adamnedsoldier
mary watson - mary /morstan/ - had shot sherlock holmes. john was sat in his chair, returned to its rightful spot in the flat now, with several suitcases by the door to take upstairs to the, now spare, room. if he was in a cartoon, steam would be coming out of his ears and maybe a rain cloud would follow him round too. john couldn’t bring himself to be his usual lecturing self about dating janine just to get into magnessun’s office either. he sighed and glanced over to the sofa where sherlock was laying, pushing himself out of his chair and made his way over, perching on the coffee table. “how’s the pain?” he asked, brushing the curls from sherlock’s forehead. he couldn’t help the guilty feeling, like this was his fault for marrying mary in the first place.
adamnedsoldier
he turned to look at him finally, eyes full of heartbreak. he’d almost wished he’d never let himself get back to this point, acting one way then a wave of crushing guilt hitting him when he remembered of his wife. the guilt that came when he saw the look in sherlock’s eyes when he pushed john away.
adamnedsoldier
“i doubt mycroft would have had a moments peace if we were running about together. christ, half the countries would have killed us just from the rumours that we dated.” he smiled, not reaching his eyes. he’d wondered if he could have saved sherlock from those beatings or whether he’d have ended up meeting the same fate. still, maybe it wouldn’t have been so bad knowing the other was right there. “mycroft cares about you. regardless of whether he shows it or not. he does care.” in his own messed up way yet at least the pair weren’t estranged like he was with harry. john sat back, the lactic acid in his legs building up, leaning against the leg of the table as his head dropped back. his eyes dropped to the gold ring on his finger, twisting it off and spinning it between his fingers. he’d seen the sadness and /knew/ sherlock had meant forever, but he couldn’t bring himself to abandon a baby he’d not even met yet. “i want this to be what we used to have,” before the death, anger, betrayal. before mary and the baby, the wedding. “but we can’t, we’re not those people anymore,” his voice was barely audible, the john watson that wanted this was not the john watson that sherlock had met in university, nor the version that came home from the war. “you know what i want,” it came out as a bitter laugh, the untouchable gold at the end of the rainbow. he couldn’t bring himself to look at sherlock, unable to face the calculating steel in front of him, “and you know why we can’t. you wouldn’t do that to mary. i couldn’t do that to you,” not to mary, he couldn’t hurt sherlock again in the same way he did when he left him in the airport or stood at the end of the altar with someone else. “you’re a good man, sherlock, one that i don’t deserve.”—
REICHENSFALLS
the smile did not last, and he observed john through dark eyelashes and the fringe of his curls, unable to fully meet his eyes for this conversation. "what... exactly... do you want from me?" the question was careful and poised, akin to a confession at the same time. / anything. anything, anything. / at the same time, it was a tightrope; some brushing touches were acceptable while others instilled that panicked guilt in john's expression. human nature did not come easily to sherlock but /this/ was exceptionally difficult.