Chapter Text
„Ahhh“, rings a phone. No it can’t be, John thinks to himself. Staring at Sherlock intensely. She is supposed to be dead. The woman’s moan still ringing in his ears as if it were a fire drill. Sherlock didn’t even flinch as if he had expected a message. No surprise could be seen in his face. John realised he was still staring and stood still. It seemed like everything slowed down. Sherlock sat in his chair not moving and John rooted across from him.
Earlier, when he had arrived at the flat, he didn’t plan on staying for long. He couldn’t leave his newborn daughter Rosie with the babysitter too long. He never even took his Jacket off or made himself some tea. Which was odd in its own way. Seeing John without a cuppa was quite unfamiliar. But now he was standing in the living room that had a special place in his heart and always felt like home. He gathered his thoughts, trying not to think about himself and his shit-load of problems. In all his time being the side-kick, amateur blogger, verbal and literal punching-bag to Sherlock he had learned quite a few things form Sherlock. He had always been intrigued by the Detectives deductions and always paid a lot of attention to figure out how the whole „trick“ as Donavan and Anderson would describe it, worked.
„What was that?“ John asked. „A phone.“ Sherlock answered as if that wasn’t obvious. John looked at him intently. „I know Sherlock. The ringtone. Who was that?“ John pried. He really didn’t want to be so obsessed, but he couldn’t help himself. The past months his home-life was extremely stressful. He needed something else to think about for once. A little vacation, if you will. „John. A ringtone doesn’t need to mean anything it could simply be a technical error.“
John wasn’t having any of it. He needed to know. He knew Sherlock had had a weirdly special and intimate relationship with Irene when they had taken the case back then. And he knew that she had set her moan as his ringtone, whenever she texted him. John remembered the thoughts he’d had the first time he heard the text-alert. It was quite a shock to be honest. Sherlock never had any intimate relationships ever, but Irene Adler got to him. She intrigued him to what seemed no end. It was disturbingly beautiful to watch and extremely uncomfortable. The Dominatrix loved Sherlock. And the self proclaimed high-functioning sociopath showed feelings for a person, other than John. After Irene Adler had entered their lives most people, especially John, saw Sherlock through a different lens. As far as John knew this infatuation between them never ended. And then she died. That was horrible to witness. Sherlock really didn’t seem like himself and John in his professional medical opinion had started to worry about his health because of the possibility of a relapse, since he was so distressed. Mrs. Hudson and John tried to accompany him as much as possible and watched him with concern as he thrashed his lab and totalled the wallpaper with the smiley drawn across the wall. Mycroft checked in with John everyday and tried to not only get updates about the soberness of his dear brother, but also checked in with John and how he was handling Sherlocks meltdowns. That lasted for four whole days. After the fifth Sherlock received seven packages at the door with new lab equipment and set everything up and never talked about her ever again. And now his phone had moaned.
„Sherlock. I am going to make a deduction, alright? And if I am right, you will tell me the truth.“ John moved for the first time in ages. His knee cracked as he walked in front of his seat. He stood still. He didn’t sit. He looked down at the man sitting in his cushioned chair looking up expectantly and nodded. Sherlocks dressing gown was hanging open and his blue pyjama bottoms hung low. He clearly hadn’t gotten himself ready in a while.
„Happy Birthday“ John said quietly. His eyes tinged as he tried not to cry. Sherlock held his breath and stared. His eyes trying to deduce everything about John. It was a scrutinising gaze, that would have made anyone but John flee the room.
„Thank you“ Sherlock whispered as he released a very shaky breath. John exhaled an anxious breath in the hopes it would calm him the fuck down as he sat down in his chair right across from Sherlock. „In all the years I never knew when your birthday was.“
„Well, now you know“ Sherlock answered matter of factly. John let himself sink into his chair even further. Unbelievable, he thought, not only is Irene alive, but she wished him a Happy Birthday and Sherlock never changed his ringtone after all this time. He never suspected Sherlock would change the alert himself after she had „died“, since he never changed it while she was alive, even though the occasional moan-alert at a crime scene, had been quite unprofessional. In the end that was what made John realise, that she was special to Sherlock. After all the teasing and flirting as well as one naked encounter, the text alert was what gave Sherlock away. He held every moan dear to his heart and if you looked closely you could see behind his smug grin - especially when other people were so put off by the sound - and witness the purest adoration he held for the woman. Sherlock was by no means a sociopath. John knew that all along, but the woman was hard evidence. She was proof that the insufferable asshole and inconsiderable prick Sherlock wanted you to believe he was indeed had a heart. He just waited for the right moment to show his love. Neither Sherlock nor John talked after that. They both sat still for a few hours and just looked at each other. John was glad, that there was silence. He pulled out his laptop and looked for open GP-Positions in the area and generally tried to make up his mind about what he was supposed to do since Mary had died and he had been alone with Rosie and out of work. He tried to ban all thought concerning how, why, and under what circumstances Mary died. He concentrated on the fact, that she is indeed dead and he had a daughter. Barely even settled into married life he was a widower and not even a few months into parenthood and he was a single-Dad. Single. Shit. John hated everything about his situation right now. He hated sitting across from Sherlock. And he hated Sherlock for the situation he was in. He hated that he came to 221b Baker Street without even thinking about it. Baker Street will always be his home. He hated looking at Sherlock sitting in his chair watching him like a hawk. He even hated Mary sometimes. He hated her for bringing him into this mess. He hated her for leaving him and not being what he thought she was. But most of all he hated himself. Oh god, he hated himself. He never thought he was a hateful person, but I guess a dead wife because she saved ones best friend didn’t bring out the best in him. He was trembling. This was too much. How do people move on after that? He didn’t even realise that he was having a panic attack until Sherlock picked him up from his chair and wrapped his arms around him as he stroked his back soothingly. His hearing stopped being muffled and he started registering Sherlocks calming words. „… would have wanted you to be happy. She never intended to leave Rosie behind. I am so sorry John I never wanted you to hate me. She never wanted to betray you. She loved you so much and especially Rosie. You are allowed to be angry, hateful. You can hit me and despise me. I killed your wife. You are allowed to feel betrayed and hurt. You are in agony. But don’t, don’t hate yourself. Hate me. Despise me and punch me, kick me and hate me with all the hate you have. But never ever put any of your hate towards yourself, your wife, your daughter or anyone but me. I should be the recipient of all the hate you have.“
As Johns vision started to clear he could see straight into Sherlocks tear-filled eyes.
„Don’t say that“
„But it is true. I am the reason Mary died. Without me interfering she would still be here and you would have a wife and Rosie a mother.“
„Maybe, but I would still be in a marriage built on lies and unhappy. In the end I don’t think I trusted her at all. I feared for Rosie and I would have hated seeing her grow up in that environment.“
Sherlock distanced sat back into his chair scanning John afraid he would have another panic attack. John let out a breath and slumped back into his chair.
„So what gives me the pleasure of having you here today? “, Sherlock asked.
Remembering John said: „A birthday visit I guess.“
Sherlock cringed as he remembered the notification. He still hadn’t looked at the text.
„Of course if I had known I would have brought you a present.“ John went on.
Sherlock didn’t say anything and anxiously looked around.
„I guess dinner will have to do. Angelos?“
Sherlock nodded. Got up and went to his room. He probably was going to get dressed.
John took out his phone and called the babysitter to ask how it was going and say, that he was going to be home at 8pm rather than 6pm as he originally had planned.
Ella, his therapist had pressured him into taking time for himself, so twice a week he had Rosie-free time. Mondays for his therapy and another random day for himself. Usually, he spent those days walking aimlessly through Hyde park and going out for a pint with Greg. On some occasions he even finds himself checking up on Sherlock. The latter only ever really happens, when Greg is busy and his feet took him to Baker Street before his brain registers it.
John mostly spent his time with Ella talking about Sherlock. Sure, Rosie is a huge part of his life now and Mary’s demise was a tragedy, but he always finds himself talking about his former flatmate in the end. Last time he really tried only talking about Mary and Rosie. He really started out strong, but after 15 minutes he was yet again talking about him.
„Alright. I am ready to go.“ Sherlock stood with his coat in hand at the door and waited for John to join him. Looking up John recognised Sherlocks shirt as the purple shirt of sex and kept his eyes from taking Sherlock in too closely. Looking anywhere really but Sherlock he picked up his jacket and left the apartment with Sherlock right behind.
The walk to Angelos was short and quiet. Both seemingly enjoying the comfort of each other’s company.
At Angelos they were greeted by Angelo himself and Sherlock engulfed in a big bear hug straight away.
„What an honour Sherlock! You, celebrating your Birthday here. And a big one at that. Happy birthday! Dinner is on the house of course!“ Angelo exclaimed as he ushered them quickly to their table and placed a candle in between them.
„Even Angelo knows?“ John asked exasperated, after Angelo left to great other customers.
„Yes.“
„Why did I only learn of your birthday today in the way I did?“ Johns voiced was thin and pressed.
„You never asked”, Sherlock answered matter of factly.
John was quiet. It was true. He had never asked when his birthday was. They also hadn’t spent a lot of birthdays together come to think of it. The first year living together maybe, but after, with Reichenbach and Sherlock being dead and then Mary entering the picture, birthdays never really came up.
Even though John went to Sherlocks grave for the funeral, he never remembers his birthday which he is sure was written on the gravestone. He never seemed to pay enough attention. Blinded by grief all the things they were never able to celebrate together did not seem to matter anymore. To him, Sherlocks’ death day was far more significant. It had been the day he watched his best friend jump to his death.
Looking into Sherlocks eyes John said: „I will make sure to never forget it from now on.“
Looking into his eyes John saw that Sherlock did not really take him seriously. Eyes blank Sherlock just nodded.
Sherlock ate his spaghetti with seafood marinara, and John picked at his bolognese. His appetite was gone with his stomach being in knots.
“So how have the cases been?” John tried to get the conversation going again.
Thankfully Sherlock took the bait and went on in detail about how the last case ended in Scotland, where a woman had hidden the knife, she used to kill her husband with at her childhood home. The husband had had an affair with her sister for two decades and fathered two children.
Thinking about it more closely, John thought the man got what he deserved.
The way back to Baker Street Sherlock was quiet again and John was exhausted. In front of the door they stopped, and Sherlock asked if he wanted to come upstairs for a drink. John declined.
“Alright. I will see you.” Sherlock said and tried to turn away but got stopped by an abrupt hug from John. The hug was off, not fully chest to chest rather shoulder to chest as Sherlock was already on his way inside. It was also over rather quickly with no time for Sherlock to reciprocate.
When Sherlock fully turned to John, John was already walking steadfast down the street fleeing Baker Street. A big breath left Sherlock lungs as he pushed down the door handle and went inside.