If You Love Me, Get Clean

Chapter Thirty Three

August 2016

I really thought that I could fix this, nothing's different
How come I'm stuck on thinking you'd grow up?
I really hoped that we'd be past these problems
Is it just wishful thinking you'd grow up?

John turned up on their doorstep a few days ago, demanding to have Rosie handed over. "Anyone but him," he'd said, voice cracking. "Anyone but him."

It didn't even make sense. For weeks he abandoned his daughter into their care, into Sherlock's care, left her in their home. Then they get an update that Mary is showing signs of improvement and he suddenly wants to get his shit together? And he hasn't even really done that, because she's staying with Stella and Ted. He sees her on weekends, but it's not right. He can't just exile Sherlock from Rosie's life because he's still clinging to this pointless anger, not after he was the one who stuck around and cared for her day after day.

Alice knows that shock and grief can do all sorts to a person, but the big issue here was blame. John blamed Sherlock, and it was coming out in the ugliest of ways.

When Alice gets home from work the next day she finds Sherlock sitting on the sofa still as a statue. He doesn't look at her, just stares at the fireplace, his face empty of expression.

"What are you doing?" She asks softly.

"Trying to work out how many ways I could have done things differently."

"Don't do that," Alice sighs, and she perches on the arm of the sofa, putting her arm around him. "You've got to stop doing that."

"There are at least seven ways I could have handled it that wouldn't have resulted in this."

"You'll just torture yourself," she tells him. "It won't change anything, it'll just make you suffer."

"And what if I deserve that?" His response is quick, but it's not self pitying. He considers it a fact.

Maybe that's the worst part.

"It wasn't your fault. Don't use hindsight to convince yourself otherwise."

"I should have stopped talking." He's not listening to her, not taking in her words at all. He's caught in limbo between his mind palace and the real world, thinking out loud while his memories haunt him. "I should have stopped talking and looked around me. It was so stupid..."

"It's not your fault."

He looks up at her, his eyes filled with uncertainty. "No?" He mumbles.

"No," she says, with a small shake of her head. His hair is all over the place, a result of his hands stressfully running through it. She gently combs it back into place with her fingers, and he looks down at the floor. "You had no control over the situation. No one made her jump in front of that bullet. She did what she did because she loves you, and she wants you to live, but not like this. She wouldn't want you hating yourself like this, Sherlock."

"But she's not here to tell me that."

"She'll pull through," Alice says, certain. "And when she does she will tell you."

His head shakes. "John's right. No one needs me around, I don't even want me around, I'm no good–"

"I need you," she tells him. "I always do."

"You don't need me. Not really. You're–"

"I do. I do need you. We're us. Me needing you is in our very own rule book."