These Days

Making House Calls

John POV. John didn't give his wife an explanation; he didn't kiss his son goodbye or even turn off the TV. He just grabbed the car keys and dashed to the van, out of the driveway before Mary could ask where he was going. He just went. Sherlock couldn't be doing this, not now, that man was the only ray of sunshine he's seen after what felt like eternities of darkness, and now he decided that he would just leave because there was a hiccup in their secret. This wouldn't do, it simply wouldn't. John's heart, or what was left of it at least, was pounding in his chest as he sped down the road, braking the speed limit so badly as he tore through to concrete to Sherlock's flat. Thankfully he knew where it was from the walk from the coffee shop, or this would be a lot more awkward. John didn't know whether to feel angry or depressed or confused, he didn't even know if those were Sherlock's words or some guidance counselor, making him give up this love they created because it was dangerous. John parked right in front of the house, slamming the door to the van and going up to knock angrily on the door. Sherlock was probably right there, with some woman he had just met, having the time of his life. The only reason he dumped John was for some other person... The door opened and it wasn't Sherlock, but some older woman in a flower print apron, looking somber.
"Hello, can I help you?" she asked in a scratchy yet sweet voice.
"Yes, is Sherlock Holmes available?" John demanded, his foot tapping on the cement impatiently.
"You're not..." she mumbled.
"John Watson, I need to talk to him." John insisted.
"Oh dear, I don't think he's taking visitors, but you're welcome to come back..." John cut her off, pushing his way into the house and running up the steps two at a time to get to Sherlock's apartment.
"You get down here right now young man, you'll get your head chopped off!" the lady warned, but John didn't listen. At the moment decapitation sounded awfully like what he was already going through. John opened the door without hesitation, hearing the land lady downstairs take a deep breath, waiting for him to get brutally murdered. Instead, it looked like Sherlock wouldn't be doing much moving anytime soon. The flat was lit only by a dying fire, cascading the room in a dull orange glow. Sherlock was sitting on the floor next to the flames, leaning up against the stone wall and drinking straight from a large bottle of what appeared to be whiskey. He looked terrible, not just the physical appearance, but there was such a dead look in his eyes that you'd think he's seen the end of the world himself.
"I don't want any more tea." He mumbled, taking another large swig from the bottle and swaying slightly. His cheeks were tear stained and his hair was out of place, and he wasn't wearing his usual clothes, but a tattered old robe and pajama pants.
"Well good, because I don't think either of us needs that at the moment." John insisted. Sherlock jumped to his feet, the whiskey swishing around in the bottle. He looked desperate, like he wanted to run but also smash the bottle over top of John's head.
"John, you, you shouldn't be here!" Sherlock insisted.
"Well here I am, so you better explain right now." John demanded. Sherlock leaned back against the wall, as if he didn't trust his feet well enough to keep him upright.
"You think I wanted this?" Sherlock muttered, letting his head fall to the stone.
"Sure seems like it." John decided.
"I don't." Sherlock muttered. "I don't want to let you go, I don't want to be alone, but I have to. If Hamish tells Mary then that would be terrible, but it's only two times, we can talk ourselves out of that, but we can't push our luck, we can't continue this because the more we go on the more we are personally chipping away at our future."
"Obviously you don't know how much I am willing to sacrifice then." John decided.
"How much?" Sherlock muttered.
"Everything." John insisted. "I would give up everything I own just to have you back. I'll divorce Mary, I'll let her have the house, let her have Hamish, all of my life savings, I'll quit my job, scrap all of my possessions, all I want is you."
"NO YOU DON'T!" Sherlock screamed, looking as if he was going to kick something down. John took a fearful step back, how drunk was he? "You don't want me, you can't want me look at me! I'm a mess, I'm a disaster I'm an absolute failure! I could be a mathematician, I could be Einstein, but I teach second graders to count! I have nothing to my name except a list of people that hate me and stale bottles of alcohol!"
"Do you think that matters to me?" John asked.
"Yes! It matters to you whether or not you care to admit it, I don't want to be a disappointment, I don't want to spoil your name, I don't want you to go down in history as the man that cheated on his wife." Sherlock muttered.
"I'll go down in history as the man who risked everything for the only love he wanted." John decided.
"You don't love me." Sherlock snapped.
"Yes I do Sherlock, I love you." John insisted, standing strong and firm. Sherlock had to get it through his thick skull that he was more than just a train wreck of a person; he was the most treasured human being on this earth. But he just shook his head, taking another long drink from the half empty bottle.
"Sherlock, look at me." John insisted, walking up so that he and Sherlock were not three feet apart. A bold move, obviously, who knew what Sherlock would do, surely he wouldn't hurt him, would he?
"I love you, I love you more than anything on this entire earth, and you need to believe me when I say that I would give up everything just to be with you." John insisted. Sherlock's anger seemed to seep away, leaving him looking like a broken man, trying desperately to find his pieces.
"Why would you love me John?" he muttered.
"The list is longer than I'd care to admit." John said with a guilty smile. Sherlock sighed with defeat, not moving but looking John right in the eyes.
"You have to let me go." Sherlock insisted.
"You must think I'm actually going to listen to that." John said with a laugh, stepping up closer and kissing Sherlock experimentally. His lips tasted like a terrible combination between whiskey and tears, and the man himself smelled like stale alcohol and firewood. But he was the most beautiful specimen this earth had ever created, and he needed to accept that about himself. Sherlock pushed John ever so slightly away, so that their lips couldn't meet, but he didn't look so sure about his intentions.
"John you need to leave." Sherlock said weakly.
"I'll never leave you." John insisted.
"Please." Sherlock said, his voice cracking with bent up emotion.
"I'm a stubborn little jerk aren't I?" John asked, leaning forward once more and pecking Sherlock once again on the lips.
"Yes you are." Sherlock agreed, but this time there was a ghost of a smile on his face. The hands pushing John away dropped and he set the bottle on the floor, holding John around the neck and just standing there, burying his head in his shoulder and letting his tears flow out once more. But they weren't tears of sadness, not anymore, they were of guilt, of relief, of weakness, but he knew now that he could never let John go again. John ran his fingers through Sherlock's hair, holding him to him and repeating again and again how much he loved him. It seemed to John that Sherlock had finally come back to his senses, whether the original call had been alcohol induced or having been the advice of a certain landlady, nothing that should be fixed ever stayed broken for long. They ended up on the couch, John sitting with Sherlock curled up next to him, still letting his head fall on John's shoulder, but the tears were long gone. One of their hands were interlocked while the other held them together, so close that not even Mary could pry them apart. John wished he could stay there forever, in the dying light of the fire, with Sherlock so close, but he also knew just as well that he had to leave or Mary would get suspicious. If he wanted Sherlock to stay with him then he needed to prevent any more security breaches.
"I need to leave Sherlock; I've got to get home." John insisted. Sherlock stirred on his shoulder, lifting his sleepy head up and looking John in the eyes.
"Yes, you probably should." He agreed, repositioning himself so that he could let John stand up. John stood, looking down at Sherlock who was still seated.
"Nothing changed then, has it?" he asked. "We're still together?"
"Yes John, you and your stubbornness has brought me back to my senses." Sherlock said with a daring little laugh.
"Okay then, I suppose I should get going." John decided. Sherlock got to his feet very quickly, and the stood and looked at each other for a couple of seconds too long.
"Be careful." Sherlock insisted.
"I'll be fine Sherlock, but you, on the other hand, need to stay away from the liquor cabinet." John insisted. Sherlock just smiled shyly, looking at the floor as if he didn't know how to respond.
"I'm sorry for being such a baby." He muttered.
"It's not your fault." John insisted.
"I was conflicted, I was terrified, but I want you to know that I love you too. I always have, ever since I met you I knew there something about you no one else had." Sherlock decided. He held the side of John's face for a moment, pushing the stray hairs out of his eyes with his thumb. John leaned into his touch, holding his hand there so that he couldn't leave quite so soon. Sherlock bent down and kissed John ever so softly, as if too timid to actually kiss him fully. But John loved it, he loved Sherlock's fear, he loved his childish love, obviously he had no idea what in the world he was doing or what he should be doing. Sherlock just loved like he thought he should, with small kisses and soft touches, it was purely an emotional way of showing affection.
"Good bye Sherlock." John decided, giving him one last smile before walking back out of the flat, his heart now fully in place once again, and determined to keep it that way.