Broken Men

Chapter 4: An Almost Encounter

John made his way slowly home in the darkness, avoiding streetlamps and mulling things over in his mind. He still couldn't believe that the fact that he was in love with Sherlock had managed to go completely under his radar. He was the one out of the two of them that was more in touch with his emotions. So how did he not see it? Of course his first instinct had been to deny it when Sarah had told him. Not because there was anything wrong with being in love with someone of your own sex; he had been overjoyed when Harry and Clara had gotten together and as the brother was very involved and supportive of the rights. More like he could never see himself in love with Sherlock. He did love Sherlock of course, he was his best friend and would gladly give his life for him, as he had almost done on multiple occasions.

He crossed the street and made his way to the door, still not completely paying attention. If his mind had been clear, he would've seen a tall, thin, dark shape dart into a room off the right side of the hall, the door shutting softly with a click. If his mind had been clear, he would have noticed Molly skidding to a stop in front of the door, a nervous look on her face and carrying a wad of worn and rugged clothes. And if his mind had been clear, he would have noticed a blue scarf hanging just inside the doorway, a scarf that he had seen for years in his nightmares. But John's mind was not clear. It was foggy and busy rationalizing his emotions and behaviours. He side-stepped Molly in the hall, brushing past her and heading up the narrow staircase towards the bathroom.

He showered quickly, hoping to put his newest realization far from his mind and hope to never revisit it again. It would hurt him on a wholly new level of complication for him to have loved him and lost him the way he did. After dressing fast he went back down the stairs and sat in his chair, waiting for Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade to arrive. Molly peered in the room, her face visibly tired and stretched with worry. She said nothing, merely looked at him for a few long moments. Her mobile trilled and she looked down at it in alarm.

John had not been paying attention to her, and did not look up at her when her mobile went off. She cleared her throat until he lifted his gaze from his lap to her face. "John, could you please go to the kitchen and ring Mrs. Hudson. See what's taking her?" He nodded and lifted himself slowly from his chair, walking to the kitchen and dialing slowly. It just rang through, almost as if she had left it off the hook. He sighed and tried his old next door neighbour to see where she went. After a brief and awkward conversation and the promise that if she was seen she would call back straight away, John hung up the phone and made his way slowly back to his chair.

While he had been gone, Molly raced to the small coat closet in the hall, reaching in and grabbing Sherlock's arm. "Out out out out get out!" She whispered forcefully. She pushed him from behind and grabbed his scarf on the way out, opening the door and ushering him through it. He paused on the threshold, looking back down the hall towards the kitchen wistfully. He had only seen John for a split second, shorter really, but his heart tore into a thousand flaming pieces a thousand times over in that small fraction of a moment.

Admittedly, he pondered not getting out in time, allowing John to see him. But he knew that once John saw him he wouldn't have the strength to leave him ever again and that would not be ideal. At the last second he ducked out, his heart heavy with longing, sadness, and regret.

Molly shut the door behind them and walked briskly alongside of him down the street and around the corner. They waited in the shadows of a tall building, Molly making impatient sounds the entire time. He looked at her and examined the stress in her face.

"Molly..." She looked up at him. "I'm sorry for this." She waved her hand as a dismissal, her way of saying she was fine. "I'm sorry for the stress this has caused you. I wouldn't wish this on you at all if I had a choice." She gave him a weary smile. "I know Sherlock."

John sat in his chair in the dim room watching the clock move forward. He had sat there since the phone call with the feeling that something big had happened and that he had missed it. Molly came bounding in after shutting the door and there was a look of exhausted relief on her face.

She had stood in the dark with Sherlock for 10 minutes, neither of them speaking really until a black towncar pulled up silently on front of them. The driver got out, tipped his hat to Molly and opened the door for Sherlock who promptly slid in and shut the door. The two made eye contact one last time before the car pulled away from the curb, but there was a lifetime of sadness and apologies in that last look that didn't need to be said.

Molly watched the car round the corner and disappear and stayed there, leaning against the building in the shadows for a couple more minutes, letting her mind stop spinning and her pulse slow before she jogged back to the front door of her flat. She was exhausted and drained and wanted nothing more than to skip the meal, and so with a quick explanation to John, "oh John, I've started my cycle and the cramps are too intense...I'm going to make a cuppa and take a hot bath and go to bed," she went up the stairs and collapsed on her bed, sleep coming to her as soon as her head hit the pillow.