If You Love Me, Let Me Go

Chapter 18: The Weight Of Us

Naturally, with a cup of coffee in his left hand and his laptop resting in it's usual position on his knee, John spent most of Saturday morning reading through the comments on his latest blog post. He was always genuinely surprised that people continued to enjoyed reading what he posted. Although, even John couldn't resit to glance back at his old posts once in a while, especially on the days he felt like he'd lost his way a little. Despite Sherlock's constant denial, John had a hunch that he did the same.

It was about midday when Sherlock eventually returned home from his short trip with Molly. He struggled up the stairs before collapsing into a heap onto the sofa, allowing his eyes to finally fall shut.

"Someone's exhausted." John shook his head and continued replying to his comments.

"You could say that. It's good to be home." Sherlock's eyes flickered open, followed by a small genuine smile escaping his lips as he sat observing John's reaction to whatever it was that he found amusing on the screen directly front of him.

"How did it go? How's Molly?" John asked out of interest. He'd only met her a few times but she seemed sweet and always appeared to be very friendly towards him.

"It was a success, if that's what you mean. Oh, and she's fine." Sherlock shrugged and closed his eyes once again.

"What's with the change of tone?" John stopped typing and closed the laptop before carelessly placing it in the floor.

"She's seeing someone - Tom, I think she said his name was." Sherlock shook his head.

"Right, okay...I don't follow. Why is that a bad thing?" John continued interrogating.

"It's not a bad thing. But spending 96 hours with her telling me every little detail, or not so little in his case, about their relationship isn't something that I signed up for. I should have taken that bloody famous hat of mine to cover my ears." Sherlock grabbed the nearest cushion, plumped it which entailed punching it with his fist, and placing it under his head.

John couldn't help but chuckle at the thought of Sherlock spending four days straight listening to the most human nonsense he would ever hear in his life.

"I'm glad to see you too." John replied, pulling a face at the empty mug that now rested in his hand.

After Sherlock's exceptionally long and overdue rest, the pair spent the weekend organising what was supposedly going to be the best day of their life. The invitations seemed to take much longer than they had originally predicted due to Sherlock having a bad word to say about everyone on their guest list.

"Why does she have to come to the wedding?" Sherlock questioned, testing John's patience.

"Why? Because she's your mother, Sherlock. That's why. Honestly, you're not very good at this."

"Well, I've never planned a party before. How am I supposed to know what needs doing?" Sherlock stated, gazing at the state of their living room.

"Wedding, Sherlock. It's a wedding, not a party. It's our wedding. Surely it wouldn't hurt to try and show a little interest."

"I am interested, of course I am. It's just - I don't know. I'm not someone who believes in spending so much time and effort into organising all this. It's just one day, after all. The only part I care about is spending the rest of my life with you." His tone softened.

"Isn't that the whole point? A wedding is promising to spend the rest of our lives together, right? That's what makes it the happiness day of our life."

"I can't help but disagree with you." Sherlock stated, blatantly attempting to see John's reaction.

John placed down the invitations and focused his attention on Sherlock. His heart was racing, partly because he didn't know where all of this was going.