Nicotine

Bleeding Gutters

John stumbled into the flat and sat down in his armchair. The room glowed orange from the streetlights and Sherlock stood motionless at the window, a silhouette against the dull glass. It smelled of coffee and cigarettes.

"Sherlock-" John's voice caught and his breathing was jerky.

"Who did this-" John paused again and choked on his words a little. "Who did it to her. Please- just tell me...I don't- I- I want to know. Just-please....tell me."

It had been a week since Mary's death. She was shot in the street in the late evening, and pronounced dead at the scene.

"John, I'm sorry. There has been a lot I have kept from you and you need to listen now." Sherlock said softly, remaining unmoved at the window.

John had unofficially moved back into 221b that afternoon.

"Tell me. Tell me-" John shook as he put his head in his hands and exhaled slowly. "Sh-Sherlock what, what the hell is going on?"

"I don't know quite how to put it but I'm going to try. It's long and, you need to know all of it." Sherlock said as he walked over and sat down opposite John. John took his head out of his hands and his eyes hardened as he prepared himself for whatever was coming.

"I think I should start from the beginning. Nearly three years ago-"

"You fucking killed yourself in front of me, yes." John said angrily.

"John-"

"Sherlock you left and I was so- so alone again and I watched you die Sherlock I- yeah, you let me watch that happen and you left me, left me to...for...nothing." John said, voice shaking with emotions.

"Please, forgive me John. It was necessar-"

"NO, IT WASN'T SHERLOCK! You let me watch you bleed into the gutter on the filthy street! You let me believe what I saw was real and I've never forgotten that image. Your blood on the pavement. My own screams echoing in my ears. Your body, broken and lifless. And my gulit. Your last words so clear and- empty.

You were my only friend, the only person I had ever- ever owed so much and you knew-you knew- what I'd been through. You showed me that there were things worth living for and you, Sherlock, you were one of them. For two years I thought I had lost you. Lost everything."

John's voice shook and he leaned back, heaving with sobs. All his emotions had been sealed up for so long and had now been released. John needed answers. Sherlock looked to the window, pressing his fingers to his lips. His eyes shone a little, moist with unshed tears.

"So, yeah, you can explain Sherlock. Explain the past two and a half years." Said John. It would have sounded harsh if his voice hadn't been so broken.

Sherlock took a deep breath.

"It was for you, John, all of it." Sherlock said sadly. John looked up earnestly.

"I jumped that day because if I didn't Moriarty was going to kill you. It was you or me- either I let everyone think I was dead or let you die. And not just you- Mrs Hudson and Lestrade. And I know what it did to you. I had to survive the guilt, John, knowing you were suffering and it was my fault, and knowing there was nothing I could do to change it. I had no choice but I spent days and days trying to find another way out but there wasn't one, trust me. John you lost me that day but I lost you, too."

John looked Sherlock straight in the eyes.

"Sherlock, I wanted to say that day, you- you are the best and the wisest man I have ever known and I am so so sorry. I said it on the tube car but...I meant to say...always meant to...Sherlock, thank you... but..." John began. His eyes brimmed again.

"Thank you, John. But the Reichenbach be discussed fully some other time. It is not what I want to talk to you about. What I want to talk to you about is Mary Watson." Sherlock said, changing the subject tactlessley.

"Sherlock, look- I'm not- I can't talk about...about it yet- can we just, not do that. I just want to know who did it. Is he dead please say he's dead." John shuddered and looked like he was about to get up and leave, but he didn't.

"The woman you married was not called Mary Watson or Mary Morstan. She was an ex-assassin who made a lot of enemies John. She was not the person she said she was. She was a liar." Sherlock said angrily.

"But please believe me when I say she loved you. And although she wasn't the woman you thought, her personality never changed." Sherlock said quickly.

John gripped the chair hard, so hard his knuckles went white.

"No, no. IS EVERYONE I KNOW- everyone I know fucking INSANE! Including me, including fucking me. " John yelled.

"No, she wasn't. She is- WAS my wife Sherlock!  I knew her better than you ever did, and she wasn't-"

"I would not lie about this to you John! I've always known- since that bonfire night." Sherlock said quietly. "Here is the file. I'm sorry, John. There's nothing else to say...tonight. You can't- I won't- just, read the file. Another time. I know..." Sherlock tailed off as John stared at the file in his hands.

Sherlock could see he wouldn't get any further with John tonight.

John sat back holding the brown envelope. Could he?

*

When he came back to his senses, Sherlock was gone. He heard the door close quietly and saw Sherlock's coat was missing. He wouldn't be back that night.