It was late at night, just after a case, when John found out that his sister had been in a horrible accident. His mother had called him, in hysterics, and Sherlock had listened to them crying together over the phone. John stayed locked in his bedroom that night and the next, not really emerging at all for three days. Sherlock made him tea once, but John didn’t want it, so it was left on the ground beside the door, in case John changed his mind. The next morning, Sherlock found the empty cup and took it back downstairs.
When John finally wandered into the kitchen on the third morning, Sherlock was already making tea for him. Sherlock barely glanced at him as he threw a couple slices of bread into the toaster. John was pale, with dark circles under his eyes, and a thick blanket wrapped around his shoulders. His unkempt hair stuck up in all directions, and Sherlock was fairly certain that he was wearing the same clothes he had been wearing when he first received his mother’s phone call. He fell ungracefully into a chair, and dropped his head onto the table. Sherlock silently made up his breakfast and set the plate in front of him, dropping a gentle kiss onto the top of his head. John didn’t lift his head until a cup of tea was set before him, which he drank quickly and enthusiastically. Sherlock sat silently across from him.
John ate his breakfast in complete silence, then stood to take his dishes to the sink. Sherlock stopped him and took them himself, while John went to sit on one cushion of the sofa, his knees drawn up to his chest. Sherlock cleaned up the kitchen and went to join John on the sofa, silently holding his arms out for John to crawl into them. He buried his face in Sherlock’s neck, sniffling as he did so. Sherlock merely held him, unsure of what to say. When John finally shifted against him, his voice broke the silence, raspy and quiet. “I love you, Sherlock.”
Sherlock leaned down to pressed his nose into John’s hair. “I know, John,” was all he said in reply. He knew this wasn’t about him at all, but was only John’s way of coping for the time being. John began to sob quietly against Sherlock’s shoulder, his tears soaking the blue dressing gown. It was a long time before John could compose himself enough to wipe his eyes with the back of his hand. When he did, however, he lifted his head enough to look at Sherlock.
“She was only thirty-one, Sherlock,” he whispered, shaking his head. He looked towards the kitchen, not really focusing on anything in particular. Sherlock slid his hand from John’s shoulder, up his neck, to the side of his head to pull him closer until his forehead was pressed against John’s temple. “She was drunk when it happened…Mum says she didn’t feel anything. It happened too quickly. Dad’s a mess. He hasn’t been home for a few days now; been out drinking.” His voice cracked on the last word, and he turned his head back into Sherlock’s neck. “I told her…so many…times…to stop drinking….” He was crying harder now, his body shivering with every sob as Sherlock rubbed his hand up and down his partner’s back. “Why didn’t she listen, Sherlock?”
Sherlock held him a little tighter, fighting the urge to say something that might upset him more, like how he used to be the same when Mycroft found out about his drug use. He wanted to tell John how difficult it was for Mycroft to convince him to at least limit himself to cigarettes. And then John came along; the only one capable of making Sherlock quit smoking entirely. Although, there would always be times like this when Sherlock seriously considered lighting up a fag or going out to find something stronger.
“The funeral is next week…you’ll go with me, won’t you?” John asked.
“Of course, John,” Sherlock whispered, kissing the top of his head again.
Sherlock had never met John’s parents. They had not yet reached that stage in their relationship, although both Mr. And Mrs. Watson knew of their son’s boyfriend and approved of him greatly. Sherlock wasn’t nervous, of course, but John was nearly shaking the morning of the funeral. That his parents should have to meet Sherlock in this way wasn’t exactly preferred, but it was going to have to do for now.
