Not Afraid

Chapter Ten - Kissing And Dragons

John ought to have known that trying to help Harry would have been a total fiasco but he had hoped, somehow, that this time might be different. He'd hoped they might have been able to put aside the past and move on with the future. But there was history between them, a lot of muddied waters and John now understood what it had been like and was still like between Sherlock and Mycroft. Mycroft once told John that there was too much history between him and his brother and John had scorned it at the time. Now, he wasn't so sure he'd be quite so disbelieving. John hated himself for what had happened. He hated himself because he'd failed Harry yet again. It sat on his shoulders as he put Rosie to bed for the night. It ate at him as he sat in his chair in front of the fire while Sherlock read a book. It was consuming him and he didn't know what to do. 

"Sherlock?" John watched as Sherlock closed his book with a snap and put it aside, already looking intently at him.

"Yes, John?"

"What do I do?" his voice was quiet, begging Sherlock to have an answer like he always did. He was a genius, after all, and John needed him to know what to do. Sherlock pressed his lips together into a thin, pale line and John knew he was trying to figure out how to say that he didn't know what to do.

"Don't worry," John shook his head. Sherlock wasn't a genius when it came to matters of the heart. "Forget it."

"I can't," Sherlock whispered, slowly climbing from his seat. "I can't because...look at yourself, John. It's eating you away, can't you see? And I can't let it do that."

He stood, illuminated by the fire and John felt a strange urge rising in his chest, compelling him to stand up. Though he was so much shorter than Sherlock, they maintained eye contact, John pleading silently with Sherlock. He needed him. Of course, Sherlock could read that clear as day and it registered in his eyes. Slowly, as if in a trance, Sherlock reached out with both thin hands and cupped John's face. John exhaled deeply, swallowing hard, his pulse sky rocketing at the gentle touch.

"Please help me, Sherlock," John said in a very small voice. He was so small, not just in physical stature but in how he viewed himself now. Sherlock couldn't bear it, he couldn't stand seeing his John like this. He moved forwards, still cradling John's face in his hands, holding him like something precious, something that might break at any given moment, even though he knew John was strong, stronger than so many. A solider. He was breathing shallowly now, nervous when he thought of what he was about to instigate. He was not a seasoned professional. He'd had no practice. He had no idea what he was doing. But John needed him. And when John Watson needed him, he was there. Sherlock tilted his head down so it was level with John's and John's eyes widened. They were a lovely blue-grey, Sherlock noticed. And he pulled John that little bit closer so their lips were touching. All these years of refusing to love, hating how vulnerable it made him and now, now he knew what he was missing out on. Vulnerability made him seem suddenly much more alive, awake to the world that John was in. Sherlock slid his hands down from John's face, curved around his solid shoulders to his back to hold him even closer. John wound his arms around Sherlock, his fingers reaching up to tangle in the dark curls. There was no air between them now and once, Sherlock would have shoved the other person away, feel disgusted with himself for showing this weakness but now it was he who eliminated the space between them and realized that John wasn't the only one who needed this. His mouth opened slightly in time with John's and they were kissing like the world around them didn't exist. The thing about John Watson was that he wasn't selfish like Harry accused him of being. He was, in fact, the most selfless human being Sherlock had ever encountered. He made you look at your morals and reassess them. No, he wasn't perfect but no one could be.  But he was completely selfless, willing to do anything for anyone and he could save a life in more ways than one. Sherlock loved him so fully and unconditionally then, realized it was so much more than anyone ever described, an inferno in his heart that was indescribable. Sherlock thought he knew the world, he thought he could see everything. But he had never seen this. He had never encountered anything like this before and it scared the living daylights out of him. But it also sharpened him. He knew, as he kissed John, that he would do anything for John. He knew that already but now it seemed inescapable. He was utterly, totally and irrevocably bound to John in ways that no one could possibly understand. They had been through hell and found their way back again and Sherlock loved the other man beyond compare. So, his hands holding John and his lips working in a manner he wasn't accustomed, he swore to himself that he would show John that. John deserved nothing less from him. Because John was John. And that was that.