, he would have been more observant and ran to get some before they’d ran out. He cursed under his breath and sighed at the thought of leaving for something so menial. He clenched his jaw and shut his eyes before deciding he needed to get it, he had to get out to the store and get it for his sanity and to feel an accomplishment.
So then he heaved a breath and put on his jacket before leaving the flat. It was dreary outside, which was all fine and good, he couldn’t stand it being too bright anymore having grown accustomed to London’s ‘gross’ weather. He headed towards the store, and glanced about, unsure of where to go, Mrs. Hudson had been providing him with what little food he ate. In fact, Mrs. Hudson had been his savior these past months. He stepped around the store, and rubbed the side of his stubbly face with a hand. “Okay.” He mumbled shutting his eyes again, trying to think properly his feet still wandering forward, what had he come here for? Milk? No. Tea grounds? No. Sugar? Y- “OH!” He yelped, his heart skipping a beat in fright, as he bumped into someone. He glanced up at the fairly tall man in front of him, seemingly just as scared as him.
“Watson?” The taller man asked with wide eyes, and a short twitch of a smile.
“Moran?” The shorter one asked curiously, as he looked the other over. “Sebastian.” He lightened, a smile plastered onto his features now as he recognised him.
“How’ve you been, Watson??” Moran asked, he seemed tired, and worn out. There was something that came with being so depressed, and anxious, it was the ability to know when others were suffering as well.
“Please call me John. And shite, actually.” John answered with a short humourless laugh. “What about you?” He asks, his lips rolling in and his eyebrows raising in faux curiosity.
“Same as you.” He paused, glancing down the aisle. “It’d be good to catch up, John. Feel shitty over a cuppa together, yeah?” Moran offered and John nodded. He hadn’t any intention of catching up really, he could hardly handle this little run in, but he wasn’t going to be rude.
“You’re right it would be.” He paused, “I have to go get this sugar before I forget about it again. I’m sorry for running into you.” John apologized and the other waved a hand.
“Don’t think anything about it, I’ll get a hold o’ you sometime.” He gave a gentle pat to John’s shoulder as he passed on by. “See ya later, John.”
“Yes, see you later, Moran.” John reiterated and looked over his shoulder at the man as he went on. He didn’t have his number, and so he assumed there was a mutual agreement that they, in fact, wouldn’t be meeting up to chat. Which John hadn’t any problems with.
“Sugar.” He reminded himself, and he walked on to aisle 6 to retrieve the item he’d come for.
It was two weeks later when John got a phone call, moving to the phone he rubbed his temple, and took a small handful of pills as he went.
“Hello?” He answered rather gloomily, he had just had another breakdown and he had a splitting headache. On the other end of the phone he heard someone move, seemingly to get comfortable where they were sitting.
“John!” Said a slightly familiar voice it was a voice that was attempting to sound friendly and excited, though was really perhaps not so enthusiastic as it seemed. Who could this be? “It’s Moran, Sebastian Moran. I told you I’d get a hold of you sometime.”
Oh, right, Sebastian Moran. Dishonorable discharged ex-colonel, Sebastian Moran. Someone who risked his life a few times before to save John’s and vice versa. They had been okay mates in the military, but when Sebastian got himself discharged John hadn’t thought about him ever again, that is until a few weeks ago. Here was Sebastian, a man who John hadn’t expected to seriously catch up with him, but was now on the phone.
“Right. Well, now’s not a good time.” John said, wiping at a few tears that had streaked his face minutes before, he sniffed softly away from the receiver.
“Oh, okay. I understand. I wasn’t feeling too great either, was sifting through old phone records of my boss. He’s been gone all of nearly a year-”
“Honestly, I have to go.” John insisted, with a frown, and before he burst into another sob, he set the phone down; hanging up. Just a year. Nearly a year. Perhaps it was rude to hang up on him like so, but Moran was not exactly a long term friend, and there was no reason to spill himself to such a man at the moment.
Over the course of the week though, John thought heavily about it. Maybe he could have thought of a better way to handle it. Maybe he could use someone other than his goldfish, Mary, to talk to. Someone he could drink tea with and talk with, considering he’d stopped attending his therapy sessions.
It was at the end of the next week when the phone rang again, going to voicemail seeing as John couldn’t bother himself to get out of bed for such a thing. At the beep he heard a sigh and someone began speaking. He got up to answer the phone, he could hardly hear what was being said and he was hoping it was Moran so he could apologise and stop thinking about it, possibly get it off his conscience. But when he picked up the receiver he frowned at hearing the telemarketer on the other end and set the phone back down.
A month passed, John forgot about Sebastian. Two months past, he ran out of sugar again, having bought a smaller amount than he had previously. This time the walk there and through the store went unhitched. The walk home on the other hand had been a bit more troublesome, John had seen someone tall and with dark curls wearing a scarf and a rather odd overcoat. In his eyes, from the rear, this man must have been Sherlock Holmes. But upon tapping the man’s shoulder for further inspection, it was not.
John soon joined a small talk group, granted he only attended two meetings. In that second meeting he was only there to make sure he wasn’t quitting for no reason. He sat down in a chair in the circle, hands on his knees as he glanced around at all the unfamiliar faces. He felt a pang of anxiety and uncomfortableness as he did so. He couldn’t do this, no he could not. This was all so much change and he just wanted to spend his days pretending he was okay and working at the clinic.
He put his head in his hands and stared at the ground as the session began. The circle was introduced and the concept of it was explained, nothing unusual. John was paying hardly any attention. But his attention was piqued when a deep, and fakely amused voice began speaking up from his seat beside John.
“I’m Sebastian Moran, and I don’t believe in these circle things, but I decided I should come. A friend of mine from back in the day attended the last session and since he came back, I figured it was useful.” He gave a chuckle, and it contained no humour. John looked up and to his left. He sat up frowning at the other, before turning his attention to the ceiling, listening to him for a few moments, then to the other’s vaguely. He refused to share. As soon as the session was over he walked quickly out, his coat over his arm for he knew that Sebastian would be out and obviously attempt to make conversation. He was proven right when a voice was calling his name.
“John, John!” Sebastian called, though John ignored him and turned a deaf ear to the older man. The taller of the two seemed to give up and John slowed his pace, eventually he reached his flat with an insistent frown. He set his coat over the back of the couch as he walked in, and went to the kitchen to put on a pot.
“John.” Said someone, and John flinched, hand automatically going to the hand gun he carried at all times. He looked over his shoulder, finally spotting the intruder, Sebastian. The man must have gone mad, because he opened his arms wide tossing his head back as an easy target. “Shoot me.” He offered in a growly tone, standing his feet apart. “M’a criminal. Do it.”
John lowered his gun with a sigh, a bit unphased by the actions for some reason and took an extra cup down. Sebastian lowered his head, and opened an eye to look at John with a small nod of amusement. He stepped into the kitchen and began speaking.
“I know why you’re so messed up, John.” Sebastian spoke, leaning against the frame of the room. “Bloody Holmes jumped off St. Barts. Didn’t even explain it to you, did he? You think Moriarty did it don’t y-” He stopped as John turned wary eyes on him. Sebastian raised his hands in submission before he spoke again. “You know--Jim did something up there as well. He shot himself. We didn’t discuss that, he said Sherlock was going to jump and we’d move on. I shouldn’t have believed--he was psychopathic.” His jaw clenched and he watched John watching the kettle.
“I think you should--should shut your mouth.” John said, pointing a finger towards Sebastian, and not looking up. He wiped beneath his nose, and under his eyes. Sebastian paused a few moments in obedience.
“Do you mind if I smoke?” Sebastian asks. John nodded that he did, and Sebastian sighed. “I’ll open a window.” He added. John took a few moments and shut his eyes, swallowing roughly before nodding. “Thanks.” He clapped John on the back before going towards the window nearest the door too high for John to reach and cracked it open, shakily lighting himself one as he stood against the wall.
John took his second antidepressant of the day, and brought the tea out for them both, setting it on a table that he’d sat near the window beside where Sebastian was leaning. John had to admit that smoking’s only appeal was the idea of slowly killing oneself.
Sebastian took up his cup. “Cheers.” He mumbled, and took a sip, setting the butt on the tray on the table. John didn’t say anything, and now even Sebastian was being quiet. They sat comfortably in their silence for a while. Each of them finishing their cup fairly close to the same time. They let the silence sit for a bit before John spoke up.
“Were you um- were you two together?” John asked, looking away from his cup and toward Sebastian who gave another one of his empty laughs.
“No, like I said he was psychopathic. He and I we intimate, but there was nothing romantic about anything. He was my boss, and simple as that. I was just a sniper, and he was a criminal lord.” He paused. “Well he insisted that we kept it business like. Guess that involved a bit of shagging.” He mumbled.
John nodded stiffly in acknowledgement.
“What about you and that Holmes guy?
“No. He--He was married to his work, and I was just a wall to bounce thoughts off of. I thought there was something, let a few senseless shags in to keep him off a few addictions and all. Nothing too emotional I suppose.”
“I know the feeling.” Sebastian said, keeping his eyes on the sky that was darkening outside in the other, taller window of the room. They didn’t say much for a bit, Moran held back his sorrow, and John set a thumb over an eyelid the other covered by his fingers as he let silent tears wash over him. He couldn’t even explain why we was crying, but Sebastian’s presence was soothing to these tears, something quite unlike the hundreds of other times he had cried before.
It was late before Sebastian stood up, and John in turn stood as well. Sebastian put a hand up to tap John’s shoulder, and say his goodbye when John pulled him into an unsuspecting hug. He refused to cry in this position, and simply held tightly onto the other who gave a rub to his back gently and mumbled consoling words to him. They stood there for what felt like a safe forever, they stayed unmoving except for Sebastian’s hand before John took a deep breath and backed away from the warmth.
“Do you mind if I just, stay the night? Jim left me with the flat and all of his stuff, but I can’t force myself to move out.” Sebastian explained. John gave a short nod, and a sad smile.
“Sure. I don’t have an extra bed, though.” John told him, and Sebastian took a glance around before laying down on the couch.
“I think I can handle the couch. Thank you, John.” Sebastian thanked, and John waved a hand dismissively.
“I’m going to bed. I shouldn’t stay up much longer.” Sebastian nodded to him to say he understood. John walked across the room to the bed that sat on the other wall, beside the fire place, and they each let their thoughts consume them. John took to staring at the wall above Sebastian as he fell asleep. And Sebastian stared at the window beside John’s bed as well. The window which was still cracked made the air frigid and Sebastian hadn’t the energy to close it. So he pulled the coat off of the back of the couch and fell to sleep underneath it.
As the days passed Sebastian came more often, came earlier, stayed longer, stayed the night, didn’t leave in the afternoon, and slowly his things accumulated around John’s, not that he had much. John had amassed his own clothes on the window sill beside his bed, and Sebastian set his beside the couch.
They’d worked out a system without trying. Sebastian, having nothing to do while John was at work had taken to stripping the walls, and painting over them. He bought new curtains, and cleaned the full length mirror. He eventually got to using the fireplace, and the little squeak that the window gave before, was no more. They each took to making people uninterested in the flat above them, also known as 221B, for John’s sake mostly.
Sebastian was good for John, and John sure kept Sebastian from doing anything too detrimental. They each were comfortable with the little amount of privacy, reminding them a bit of old times. The small kitchen was no problem, because honestly they ordered take-away more than they cooked.
John cried less, took less pills. Sebastian seemed an awful lot more honest, and ten times more fluent about his grief. He spoke when he was having a bad day, and John listened and comforted. They were equals now.
Nearly a year later, they put Sherlock and James’ things into boxes, John boxing James’ things and Sebastian boxing Sherlock’s. Both amounts of cardboard and trinkets going into a storage unit.
221C was growing crowded, and the two could no longer handle the very small space as much as they liked it, there was simply no room left for the bare essentials. They’d have moved into 221B if it wasn’t so expensive, Mrs. Hudson offered to lower the price but John couldn’t use her like that. So they said goodbye to the building.
Sebastian found a job training teens in a camp for military pre-training. John found a new job as a nurse in a hospital not too far from the new flat. They each had finally come to support each other and themselves. They didn’t think too much about their lost geniuses, and when they did it was healthy. Things were wonderful that year, as if nothing could ruin it.
St. Patrick’s day came and the streets were green, and bars were being occupied more heavily and Sebastian was teasing John about going out for a drink on St. Paddies. Saying that it was all in good celebration of the holiday, and not for an excuse to go and get pissed with the shorter male.
“It won’t kill ya’ to get drunk, or have drinks every once in awhile, Johnny-boy. Harry’s been clean a year and even she says she’s going out for St. Paddy’s.” Sebastian says, his arm hung lazily over the back of the chair, and a small smirk on his face as John set the tea on the table. John glanced out the window and laughed a little.
“I’d rather not, Sebastian.” He smiles and seats himself beside Sebastian, who in turn shoved playfully at his shoulder.
“Oh come on, John. In the past near two years I’ve only seen you drink wine at Molly’s Christmas Parties.” Sebastian urged, John simply sighed sipping at his tea and not daring to look at Sebastian’s convincing grin. Sebastian moved closer, ignoring his tea and making it a point to get into John’s line of view until he'd no choice but to look at him and roll his eyes.
“Fine! But I’m only going to have a-” Sebastian let out a small whoop of victory and patted John’s shoulder. “And I’m not getting drunk!” John told him, though Sebastian was no longer listening he was now rather enjoying his tea.
On St. Patrick’s John came home with, to his surprise, Sebastian already dressed to go. He wore dark jeans and a white t-shirt, whereas John was still dressed in his scrubs.
“Um-I’ll-I’m gonna go change.” He says a bit awkwardly, pointing towards his room over his shoulder before heading past the living room, where his flatmate was sat upon the couch. The properly dressed male gave a small snort at the news, waiting patiently. It was nearly twenty minutes later before he stood from the couch and knocked on the other’s door.
“John are y’gonna take all night?” He asks, leaning his head against the door.
“I’m not going.” Came his response.
“Oh, and why’s that?” Sebastian asked, moving so his arm was above his head on the door, listening.
“Because I don’t drink, Sebastian.” John says, sounding a bit distressed. Sebastian rolls his eyes, twisting the door knob, no use it was locked. He laughed a little and disappeared to find himself something to pick the lock. He returned, pushing the door open to find John sat on his bed, wearing nothing but his jeans and a belt, his shirt laid on his lap.
“We don’t have to drink out, John. Mates drink together s’all. We’re mates, yeah?” He asks, stepping into the room to sit beside the other upon the bed.
“Yeah, we’re mates. Course we are.” John nods, staring at the shirt in his lap for a long few moments. He seems to stand up quickly and tugs his shirt over his head. “Let’s go ‘Bastian. Come on, before I change my mind.” He says with a huff and making shooing movements at the other.
They get outside and Sebastian grins triumphantly as they walk. “I think you’ll change your mind John. You’ll see, drinking with me is fun.”
John isn’t convinced but let’s Sebastian boast as they walk, eventually they reach the pub and he looks around obviously uncomfortable. Sebastian throws a casual arm about the other’s shoulders and leads him to the bar. John made no attempts to speak to anyone besides Sebastian though he did rather enjoy himself despite the fact.
By the time they left, Sebastian had drunk more than his fair share and John had only a few drinks; just enough to lighten him up. They started their journey home with a group of singing drunkards heading in the same direction. Though it’s not long before they go their separate ways and John is holding Sebastian’s arm about his shoulder as the larger man seems to sway a bit.
“Y’know, I love ya’, John. You’re mah best mate, and I fookin love ya. Always ‘round, always thinkin’, always bein’ real nice to everyone. I like you a lot, John Watson.” Sebastian rambles, looking to him as he speaks.
“I know you do, Seb. I like you too, nice man Moran.” He chuckles a little, and glances around trying to remember the way home.
“M’not nice! M’fuckin terrible, piss poor excuse of a scumbag.” Sebastian grumbles, making a point to spit away from them. “I’m shite, but you aren’t, John.” He says, poking him with a finger as he says it. “You aren’t.”
John smiles a little at the compliment but stops talking, letting ‘Bastian ramble on and on about nonsense, before dragging him up to the flat. He slings him upon the couch and rubs at his his own face in a slightly distressed motion.
“I love ya’, John.” Sebastian says from his place on the couch, looking at John with quite an innocence and genuine admiration for the blonde. Which throws John off for a moment, his mouth attempting to form the words to comfort Sebastian. But when he does he’s smiling and he feels a bit warmer inside.
“I love you too, Sebastian.” John says reassuringly, pulling a blanket off the couch and over the man’s shoulders. “Sleep. You’re gonna have a whizzin’ headache tomorrow.” He tells him leaving towards the kitchen, returning to set a glass of water on the small table for when he woke. As he goes to leave for good Sebastian lets out a sigh and speaks up once more.
“Turn the fuckin’ light out mate.” He calls as John passes the switch, once it’s off he grins widely. “I love you, John!” Sebastian yells one last time, in case he hadn’t heard.
“I know, I know.” John laughs a little, going down the hall to his room. Though this time he’s curious why Sebastian seemed to think he didn’t believe him. Of course he loved the man, they were the best of mates and had been through the thickest part of his life together. But he shook it off and went to bed, nonetheless.
In the morning there was a ringing phone and John could hear Sebastian in the other room groan. He smiled to himself and took off his glasses, he’d been reading yesterdays paper. He wandered into the living room, taking the phone as Sebastian offered it up to him obviously disgruntled about the noise as he held his as head with his other hand.
“John?” Came Mrs. Hudson’s excited voice.
“Mrs. Hudson, I wasn’t expecting any calls from you! How are you?” He asks, politely with a smile.
“Nevermind me, it’s Sherlock deary.” She says, and John can almost see her wave her hand at his politeness. But then it hits him, and his mouth goes dry and he swallows thickly. He glances to Sebastian, who’s sipping at his water, John takes a seat in the armchair and musters up the strength to speak.
“Sh-Sherlock, Mrs. Hudson, Sherlock?” He asks, totally flabbergasted. Sebastian seems to choke on his water and he focuses his attention on John, sitting up and moving closer to the phone.
“Yes, John. Sherlock, he’s been playing a trick. He’s been playing a game. He’s been asking about you all week.” She says and in the background he hears her move the receiver to hush someone.
“All-all week?” John could feel a sort of elation in his chest, but it was quickly smothered by a feeling of anger. This was absolutely wrong, friends didn’t fake deaths and Sebastian had been there. He was having an internal meltdown attempting to sort his feelings so quickly.
“Yes, all week I said. I think you ought to come see him. Misses you something awful, you know. Reminds me of a friend of mine when she-”
“Mrs. Hudson, I’ll phone you another time.” John cuts her off and quickly ends the call. Sebastian stares at John for a long few moments, but in the blink of an eye his emotions are sealed and he stands to go to the kitchen.
He doesn’t say a word, and instead opens the cupboards, and gathers ingredients to begin making his breakfast. John was astounded, paralyzed in his seat. Sherlock Holmes? Back from the dead? This was something amazing he should be so grateful, the great Holmes had returned just as he’d asked him to. But now Sebastian would be left alone if he were gone, and Sherlock certainly wouldn’t take to him that was absolute. It wasn’t fair that John was returned his flatmate, and Sebastian would be left alone. It wasn’t something he could wish upon him after all of the time they’d spent together.
“Do you want bacon, John?” Sebastian asks from the kitchen, his voice a bit dull as he doesn’t look up from the pan of eggs he’d begun making.
Was Sebastian really asking of whether he’d like bacon with his eggs? Was that what was important? Then John had a realization, of what the familiar feeling was it was being shut out by Sebastian Moran.. Sebastian knew what it meant if Sherlock was back, John would go, it felt inevitable. But nevertheless it hurt, for both of them obviously
“S-Sebastian. Talk to me.” John says, staring at his flatmate in the kitchen from his chair. He was absolutely desperate.
“M’talking to you. Bacon would you like it with your eggs?” Sebastian insists, pointing the spatula at the yellow scrambled mess in the pan, showing it to John.
John stands. “You know what I mean! Don’t just-just stare at me, and pretend you didn’t just hear Mrs. Hudson like I did! It’s been three years, Sebastian! Three years!” John can’t help but shout, his face going red and tears brimming at the thought.
“What do you want me to say, John? Tell you what I’d do? Because we both know that’s different.” Sebastian stares at John, knowing what was coming. He knew it was coming, John was going to break down. Right before his eyes, his best mate was going to snap and become something of a sad tortured man.
“Just help me, Sebastian. Be my mate, help me understand what I’m supposed to do about a man who I’ve thought dead for three years, having his past landlady call me up and say he’s alive. Tell me what to do, help me Sebastian, help.” John begs, not moving from his spot on the carpet, ensnared by the cotton fibers beneath his toes.
“What do you want me to tell you, John! I can’t help you. I don’t know what you should do. All I’m good for is listening and I sure as hell am not useful at telling you what to do about your supposed to be dead detective, being alive.” Sebastian pauses. “That wasn’t the plan.”
John frowns and he rolls his lips in and takes a deep breath, wiping down at his tears, sniffing softly. Sebastian turns his attention back to the eggs.
“You’re going to leave, I know you will. You love him, I know you do. Maybe you aren’t in love with him, but he sure did something to your life. I know I can’t provide the amount of thrill you get going alongside someone who’s so much better than you are. I know I’m not as great as any master mind. I do know. I understand, John. But when it comes down to it, John. Me and you, we’ll be left. We’ll get caught in genius crossfire and come out alive, because that’s what soldiers do. We come out alive and we try not to remember what happened on the battlefield. God do I know, John, that you’re going to leave me. I’ll be nothing, and you’ll have a great life, a thrilling life. And I’ll end up alone, just like it happened in the military. I’ll be alone and dishonored, and you’ll come out a hero.” Sebastian says, his eyes stuck on the eggs as a tear rolls down his face. It wasn’t often that he cried, and when he did he did it quietly, never sobbing or making gross choking sounds like John, he simply let the tears flow. “You’ll see me again, after you’ve gone. Promise. But don’t get in touch, I’ll contact you to catch up.”
John turned his head away from Sebastian and nodded.
“Right. Well. Sebastian.” John pauses. “I’d like bacon please.” He says finally and Sebastian gives a noise that resembled a laugh from the kitchen.
“Bacon and eggs?” Sebastian asks, and the other nods in assurance.
“Bacon and eggs.” He repeats, giving a broken smile and moving to make the tea.
It’s not long before they’ve each done what they need to prepare breakfast, and they eat in silence across from each other. Not much unlike they had while living in 221C and in their new home. Sebastian would help John pack, not needing to say a word. John stayed the night, and in the morning when Sebastian woke he was gone. Gone from his life, gone forever, and gone for good.
To John’s surprise, it wasn’t very hard fitting back into the life with Sherlock. It was effortlessly easy to just go along with the other. Two months prior to them finally feeling as normal as they could get they get their second case since his return.
“We’ve got a case, John. Ex-colonel, suicide, with signs of a break in and thievery yet no foul-play. It was an elaborate suicide, seemingly done in the middle of a ransacking. Sounds like something good, no?” Sherlock grins, and looks to John who seems a bit dazed for a moment. He gives a soft smile, though it’s sad, and nods.
“Sounds great.”