Blast from the past // Watson

Sherlock's figure appeared to be a mere silhouette as he stood by the window where the life-saving bullet had come through. Two years hadn't changed the man much. He still dressed the same and held himself the same, his hands jammed into the depths of his pockets. Before he had slipped out of his brother's, he had promised the man that he'd be a good boy but truth be told, it wasn't in his vocabulary. Watson had helped him to be a better person, certainly, but it didn't mean he wasn't all for his schemes and solving puzzles by any means necessary at any cost. Moriarty had brought all of that to a screeching halt the moment he'd threatened those close to him. Sherlock had been forced to make a sacrifice, one he'd always regretted.

The past two years had eaten the man alive. Every night, he was plagued with things that normally wouldn't have bothered him. Had Watson forgotten about him? Had Amy moved on? He could hardly stomach either thought yet they always found ways to screw with his head. He'd been holed up at his brother's and when he got stir-crazy, he left the country, rather than risk being detected. He'd hooked up with Irene a few times, though not in the sense most would assume.

She had given him peace of mind when nobody else could. His brother had only made things worse, granted it had probably been unintentional. Sherlock had grown tired of hiding and sitting around, waiting for something to happen. He was getting off his ass and jumping back into the proverbial frying pan. The screen from his phone glowed, illuminating his pallid features and casting shadows upon his high cheek bones. He heard the door open and close then he felt his heart skip a few beats upon realizing that it was too late to run from his old friend.

Slowly, he turned and pocketed his phone. "Watson." He greeted quietly, meeting the man's gaze evenly from across the way. "I apologize for the theatrics and I do hope you came alone. I can't risk the whole of London and beyond knowing I still draw breath, not yet." His first priority was protecting those that were close to him. Looking at it from a different perspective, he almost found it amusing that they considered him to be a heartless being.

John found it hard to cope for the last two years. Especially the first three or four months after Sherlock committed suicide. Endless days of no sleep or very little, he would be lucky to get an hour or two of sleep. Then there was the eating problem, he would not have an appetite.. when he did it would just go again. The shaking came back, as well as the dependency on the cane. His therapist told him to talk to people or to blog about it all. John did not want to talk to anyone about it, or blog about it stating, "Nothing happened to me." When in all reality, something did. He lost his closest friend.. he felt like he could have done something.. but then he jumped.. it was not the first time that the man felt completely useless. But seeing Sherlock jump gave him the worst feeling of being useless.

Then early in the morning.. what was the date? John completely lost track of his dates, it was really only at work that he got reminders of the date, he did know that today was a saturday.. at least he knew that right? He got a text, right after getting out of the shower. The man read the text very carefully, something sparked an interest but he was also weary.. for all he knew, it could have been one of Moriarty's men that wanted to kill John next.

But then John wanted to know who it was that sent him the text, even if it was dangerous. Running up to his bedroom, the man quickly got dressed before running back down. Grabbing his cellphone, John stuffed it into his pocket before getting his handgun and putting it in the hem of his trousers. Turning around, John ran down the stairs.

"Popping out for a bit Mrs. Hudson!" John yelled as he opened the front door and stepped outside, closing it before the old woman could say anything to John. Whistling a cab stopped in front of him. Jumping in, the man clutched his cellphone tightly, hoping to get another text from this stranger.

Then the cabbie pulled up to the College, just as John was told to.. paying the cabbie he hopped out of the car, slamming the door shut before walking into the college. Stepping inside the door shut behind him loudly, breathing heavily, John got out his hand gun before proceeding deeper into the building.

It was some time before he got to the designated room. Opening the door he stepped in, squinting in disbelief as he saw a familiar figure standing there. His guess was sealed when the man spun around, pocketing his cellphone, "Sherlock.. It. It can' be.." His gaze was even, but showed that John was shocked to see his close friend standing there.. one that is meant to be dead, "You.. You sneaky bloody bastard! How did you survive that jump?" John asked as he put his hand gun away.

His lips pursed for a moment then he gave what looked like a tired smile, allowing his body to rest heavily against the wall behind him. "My brother has friends in high places. I needed witnesses, which was part of the reason I told you to keep your eyes on me. You never actually saw me hit the ground, Watson, the cyclist that hit you was part of the scheme. I jumped into the bed of a truck, just as the scene you stumbled upon a few moments later was being staged." His mind drifted back to two years previously and quietly, he shook his head. He still couldn't believe it had worked out so nicely.

He had gone in, expecting to fail and when he hadn't, he'd been ultimately relieved. "I needed you and everybody else to believe I was dead. Mycroft was let in because his face never changes, no matter what the situation. He has ice in his veins and for the scheme to work, that was exactly what I needed. I went to him a week before I took my jump, a week before I sacrificed nearly everything to protect you, Amy, Lestrade, Mrs Hudson and Molly." He explained in a monotonous voice. Silently, he drew closer and studied his friend's face, searching the flickering emotions with mild interest.

He needed for Watson to not hate him for this. "Your wish by my grave came to fruition, Watson. I pulled off another miracle, I'm not dead...not yet, anyways." How did he explain he'd been keeping tabs on Watson? It wasn't like he wanted to overload his friend all at once. "I do have a favor...well, several favors in one." His lips quirked as he glanced down at the ground.

A soft exhalation soon followed. "I want - need - you to lose the cane, resume your blog, and start eating and sleeping again. Soon enough, you and I will be back on cases and doing what we do best." The words rolled off his tongue with a practiced ease. After a moment of contemplation, he removed his scarf and gestured toward his face. "...now, I'm going to give you a free swing, considering I deserve it, after all of the hell I've put the lot of you through...but before you do, how is Amy?" When the query left his lips, he almost regretted it but in the same breath, he desperately wanted to know.

John listened as the man spoke, emotions flooded him, some wanted to make him break down and cry, while others wanted him to scream and yell at Sherlock for not letting him know sooner that he in fact survived the suicide jump off the building. He wanted to do both really but the only thing he wanted to do at the moment was to listen to Sherlock talk.. it has been two long years and.. he wanted to hear the man’s voice.. more to see if this man was a fake.

Then Sherlock was reminding John of his wish at Sherlock’s grave, he remembered it very well. He wished for Sherlock to have pulled off one last miracle and to not be dead. And to know that Sherlock did do that one last miracle that John wished for had the man tied in knots on the inside.

“I will do whatever you ask of me Sherlock..” John said quietly, making it a quick sentence so that Sherlock could continue with what the man wanted to say to John. His gaze stayed with Sherlock’s as though he was speaking to a commanding officer back in the days when he was in the army.

He patiently waited for Sherlock to speak again, looking to his cane as Sherlock told him he wanted John to lose it, then back up at the taller man as he continued to speak, “Alright.. I can do those things.. but what exactly am I meant to blog about Sherlock?” John asked, his voice showed that he was not very certain, that he was even questioning Sherlock about why he had to pick back up on blogging. There was not exactly anything to blog about.

John watched as Sherlock removed his scarf and turned his head towards him, “I…” As much as John wanted to punch the man, he did not want to all of a sudden. He looked down at the ground, avoiding the man’s gaze, “Amy is alright.. she had a.. Um, we honestly thought she was but she wasn’t. She’s alright now.. she visits often.” John spoke quickly, hoping that Sherlock would not catch that uncompleted mention of something in there. Then looked up to the man, balling his fists, the shaking in his left hand was still there, "I.. I can't hit you Sherlock.. I. I don't want to."

He listened to the man's words, reveled in the way they started a fire within him. He noted the way Watson hesitated, saw the mixture of relief and sadness in his gaze. He could feel his chest tighten as he came to a realization. Watson didn't hate him for what he did. Soon, relief flooded him as well and a tired smile graced his taut lips. "Watson..." He began, sounding somewhat hoarse as he took a moment to compose himself.

Where did he begin? What did he say? "First of all, you blog about whatever suits your fancy and second of all, believe it or not, I've missed you." The latter part of the sentence rolled awkwardly off the tip of his tongue, sounding foreign to his own ears. He couldn't believe he was saying such things, let alone to another man. Had two years really changed him that much? He pushed away the thoughts that ran rampant in his mind and fought to focus on the one man that mattered, the only one that was standing in front of him.

He took hold of the man's jacket, allowing his fingers to dig into the familiar fabric. After what appeared to be a moment of contemplation, he pulled the other man closer and brought his lips crashing down upon Watson's. He poured two years of emotion into that kiss, all the positivity and negativity he'd felt since his apparent suicide. When he finally pulled away, he found that his face was damp with his own tears. "I won't ever leave you again, Watson, not if I can help it..." He croaked, wiping his face with the sleeve of his coat. What was happening to him and more importantly, what would Watson think of him after today?

Again, he found himself shaking off the thoughts that plagued him. "What in the bloody hell are you doing to me, John Hamish Watson?" He queried, pulling away from the other man so that he could perch atop the very edge of the nearest table. If Mycroft could see him now...he cringed at the thought. All thoughts of Amy came rushing back, much to his chagrin. "What are you hiding, Watson?" He queried, trying to fight past what he felt in the hopes he sounded somewhat serious.

John was taken aback as Sherlock said that he missed him, his hand unballing itself and instead going to the small of his back. He never heard Sherlock actually admit to something, except for when he said that he did not care when people died.. but that soon was changed. Clearing his throat, John looked to the ground for a second, "I. I missed you too Sherlock.. I missed you." John's eyes shot up to look into the man in front of him, wide eyed.

He did not know what was going through the man's mind. Maybe he was trying to come up with an excuse to make John punch him.. no it can't be because John just said that he could not hit him, not now, "Sherlock.." But he was not able to say anymore as the taller man brought his lips smashing into his own. John's hands wanted to beat the man until he was released, but instead they changed plans and instead gripped the taller man's coat.

A tear or two ran down John's face as Sherlock released him, looking up at the man with a mix of emotions in his eyes. He was not able to say anything, and stood there breathing heavily for a minute or two until he looked down to wipe the tears away from his eyes. He could tell that Sherlock was feeling strange. John felt strange, but strangely what happened did not feel wrong at all, it felt right for some reason.

John listened to Sherlock, as well as watched as the taller man stepped away and perched himself on a table,[/b]" I haven't done anything to you Sherlock Holmes."[/b] He perched himself on the table next to Sherlock, putting himself in arms reach, but no closer. John guessed that after that, Sherlock did not want him so close, "That was all you right there." John kept his gaze straight ahead, only to look at the taller man as he brought up Amy again, "It was several weeks after your fall. It was all a false alarm.. it's nothing to really worry about." John finally looked into his eyes and could see that the man was going to keep asking until the soldier told him, "She.. thought she was pregnant." The military man looked down at his feet that were barely reaching the floor.

The man felt comfortably numb...confused but numb, nonetheless. For that, he found himself eternally grateful. "John..." He began somewhat hoarsely, scooting close to the other as he moved his hand to Watson's leg. "...for two years, I thought about my time with you and in those two years, I came to realize that what I felt for you didn't stem off of a simple need for companionship. Every time you went on a date, I found myself consumed with something I couldn't quite comprehend and within the two years I was able to think about it, I figured out what it was." Nervously, he licked his lips and glanced downward, lightly squeezing John's knee, almost as if to comfort himself.

He lowered his head to Watson's shoulder, finding comfort in the man's presence. "I found out it was the big, green monster; envy. It was part of the reason I tried to include myself in your dates and why I pouted whenever you were displeased with me. I've made so many mistakes and at every wrong turn, you were there to steer me back onto the right path." The words were tumbling past his lips faster than he could think to stop them. At that point, he wasn't sure he wanted to stop them. To him, it felt...well, natural.

He'd felt so lost without Watson around, so afraid that the man would forget Sherlock had ever been around, so afraid that if and when he got back, Watson would have already moved on. He closed his eyes for a moment to block out the wall of emotion that came crashing down. This was unfamiliar territory and it frightened him immensely. "John, it's because of me you weren't able to hold down a relationship and for that, I apologize but..." His hand quivered and he squeezed Watson's knee again to steady it. "...I want - need - you in my life and I'm sorry it took me this long to figure it out and if you're not interested, I fear I've just made a complete ass of myself." As the last syllable rolled off his tongue, he gave a weak chuckle.

His heart picked up the pace when he heard the news. Amy had thought she'd been pregnant with his child? He wondered what it'd be like to have a little him running around then shook his head slowly. It'd probably be hell on earth, he couldn't imagine getting a dose of his own medicine from a miniature Sherlock. "I-I see..." He stammered uselessly, still trying to process it. All thoughts of asking John to be his had temporarily fled the building that was his elaborate mind.

John looked over to the other man as he grasped his leg gently as he scooted closer. He looked down as John quietly listened to Sherlock. John wondered just what was going through Sherlock's head, but he did not need to ask what it was because as soon as the taller man was ready, the words were flowing out of his lips. The military man did not bother to speak up, instead he remained silent as Sherlock spoke. He started to feel bad because he never told Sherlock that he only dated women just so that people would not go thinking that he and Sherlock were together, more to protect Sherlock's reputation. He looked up to the taller man as he seemed to nervously lick his lips as he gently squeezed John's knee.

The man rested his head on top of Sherlock's lightly as the taller man rested his head on John's shoulder, putting his hand on top of the other man's as he continued to listen to him speak. A pained expression showed on his face as he listened, John now wished that instead of being a jerk to Sherlock, claiming that he was not gay or interested in Sherlock that he got his head out of the ground and told Sherlock sooner of how he felt about the man. Instead of speaking up now, John patiently waited for the right moment to speak up.

He could only guess that Sherlock feared, that after his suicide, that John had moved on. The fact is that John did not move on, he found it too painful and horrifying to move on. He made a wish at Sherlock's grave that the man would not be dead. And here is Sherlock now, alive and sitting right next to him. Not only is he sitting next to him, Sherlock is not only talking to him, but he also kissed him. John's cheeks became flushed a little bit as he flashed back to that. He shook himself back to reality as Sherlock sounded like he was wrapping up his little speech, he took a deep breath and exhaled slowly as John pieced together what he was going to tell the other man.

John lightly kissed Sherlock's head, "It was not your fault that I was not able to hold a relationship. I. I actually purposely ended them. I dated women to protect your reputation as a public figure. But I honestly did not enjoy being with those women, they were just not exciting to me. I did not want those relationships. I was just being too stubborn to myself and you to admit that I actually wanted you." He cleared his throat some, moving his thumb over the man's knuckles gently, "I want you Sherlock." John finally told him after what felt like was an eternity of silence, he looked to the man quietly before a small smile grew on his face "Sherlock.. if you think about it, you have always been an ass." John said with a small laugh before quieting down.

The military man nodded, "It was just a false alarm though.. a false message. It's a strange coping mechanism women have for stress." John told Sherlock, "You don't have to worry about a mini you running around London." He thought that what he said will bring the other man some comfort.