My Full Confession

The Words That Can't Be Spoken

I walked slowly to the door, turning the knob quietly (for I did not want my father to hear any of this, whatever was happening and whatever might follow) and peering into the darkened hallway. As promised, he was standing there, in that thin flannel shirt with his hair swept over to one side like the gentleman he pretended to be.
"Came to say goodbye." John said simply. I nodded, not quite sure if I accepted that as a valid answer or not. I didn't know what it meant, or if it was serious or not. I didn't know if he wanted to be invited in.
"I said I was bathing." I said rather obviously. John blinked, noting my obvious dress, before nodding.
"Well obviously you haven't gotten to that yet." he muttered.
"No." I agreed quietly. There was a rather awkward silence, in which John rolled back and forth on his heels, obviously searching for something to say. I stood in the doorway, wanting any reason to hold it open farther, wanting any reason to let him enter. I didn't know what I wanted from this night, I didn't know if I even wanted anything at all! And yet I knew that something was imminent, something that hasn't happened yet, and something that wouldn't happen if I let him get away.
"John I don't suppose..."
"Don't suppose what?" John asked just as anxiously, cutting my off midsentence, as if he was waiting for that same thing, as if he was waiting for something- for anything. I hesitated, looking back towards the bath a bit nervously.
"I don't suppose you're looking forward to Friday?" I muttered quietly. John faltered a little bit, looking as if he had expected a great many more things to come out of my mouth. That seemed to be the most disappointing question of them all, apparently, for his shoulders sagged and he merely shrugged.
"I don't think so." he admitted quietly. "Not unless you are."
"I'm not sure either." I murmured. "I'm afraid of...well I'm afraid of her. And what she'd expect from me."
"You mean like...like the wedding night?" John presumed. I nodded my head nervously, clutching onto the door, not knowing where this conversation was leading us, yet knowing of course that it was certainly dangerous waters. Yet that was the point, was it not? If the two of us stayed within our comfort zone we might never get anywhere, we would just be going in circles for the rest of our lives, never one admitting to the other the way they truly felt. That would have been the greatest tragedy of all.
"I've never...well of course I've never been with anyone before." I whispered nervously.
"No, me neither." John agreed. "I honestly don't know what to say."
"Victor told me..."
"Victor? You talked about this with him?" John asked in some exclamation, as if he was almost offended that I had gone to Victor before I had gone to him. Then again, that was before John had returned. That was still when I was vulnerable to that devil's suggestions, simply because I thought he was the only one who might understand me.
"Well yes. Victor's married but he's...he's equally uninterested. Dare I say." I murmured, letting my gaze fall down to the floor next to John's feet, too ashamed now to look him in the eyes. I knew that I was getting dangerously close to some sort of confession, or rather closer to some sort of mutual understanding. I knew that the longer I kept with this topic, the closer John would be to figuring me out. That is, if he didn't already see me transparently.
"I'm sure you can make up some sort of excuse." John suggested.
"I can't think of one she'd ever accept." I admitted fearfully. "I...I can't- John I don't want to."
"Then don't." John insisted, stepping forward now, and inviting himself into the bathroom. The steam had risen up from the cooling bath, and I could already feel the perspiration against my skin. Perhaps I was just sweating, perhaps I was trembling, truly I will never know. And yet I knew myself to be afraid, not of him but of everything else but him. I was afraid of how much I truly needed him, and how much longer I might have to let him go. "God Sherlock, there is an easy way around all of this."
"I can't tell her no." I whispered.
"Don't, don't tell her anything. You don't have to tell her anything." John insisted. He took another step forward, and instinctively I took a step back. I wasn't running from him, or at least I tell myself that, and yet perhaps I was. It was the look in his eyes, that ferocity that I simply didn't recognize. It was the sudden snapping of a million last nerves, the sudden dedication which would make him seethe with rage he didn't even know he possessed.
"I can just be silent." I whispered.
"You can be silent." John promised. "You just have to run."
"Run? God no, I don't have any endurance." I whispered back, stupidly I dare say.
"No, run from her. Get your things; never look her in the eyes again. Get on your horse and just..." John took a deep breath, before rubbing his eyes in exhaustion, "And just run away with me."
"With you?" I breathed.
"I've come all the way here for you; I'm not leaving without you. I'm not letting you leave me, not again. Not when you're all that I could dream about for eleven years." John whispered.
"Oh my god." I breathed, stumbling away from him for a moment. "You're saying it, aren't you?"
"I'll say whatever you want me to say, so long as it's what you want to hear." John promised.
"That was...that was the confession!" I exclaimed. "You love me." John's face grew red, and yet for as uncomfortable as he appeared, he looked to be very much at ease. He looked as though he had just grown to accept his fate, as if he understood now that there was no stopping what I had already set in motion.
"Perhaps." He managed out. "But don't...don't speak of it. Sherlock I should never...I'm sure you know well as I that it's..."
"Illegal." I agreed.
"Impossible." John corrected. And yet he took another step forward, and I, another step back. Yet I should have been counting my steps, or rather have been aware of where I had been heading as I back peddled. For right as soon as I stepped back my leg caught the edge of the bath, and instead of steadying myself I could not stop my momentum. With a heavy splash I fell into the tub, sitting down hard on the porcelain and letting out something of an agonizing, surprised scream. The water sloshed out every angle, and I sat miserably in the middle of it, feeling the need to cry at my own stupidity. John looked like he was at a loss for what to do; he merely stood there with his cheeks aflame, as if he was too afraid to touch me. I stayed put, feeling my eyes begin to leak. Thankfully my tears could not be differentiated from the dripping bath water, and it all blended in upon my cheeks. I did not know what else to do but cry, for I had spoiled our moment, the one moment which might have decided how I lived the rest of my life. Then again, I had at least gotten something of a confession.
"What's going on here?" called my brother's voice, obviously drawn to the scream that I had yelped upon falling in. Before I could rise to my feet to make the matter seem normal Mycroft barged in, his face growing quite pale to see what had become of the two of us. Well of course it was a matter that needed some explaining, for I was looking quite distraught as I sat fully clothed in the bath, and John's face was so red that he looked as if he might have exploded right then and there.
"I was just leaving." He explained poorly.
"You certainly were." Mycroft agreed, his voice hardening as he stood as tall as he could manage, holding the door open rather sternly so as to make it clear he intended John to leave. The boy took a breath, looking at me one last time with something of a mournful expression.
"Goodbye Sherlock." He managed.
"Goodbye John." I repeated, staring at him with my mouth hanging shamelessly open, and my eyes unblinking. Mycroft bid the boy farewell, watching him as he made his way down the stairs and out the front door. I looked at my brother for a moment, yet he said nothing. Obviously he didn't want my explanation; for he knew he would not like it whatever it was. I wasn't going to supply him with it, either. I did not think he deserved it much.
"Goodnight, brother mine." Mycroft managed finally. I nodded, thankful that he at last closed the door. I sat for a moment before readjusting myself, swinging my feet over the edge of the bath and allowing my head to hover just above the warm water.
"He loves me." I whispered, just silent enough so that my words could turn to breath. Yet muttering it alone made it true, muttering it alone made it magical. And with that I took a deep breath, and submerged.