Chapter Thirty Five

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September 2016

If we make it through this year
Then nothin' can break us
Trouble leaves, then reappears
But we've shown we can take it

Two days after the Culverton Smith incident John turns up to their flat with a cardboard tray of takeaway coffees and a bag of pastries. He smiles at Alice awkwardly. "I just thought... Peace offering?"

She steps back, opening the door wider. "He's just got out the shower. He's getting dressed."

John nods, walking through the doorway at the end of the hall. Alice follows him, watches him set the tray on the kitchen side and start searching for something. "Plates?" He asks, holding up the paper bag.

"Second cupboard. Above the coffee machine."

"Right. Tah."

He grabs down three small plates, setting them out side by side, then rummages in the bag to pull out three different pastries. Pain au chocolat for himself, cinnamon roll for Sherlock, and an almond croissant for her. Some of her anger eases at the fact he's trying. He's remembered their favourites, and it's a start.

John turns one of the cups to display the logo printed on the side. "You still like this place, yeah?"

He's really trying, she realises. He's gone all the way to Hampstead High Street, three tube stops out of his way, to get breakfast from her favourite café.

"Yeah," she says, nodding. "Thanks."

"No trouble," he smiles. "Got you a latte. Two sugars."

"You're a good man, John."

Confusion makes his mouth work up and down for a second. "Thank you? Why do I get the feeling there's going to be a but coming?"

"No but. Not yet," she stuffs her hands into her jean pockets, trying to quell the anxiety. Even as the words begin to pour from her lips she wonders if she'll be able to go through with it. "I care about you, I really do. You're my cousin, but you've always felt more like my brother, and I love you," John's eyes soften, and her heart sinks just a little. "And I know you do love Sherlock like he's family. Just as I know he loves you the same. I'm so glad things are patched up between you both now, but I have to say..." she takes a breath. "It hurts how badly you've behaved recently. Towards me, towards our family, towards Sherlock. It hurts me to know what you did to him."

"What I– What?" He blinks, as if he truly has no clue what she's talking about.

"Have you forgotten we're engaged?" She's building up steam now. "We share a bed, we live together, we..." she doesn't know how to say it without it coming out wrong. "We see each other undress," she cringes, ignoring John's splutter. "My point is, he couldn't hide his injuries from me even if he wanted to. Not to forget I'm his next of kin, so they were explained to me in great detail."

A dawning realisation passes over his face.

"You didn't break two of his ribs by simply 'pulling him away' from Smith. I've seen the bruises, the x-ray, the state of his face. He has the print of the bottom of your shoe on his chest, John," she straightens her shoulders, holding eye contact with him. She needs to get this out. "I also saw the lack of defensive wounds. He let you beat him, let you kick him while he was already down."

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