āShe was wrong, you know.ā
āHmm?ā Sherlock doesnāt look up from his microscope, only half-paying attention to what John is saying.
āI said she was wrong.ā
āWho was wrong?ā Sherlock asks absently, fiddling with one of the dials.
āMary. Ā She was wrong.ā
The very air in the room seems to go still, and Sherlock blinks rapidly down at the slide, suddenly unable to remember why he was even looking at it to begin with. Ā Slowly, he raises his head and finds John standing beside him, his hip against the edge of the table and his arms crossed. Ā Heās looking down at Sherlock, and try as he might Sherlock canāt read a single thing from his expression.
He sits back in his chair and clears his throat, looking down at his hands. āWrong about what?ā
āYou,ā John says. Ā āAnd me. Ā Us.ā
Sherlock swallows. Ā āI donātā¦Iām not sure what you mean.ā
Sherlock doesnāt. Ā He canāt. Ā Because he knows why heĀ wishes Mary had been wrong, but he doesnāt want to hear Johnās theory because it will surely be the opposite of his own.
Sherlock squeezes his eyes shut. Ā āJohn, I donāt want to talk about this.ā
The beakers and test tubes on the table rattle slightly as John pushes away from it, and Sherlock counts the two steps he takes, and then, in a move he couldnāt have possibly predicted, Johnās hands are cupping his face, tilting it upwards, and Sherlockās eyes pop open, his breath leaving him in a rush.
āWeāve spent far too long not talking about this, Sherlock,ā John says, and his eyesāblue, so soĀ blueāare boring into Sherlockās, and suddenly Sherlock canāt look away. Ā
He opens his mouth, but no words come out, and his bottom lip trembles traitorously. Ā John isnāt done surprising him, though, because his expression goes soft and he very gently traces his thumb along Sherlockās lip.
āCan we please, just this once, be completely honest with each other?ā John asks.
Sherlockās hands begin to shake; he clenches them on his thighs for fear that if he doesnāt then he will touch John and he will surely cry. Ā āI try always to be honest with you, John. Ā You must know that.ā
John shakes his head, and he looks almost sad. Ā āNot about this. Ā Neither of us has been honest about this.ā
Sherlock abruptly stands, and Johnās hands slide from his skin and burn as they go. Ā He moves to shove past John, and John doesnāt stop him, which almost hurts more. Ā But just as heās reached the door to his bedroom he hears Johnās voice.
āArenāt you going to ask me what I meant?ā
Sherlock freezes with his hand wrapped around the cold metal of the doorknob. He doesnāt answer, but John goes on anyway.
āWhen I said Mary was wrong about us. Ā Donāt you want to know what I meant?ā
Sherlock shakes his head hard, but John, still standing in the kitchen obviously canāt see the motion.
āShe was wrong because she saidā¦she said she knew what we could become.ā
Tears gather in the corners of Sherlockās eyes. Ā His throat closes up, and his heart beats a shattering rhythm against his ribs. Ā Heās not sure why heās not just running out of the flat as fast as he possibly can.
āShe was wrong becauseā¦ā John stops, his voice breaking just the slightest bit, and Sherlock holds his breath. Ā āBecause itās not about what we could become. Ā Itās about what we already are, Sherlock. Itāsā¦itās what we always have been.ā
Something in Sherlockās chest seems to expand and contract all at once, suffocating him. Ā Itās like heās drowning but his insides are on fire. Ā His breath comes out on a sob, and a second later thereās a warm hand on his shoulder, and he gasps, spinning around.
John looks up at him, his own eyes wet with unshed tears, and his expression equal parts hopeful and terrified. Ā āIsnāt it?ā he whispers. Ā āHave I got it wrong? I need you to tell me, Sherlock.ā
For a moment Sherlock canāt speak, canāt make sense of the millions of words churning in his brain. Ā He knows thereās something he has to say, but for the life of him he canāt string the words together in the right order.
John steps closer, his hand reaching tentatively for Sherlockās face again, his fingers shaking as they trace lightly over one sharp cheekbone. Ā āPlease, Sherlock. Ā Say it.ā
Sherlockās eyes flutter shut at the touch, and the words that he needs flash behind his lids as if theyāve been hiding their all along.
āI love you,ā he breathes, and then heās being pulled, guided into a kiss that steals all of the air from his lungs and nudges its way past his lips, down his throat, and deep into his heart where it can never be taken away.
Johnās hands slide up into his hair, clutching at him tightly, almost painfully, but Sherlock doesnāt care. Ā He parts his lips and lets John ruin him as heās always wanted him to.
āI love you,ā John whispers into his mouth, the words broken and barely audible. Ā āI love you, Sherlock, I love you so much.ā
Sherlock breaks the kiss with a barely contained sob and surges forward, burying his face against the curve of Johnās neck. Ā āIāve wanted this,ā he says desperately, his voice muffled against heated skin. Ā āIāve wanted this for so long.ā
Johnās hands rub soothingly up and down his back, up into his hair, over his hip, along his ribs, anywhere he can reach. Ā āMe too,ā he says against Sherlockās ear. Ā āBut we can stop wanting now and have.ā
And thatās exactly what they do.
This is my version of events assuming that everything that happened in TFP is really what happened. Ā If we are left without our Garridebs moment, I want to make up for it with this. Ā Just tags below the cut.
snowghoul
areudirty
ellievsbear
prguitarman
turnnoffyourmind
