Choosing Right
This is one of the chapters that needs the M rating more than the others I guess. Lots of things are implied and it's just more adultish. There's no smut but there's no doubt that things have happened and are about to if that makes sense. Also this one is like a whirlwind, we go from a mini fight with Mary to Johnlock fluff, then implications of the smex and then more angst and fluff and anGST and yahwbsbahahahw
Also this is long... Like so long. Like over 50 pages on mobile.
P.S. the word Celadon is used to describe the color green when it looks like an almost porcelain ish pale green glaze. I think that describes Sherlock's eyes at times quite well, yes? If you look up the color a whole bunch of pretty jade and stuff comes up.
Also, football in England is the same thing as soccer in America. I don't know what country you are reading this in, I looked at my book stats and I've got readers from all over the globe on several of my stories so I felt like I should mention that since John is a football player in most of my teenlock or unilock fanfictions(including this one). This is unilock.
Enjoy, loves!
"C'mon, John." Mary Morstan drawled, flipping her long blonde hair over her other shoulder while she over straightened her back. The practiced action popped her breasts out in an obvious attempt to draw John's eyes. He rolled his eyes at his girlfriend. It wasn't like he hadn't seen her naked before. Honestly, he wasn't nicknamed 'three continent Watson' for no reason. Even so, it made him uncomfortable. He wasn't really eager to look at her right now, especially not her more delicate parts.
"What've you got up your sleeve now?" John asked, meeting her eyes and putting his pencil down. He had been working on some maths homework but if he didn't respond to his rather insistent 'girlfriend' quickly then she would make a fuss. He would like to avoid the crocodile tears and anger if he could.
It wasn't a 'total' secret that he was dating her because she helped hold up his reputation. They both knew it and used each other for their covers. But that didn't mean that they hadn't had any physical affection in their relationship... Until lately at least. The past four months he had avoided even kissing her at all costs. When it happened they were in public and it was for the whole facade that he was trying to maintain.
"More like up your pants," she purred, leaning closer to his face, despite her precarious sitting position on his desk. Her white tank top stretched in what would've been all the right places if he cared. She put a perfectly manicured hand on his upper thigh, and John felt a spasm of annoyance and repulsion.
"Come on, Mary, I really do have to do this work." John lied easily. He'd swiped an extra copy of the work in maths so that he could pretend to do homework as an excuse to get away from her for a bit. He'd done the actual work days ago, but he liked to have alibis in these situations. Mary had been very insistent on trying to get sex for weeks and John was doing everything he could to turn her away.
She pouted and flipped her hair again; leaning back, her previously perfect posture sagging dramatically. "You're no fun, John Watson." She frowned. She quickly straightened her face, in an effort to 'prevent wrinkling', as she often said.
"You know that I can tell when you go to hook up with another boy, really, you smell like you've just had sex less than an hour ago. Who was it, this time, Thomas? Don't pretend that I'm the only one you go to when you feel like getting off. I'm not exactly your favorite lover, either," John kept working, sneakily writing and rewriting things so that it took him extra time. He didn't want to deal with Mary right now, especially since his favorite class was in the morning and he was seriously looking forward to it. It had been the only light in an otherwise terribly dark and depressing weekend. Besides, he had some other plans for the night.
Mary just scowled and hopped off the desk. "Lover? Honestly, John. You could at least pretend that you care. You haven't touched me once." She snapped.
"Our relationship now is pretty much for social convenience. It makes things easier for both of us. You've never had a problem with it all until now." He raised an eyebrow at her.
She spluttered. "That's not true! We're in love! I only go to others because you won't do anything!"
"Look, Mary, I need to work. We can talk about this later." He didn't look at her. Did she really think they were in love? He hadn't loved her for a long time now.
John didn't care when Mary and her attitude stormed out of his room. He had loved her, once, when she had been the girl that he knew from an early age. She used to be sweet, a girl he really liked, but then something happened and it was like she had been an undercover spy all her life. It happened a few weeks ago, right when she grew desperate for attention. She'd... changed. It was like she was falsely sweet unless she grew angry. Then she became someone else, someone dangerous.
If you valued your life you did not get in between Mary and whatever it was that she wanted.
John just sighed and tossed the papers he had been using into the trash. He looked at the team posters and trophies around his room and the empty bed on the opposite side of his. Greg, his roommate, was probably out with some girl or at some party. John didn't really care. He just sat in his chair and looked around his room, wondering why it was even still his room. Why stay here? This wasn't even the first time that John just wondered why he still bothered with it all.
It was practically torture to try and navigate through his football obligations and the demands of an amazing medical program. People had called him crazy for it, but hell, if he wasn't completely loony none of the various stunts he had pulled in his life would have worked out. Yet despite all his success, there was only one thing that got him out of his room in the mornings.
It wasn't the promise of a career and a nice life. It wasn't football practice. It wasn't his family or his pride, he had little of either. It definitely wasn't Mary. It wasn't his coaches or his buddies. It certainly wasn't due to religion. No, the thought that pushed him forward was controversial and could throw his life down the drain. It was scary and unthinkable and dangerous.
It was a pair of green eyes that gazed at him from afar in his English class every Monday and Thursday morning. It was the brilliant mind and teasing smile and uniqueness of Sherlock Holmes that drew John in and made life truly worth living.
Speaking of which, he scurried to the bathroom to brush his teeth yet again. He headed for his wardrobe to don his dark blue shirt. It supposedly brought out his eyes. He slunk out the window onto the fire escape, climbing down and down until he got to the street. He nearly slipped on ice as he got down. He shivered a bit, it was always cold but it was December and there was snow on the ground.
He drove his truck away from the dormitory and along the path that he knew so well. He had an alibi, of course, if Greg asked- Mary. At this point that was why he stayed with her in the eye of the public. She was only around to serve as a reason for late mornings and disappearances, and since Mary had secrets of her own, the arrangement suited them well. It seemed that maybe she was still clinging onto feelings of the past, even if she turned to others to satisfy her sexual urges. That was kinda his fault too, as her boyfriend he should be willing to take care of her in that regard.
John assumed that he must be as stealthy as a ninja, because he was never caught, even though the hall of residence he stayed in had a curfew. He wasn't sure why he and Greg stayed there instead of getting a flat, they were less than a year from graduating after all. He tried not to think about the fact that he would be deployed in June. Until the school year ended, however, John would likely be here. He was lucky not to have been caught by any the staff, he did a ton of sneaking around after dark. It was a relief, that he hadn't, because if any of this was ever found out most of his life would crumble down on him.
John drove to Sherlock's home, rolling up on the driveway and using the garage clicker that Sherlock had given to him exactly 3 months ago, back when he started spending most nights there. Sherlock had promised that John had the rights to more permanent residence should he want it. For now, though, they had decided to be a little more cautious with their relationship. Sherlock's family knew all about John. He'd met them about a month back, actually. But if John's family, team, and friends found out about the couple it would be a disaster for his career. So, for now, they were being careful. But that didn't mean that they didn't spend as much time together as they could. The army didn't really like gay men either.
The place John was headed for was close to their university and Sherlock owned the little old house. It had been a gift from his illustrious family. He also had a small apartment back in central London. They were making plans to stay there for Christmas, come to think of it. Except for Christmas Eve dinner at Sherlock's parent's house, they'd be all alone in a cozy flat in central London. John's heart beat a bit faster and the muscles at the base of his stomach clenched at the thought.
He breathed in a sigh of relief as the garage door closed and all his worries fell off his chest. He smiled as he parked his truck next to Sherlock's rather ostentatious, yet old convertible. He had gotten this truck from his father, he knew that it was unusual to maintain a car, but when you made trips to see your secret boyfriend almost nightly it was honestly necessary.
He glanced again at Sherlock's car. It was an old model, but it gleamed with shiny paint and gorgeous metal work. It was classic, elegant, and just like Sherlock. He smiled wider. He loved that Sherlock and his car were practically the same being. He took a deep breath and ease settled deep in his bones. Even the air here felt freer. He wondered, yet again, why he ever bothered leaving what had become home at all.
He entered the house and was immediately tackled by a mound of red fur. "Redbeard!" He cried happily, falling to the ground and getting covered in sloppy kisses. He laughed as the dog climbed all over him in excitement.
"John," said a quiet voice, full of fondness.
John looked up to meet celadon green eyes that smiled at him from across the room. Sherlock leaned against the doorway and his gaze was a blessed relief. John gently pushed Redbeard back onto his paws as he got up. He took in the welcome sight of Sherlock in his favorite purple shirt and black slacks. Sherlock's rueful black curls seemed to bounce all around his high cheek bones. This was pretty casual for him. John smiled gently at him.
"Sherlock," he sighed, the stress leaking from his shoulders. The detective smiled back at him, taking several steps forward as John did similarly. Sherlock's stride was longer than John's, but the shorter man was eager to get to his boyfriend and ran to his arms faster than his taller counterpart did. His arms wrapped around Sherlock's neck as their lips met in earnest.
Sherlock's hands held him by his hips, fingers touching him gently yet firmly, and John stood on his tiptoes to get the angle that he wanted. They melted into each other, the stress of the day vanishing from their minds. The kiss was sweet; a simple hello. When they broke away John beamed up at him, threading his fingers in the hair that curled at the base of Sherlock's neck.
"Remind me why I didn't spend the night?" John asked, unsure of why he bothered to leave Sherlock for any length of time ever.
"Because then Greg would be suspicious," Sherlock said, fairly used to this conversation. They'd had it for the past few weeks. Sherlock didn't want to ruin John's career and so he often has to assure John that it was okay to keep their relationship quiet for now. He told John that he didn't mind not being with him in public and that it was a worthy sacrifice. It was just what they had to do.
But truthfully, the mere idea of Mary Morstan even existing near John made anger boil in his blood. He had snapped more than a few pencils when his eyes caught sight of the girl forcing her lips onto John's. Not just after he had actually been with John, for the past two years he had watched from afar. Finally, John had met him and that had felt like the real beginning of Sherlock's life.
"Why does that matter?" John sighed, pulling away and heading towards the kitchen to start a kettle going.
"Because I won't be responsible for derailing your life." Sherlock pursed his lips, following after his boyfriend. The kitchen and dining room were conjoined and Sherlock casually sat on the simple wooden dinner table. John was glad that his face was turning away towards the cabinets as Sherlock did so because a red blush spread across his cheeks as he thought about the one time that they had made love on that very piece of furniture.
He was willing to bet that Sherlock had sat there with his legs wide spread for the purpose of reminding him about that, the stupidly attractive git would undoubtedly notice that it had worked based on some deduction about his posture. He pulled a nice copper kettle from the upper cabinet and filled it with water before setting it on the stove. He started the water boiling before turning and leaning against the counter.
"You're worth it," John decided quietly, looking back at Sherlock. It was in that moment that he realized for the umpteenth time that there was no one he would ever want to spend his life with other than Sherlock Holmes. He really was worth anything, John would even give up everything he had just for him, because Sherlock was his everything.
Sherlock frowned slightly at John, like he didn't believe him. "Are you really planning on spending the rest of your life with me John? Someday you'll find some girl," Sherlock's lip curled slightly. "And you'll marry her and will need to provide for a family. You'll need a job to do that, which means you staying in university."
Sherlock's eyes didn't waver from John's gaze. "If we were public then your family would cut what support they offer, you'd lose your friends, and maybe even your spot on the team, John." His celadon eyes softened slightly. "You know that I'd take care of you, but you're an independent man. You wouldn't let me help you financially. The army pays for most of your education, but what about the bills? You love playing football, I wouldn't rob you of pursuing a talent. Besides, your whole life gets harder if people know about your affair with a man. They judge you."
John just shook his head slightly. "I'm not going anywhere Sherlock. Not now, not ever." He knew he was avoiding addressing most of what Sherlock had just said, but the most important thing was that they were together. He looked down at the floor for a moment, but his eyes quickly flicked back up to meet Sherlock's steady and somewhat sad gaze.
"I'm going to break off things with Mary. We can talk more about being public later, but I'm tired of lying, even if it's for a reason." He walked to where Sherlock was sitting, standing between his widespread knees. He softly ran his fingers down those narrow hips and they stopped on Sherlock's upper thighs. Once again he was in awe of his luck. How had Sherlock fallen in love with him? How was John the one that got to stand here? The one that could touch him, love him, that could be so close whenever they pleased? The one that intimately knew every piece of him, emotional and physical.
"I'm in love with you, Sherlock. I won't pretend any different any longer." John was a bit apprehensive about saying those words. It wasn't like he had never expressed his love to Sherlock before, but it felt heavier this time. It wasn't a passionate declaration of love in the heat of the moment or in the quiet and dark cover of night. It was a steady promise and a clear dedication of his heart.
"I love your smile, your eyes, your mind. I love your hands, I love that you let me hold them. I want people to see that I can hold these fingers. I want to show you to all the world, I want to be able to take you places and not be afraid to parade you around because I am the luckiest idiot on the planet to have you and I want them all to know it, and that will never change." John pressed a kiss to his forehead. "I love you, so much, Sherlock. I'm not going anywhere. I want to stay right here forever if you'll let me."
He pressed a soft kiss to the pale column of Sherlock's neck. At this point his boyfriend was slightly flushing with pleasure at the praise. "I love you." John repeated, looking into those celadon eyes.
Sherlock's shoulders had long since relaxed from the tense position that they had assumed during the tense conversation and now he laced his fingers with John's, taking one of his hands and pressing it to his cupid's bow lips. "As I love you," he murmured, closing his eyes and breathing in deeply. Sherlock wanted to remember this moment. John closed his own eyes and leaned his forehead against Sherlock's. It was unusually close to his own, the table ridding them of their typically large height difference.
"I know that lying is not much of a sin compared to some of the things I've done," John said, and Sherlock smirked suggestively. "But if God damns liars then denying you will surely secure my place in hell. Sherlock you are the only truth that I am dead certain of and lying about the one thing I know seems foolish." They stood like that, lost in the plain truth of them. Nothing would ever be plainer to see in their lives than each other.
The kettle suddenly screeched, causing Redbeard to bark in surprise. Sherlock and John both sighed in unison, and the latter pulled away to stop the awful noise. He shut the stove off and took care of moving the kettle, but he didn't bother to do anything else with it. He heard Sherlock's soft footsteps approaching him. He closed his eyes, folding comfortably back into Sherlock's chest as the taller man's arms wrapped around his waist.
"I figure I'll just stay the night till class in the morning." John murmured, and Sherlock nuzzled his head into the back of John's neck.
"You're always welcome here," His voice rumbled, his arms pulling John tighter to him.
"Do you want to do anything? It's only seven." John offered, glad that he had so much time to spend with his boyfriend. Sunday nights were the pair's favorite because they were often able to spend the evening together. It took a moment for him to respond.
"I've a few ideas," Sherlock agreed. The darkened timber of his voice sent a thrill through John.
"Like what?" He asked, a slight smile on his lips.
"How about I do you?" Sherlock purred, pressing a long kiss to the spot where John's ear met his jaw and neck. John's face glowed red.
"We've got all night, we could start with the telly?" John suggested, sure that the only thing they'd actually end up doing was find some new and crazy way to pleasure each other. That was one of Sherlock's many quirks, he had the weirdest ideas about sex, and somehow they all still managed to make the act more interesting and even better every single time.
"Telly's boring. You on the other hand..." Sherlock trailed off and John chuckled.
"Something new you're just dying to try?" He asked, honestly curious as to why Sherlock was insisting on sex so early in the evening, not that he was complaining. Usually they just sat in companionable quiet or did something simple to start off their nights together. Rarely did they skip some physical affection, but they didn't normally just jump right in. It was probably inspired by the intimate conversation they'd just had.
"Not entirely new," Sherlock began to kiss and suck at his neck and John was suddenly worried that he might leave a bruise. He even took some small nibbles upon the sensitive flesh which made John let out a little moan. He wasn't sure how he'd explain the mark. He'd had to make up excuses about hickeys before but he wasn't overly fond of trying to hide them in practice.
"How so?" John tried to keep his tone light, but his body was quickly adjusting to the direction that they were headed in. His heart was beating faster, and the familiar rush of blood to his lower abdomen began. It was hard to think when Sherlock was softly sucking and kissing his neck but it wasn't difficult to feel.
Sherlock said nothing, but one of his hands drifted down to reach under John's shirt and rest against his rapidly heating skin. The feeling of Sherlock's icy fingers made John suck in a breath and he felt goosebumps form across his body. His knees were weak. John braced his hands against the kitchen counter to keep himself upright. The loss of his ability to feel his legs was not much of a surprise, honestly.
"Here?" John guessed somewhat weakly. Sure they'd screwed over on the table in a moment of passion, but the kitchen counter seemed even less sanitary.
"Problem?" John could practically hear Sherlock's grin.
"N-nope." John said, shaking his head slightly at his lover's antics.
"You don't mind if I take the lead this time?" Sherlock asked, but John didn't feel like he could muster the strength to say no, even though he generally liked being the more dominant one in their physical relationship. This wouldn't be the first time that their roles were reversed and he didn't want to deny him anyhow. The tone of Sherlock's voice made his knees feel weak, and John never seemed to be able to refuse him anything that he wanted. John just shook his head slightly in assent. He smiled slightly, would Sherlock ever stop surprising him?
WSSH
we gon skip dat smut because I'm working on a diff fic that's got a hint of lemon to it and really guys I'm kinda an innocent smol
John lay tangled up with Sherlock in his room, listening to the sound of Sherlock's breathing. Their skin was only covered by sheets and John wasn't sure where he ended and where Sherlock began. He was on his side and soft raven curls brushed against his chin. Sherlock's arms were draped around him and his face was pressed into the hollow at the bottom of John's neck. They often slept with limbs twisted around each other, because their closeness was like a stress reliever. Neither could feel whole without the other in sight.
John could live in this moment forever and he honestly wanted to. A moment in the early morning where they didn't have to go just yet. A moment where they weren't hiding because they were afraid of being discovered. He just wanted to lie here wrapped around Sherlock for the rest of his life and further. He just wanted to stay in this peaceful state where the only thing on his mind was him.
Sherlock shifted slightly, one of his hands moving sluggishly to press against John's chest, right above his heart beat. He made no sound besides a soft and satisfied sigh, John understood. He relished the feeling of Sherlock's lukewarm fingers resting against his flesh. Sherlock always seemed warmer than usual when they slept like this. Normally he was angelically pale, and the contrast to his dark hair was startling, but now as they lay together there was a faint flush to his skin and it was even more pleasant this way to feel his mostly bare body pressed up to John's.
"What time s'it?" Sherlock muttered sleepily and John looked towards the clock on the table near his side of the bed.
"3," he softly ran his fingers through Sherlock's Raven curls. He loved those curls, from their color to the way they stuck up in the morning and gave him awful bed head, to the way that they tickled his skin whenever he held Sherlock close.
Sherlock hummed softly in acknowledgement. He snuggled a bit closer and they didn't say much else. John drifted to sleep soon after, Sherlock ended up getting a few hours of Z time, too. Redbeard curled up near their feet and they all slept until morning came. When it did, Sherlock took the dog out and John made breakfast. Sherlock grudgingly are a few bites of omelet and John rewarded him with a good morning snog. They dressed, taking their time to delay the inevitable.
John sat at the table, waiting as Sherlock fed Redbeard. He didn't want to say goodbye. He looked into Sherlock's eyes from across the room and the weight of their shared disappointment and discontentment with their current situation made both of their shoulders curve in with discouragement. Neither wanted to go on with the responsibilities of the day, but they had to. It was only a week before the break started and they'd be going to Sherlock's apartment and be in a place where they would be accepted for who they were, not who society wanted. They wouldn't have to hide.
They reassured each other, through just a look, and then they braced themselves and went on with the day.
John drove back; eyes on the road, mind on Sherlock Holmes. He went to class, eyes meeting Sherlock's as his mind sifted through memories. The curls of his dark hair made him think of the curl of those narrow hips and those lips were so enticing that John wished he could rush over and kiss them till they were swollen. Sherlock was unknowingly attractive to John, from the way he watched their frustratingly normal classmates with disinterest, to the way his eyes furrowed as he thought up a new concept and pondered regardless of their teacher.
They had a test on Thursday, the final, and John realized that he ought to get Sherlock to actually study with him on the material. He looked elsewhere in the large class, catching sight of his boyfriend once again.
John found endless amusement in the things he could read from Sherlock's attitude. It was funny, he thought, that he and Sherlock knew each other to such an infinite degree and no one in this room had any idea that they were in the presence of a couple whose dedication to each other would forever surpass the emotions of those comparatively inferior to them in such a regard. They had no idea that just a few hours ago they had blissfully slept in one another's arms, dreaming of freer days to come.
So John trudged on, Sherlock doing likewise, and they managed to share a discreet look as they left their classroom to continue with the day. Sherlock went home and painted out his frustration with the world. John went to his dorm and asked Greg how he should break things off with Mary. The law student- who doubled as a junior officer- had been thrown off guard by the question and halfheartedly tried to reason with him but John wouldn't have it. He was done with Mary. He had been for a long time.
He was then surprised by Greg's sudden relief. "Thank god you're finally ditching her. 'Course it could cause some complications but I'm sure you'll come out on top. Honestly I've been waiting for you to dump her since she got nasty a bit ago-"
A knock or two pounded on the door and John and Greg eyed it. John felt hopeful, maybe it was Mary and he could get this done with. Greg was not happy because he did not want to be caught in the crossfire, no matter how much he wanted to support his friend.
John headed for the dormitory door, glancing through the peep hole. Slick blonde hair. Definitely Mary. He opened the door.
"Hey, Mary." John said, trying to force a smile. She looked up at him with an eyebrow raised as she pressed past him into the room. "Just come on in," he muttered sarcastically.
"Greg! How are you? I heard you dumped Melanie last night. So sad, I heard you liked Amy though, right?" John tried to tune her out as she prattled off with Greg, who looked very nervous.
"Er- Mary. You came because?..." He quickly aided Greg, but John trailed off, waiting for her to speak.
"Mm, well, I've been thinking." Mary sat down on John's bed, eying an errant piece of lint. She picked it up and dropped it on the floor with a look of disgust on her face. She looked back up and a smile was plastered onto her face, but John realized that he could also see some of that displeasure lingering.
"Thinking?" Greg scoffed. John might've normally glared at him, but he didn't really care about Mary anymore. Instead, she glared at him.
"Why don't you run along Greg? I'm sure there's something you could be doing." She snapped, glaring daggers at him. He took the opportunity to bolt.
"Er, yeah actually, you know, I've got some stuff t-to do." He backed towards the door and tripped over his own feet in his haste. "See you later, John, Mary." He scrambled out the door.
John rolled his eyes and turned his attention back to Mary. "You were thinking?" He prompted.
"Yes." Mary said, seeming glad to be back on track.
"Well, actually, Mary, I've been thinking, too." John said, un afraid to finally break things off.
"Oh, good." She smiled, but John saw the condescending ire in her eyes. "I'm worried about your commitment to our arrangement." She frowned slightly up at him, as if trying to make him think that that would be a bad idea through encouraging him like you would a child. He frowned right back.
"I've been thinking we should break up." John said bluntly, figuring that it was best to get the truth over with. He didn't care for Mary's assumption that he was just a tool to be used.
Mary's face suddenly went white. "Excuse me?" She spluttered. John almost shrank back in surprise.
"Break up?" She demanded, standing up from the bed. "Break up?!" She shrieked. Her face was now super red. John was suddenly a lot more appreciative of Greg's haste to bolt.
"Mary?" He asked weakly, backing up just a step.
"Y-you can't leave me!" She howled, surging forward and lunging at him. John ducked and quickly moved away from her.
"Mary!" He exclaimed; he was completely shocked. He had not anticipated this.
Mary picked up the nearest object, which happened to be a shoe, and she threw it at him. It hit him hard in the face. He clutched at his nose. Not broken, he hadn't expected it to be, but that still bloody hurt!
"Mary!" He cried out again.
She balled up one of his jumpers and sent that flying at him. It flopped sadly to the ground by his feet. She started to screech incoherently, snatching anything and everything off the ground and chucking it at him. He tried to dodge or block the stuff with his arms, luckily none of it was deadly, but he ended up getting hit in the face twice more.
Mary swiped something off his desk and raised her hand to throw it, but she stopped, and then, to John's surprise, she slumped to the ground. She clutched the object tightly in her fingers and John eyed her warily. All was quiet and calm for a moment. After a minute or so, John realized that she was silently crying, tear drops were dripping down her face and her skin had gotten a little red because of it. She wasn't the world's prettiest crier, but John still felt a pang of guilt.
Even if he was madly in love with Sherlock, he didn't hate Mary. She had been his childhood sweetheart, and his awkward middle school crutch, and a long term girlfriend. As of late she had been someone to stave off other people and protect his reputation. But, he realized, he had hurt her. She had changed when they discussed discreetly seeing other people, but that had been when she became different. It was his fault that she had gone from sweet to sour. He had hurt her, and that wasn't fair of him. He should've found someone else if he wanted a cover up, he shouldn't have led her on this way. In truth, he never should have tried to use a cover. If he wanted to date Sherlock he should've just taken the challenges as they came.
She put up a tough shell, but she was still Mary. She was just... Dangerous when trying to get something that she wanted.
And now Mary was here, crying in his room. John felt like such a cock. It was nearly Christmas and everyone expected him to be taking Mary to spend the holidays with his family. Everyone expected them to get engaged one day, then get married later on. Everyone expected and wanted and didn't bloody think about his feelings! But hadn't he done the same thing to Mary? He had broken her heart and he was a colossal arse for it.
He looked over to her huddled form and he felt even more self hatred as he saw what she was holding. A picture of them together, from a few years ago. It was from when they went to the London Zoo right after graduating. He had forgotten to move it after he had stopped treasuring it. He guessed he had just been so used to it's presence that he hadn't realized it didn't mean much because he didn't love her any longer, he'd gotten rid of anything else related to her but the picture had slipped his notice. Now it was just a memory of a simpler time, less worries, but he wouldn't go back. He had the love of his life now and he wouldn't trade Sherlock for the entire world.
John sighed, his heart heavy, what was he going to do? He loved Sherlock- to the ends of the Earth- but he had hurt somebody else and that was just selfish. He couldn't just leave Mary to rot. He looked down at the ground for a moment. Then, he headed into the tiny kitchenette, luckily a kettle had already been boiling. He got a bit of tea ready, just how she liked it. A bit of honey in camomile was her favorite. It was sweet, just like she had been most of his life.
He brought it into the main room where the beds and such were, setting it on the side table. He kneeled down and offered Mary a hand, giving her a tiny, sad smile. She looked up at him, her eyes and nose red, her tears starting to dry. She let him help her up and she clutched the framed photograph, sinking down onto the bed. She looked down at it, and he sat next to her wordlessly.
"I'm really sorry, Mary, I thought you felt the same way I did." John said softly, and she sniffled a little.
"What did I do wrong John?" She asked, her eyes looked dull, like someone had punched out a light. He had punched out that light. "I remember feeling like I was loosing you a bit, after school started. I can't remember when exactly it happened but one day you were just gone and I didn't know what to do... What happened?"
John was quiet and still. He didn't know what to say.
"We were so happy, so in love, so perfect. What went wrong?" She asked, she sounded so tired. "What did I do?" It broke John's heart to realize yet again that he had done this to a girl who had almost always been so good. He was such a jerk, she even thought that it was all her fault. Yet, he knew that her words were not true. He had never loved Mary and never would, nor had he ever cared or begin to know someone half as much as he did Sherlock Holmes. He hadn't known just how much he could lose himself in another person, become so dependent on them for completion, become one half of a whole that just clicked with the other person so beautifully.
"Mary, it wasn't you that did something wrong. I-" he breathed in deeply. It had been wrong to fall in love when he was supposed to be in a relationship with Mary. He had cheated on her, even if it seemed they had an agreement. He hadn't been honest. It wasn't that Sherlock was a mistake, but John had gone about it wrong.
"I fell in love with someone else, Mary." He admitted, looking down at his hands. John and Mary were sitting an awkward few inches apart and John felt awful. He couldn't believe that he hadn't realized just how much of a jerk he was being. Mary took the tea and sipped at it, probably so she didn't have to look at him.
"You and I were... We worked. That's the truth. We're a good match, it makes sense. We share friends, interests, and we get along well. We've known each other all our lives and it was a match." He started to explain. She was still looking away.
"But I'm not this all around perfect guy that everyone thinks I am. I'm the son of a drunk who wants to go off to war. Heck, I have to, because I'm signed up for it! But I'm no hero! I'm not the person that everyone expects me to be. I don't want to be that man, Mary. While you are wonderful," he gave her a small tentative smile, which she returned. "This is about who I should be and who I am. If I wanted to be who I should be, I would marry you and then after I got off duty I'd come home and get a job at some clinic. I'd work 9 to 5 and come home to dinner and a batch of kids." John paused for a moment to just picture it... But he couldn't even imagine life without Sherlock. What would be the point? What would he have to live for?
"But I'm not afraid of who I am anymore. I'm in love, and by God I have to stand by it because it's the only thing I know for certain" He sighed. Mary looked up at him, sadness in the depths of her eyes.
"You were the right choice, Mary, the natural one. If I had any sense at all I'd have picked you." She smiled a bit at that, and John was glad. If a joke at his own expense would help cushion the blow to her heart then he was obligated to make it.
"But I'm in love, so I'm making the crazier decisions." He admitted. Mary was quiet for a moment, as if thinking about something. Mary met his eyes for a split second and he thought that he saw something dark in her eyes but then it was gone. She sucked in a ragged breath.
"It's alright, John." She said softly, briefly placing a comforting hand on his. "I understand..." She trailed off and let out a deep breath.
"Will you be alright? For Christmas?" John paused. What could he do? He supposed that he and Sherlock could stay in town and he'd do some friendly group stuff with Mary so that she wasn't so lonely. Her parents were going on a trip for the holidays and she had planned on going with John. It was too short notice, he felt horrible for springing it on her like this. He should have ended things with her months ago.
"I'll just stay with Janine." Mary said, looking away from him. John nodded softly. Janine was her best friend, he needn't worry about her being alone.
Yet John still felt guilty as he sent Mary packing from his life. She didn't deserve to love a boy who would never again return her feelings. For the time being she was doomed to unrequited love, hopefully she would move on, because John knew that his heart would never move on from Sherlock.
WSSH
a few weeks later
In the end, John's guilt slowly seeped from his mind, and then it was gone altogether as he and Sherlock packed up the convertible and sped off for their winter break together. John laughed at Redbeard sticking his head out the window and tasting the wind; he laughed at Sherlock getting a brain freeze when he stole a gulp from John's chilled soda. He smiled happily as they drove, glad to be out and about with his high functioning sociopath and their dog, far, far away from the world's eyes.
John was excited for the holidays together. From what he gathered, they wouldn't celebrate Christmas too religiously, but John still wanted to get Sherlock a meaningful gift or two. He wanted Sherlock to know how much John appreciated him.
The drive to 221B Baker Street wasn't long, and John carried their bags up a flight of stairs as he followed Sherlock into his flat. John didn't see much of the place initially because he was busy lugging their things up 2 floors, but when he did straighten up and look around, a smile curved on his lips. It all instantly felt like home. The mismatched chairs, the funky wallpaper, the books and such strewn everywhere; it all felt so entirely Sherlock and he loved it just as much as he did his boyfriend.
He followed Sherlock's directions to the bedroom, where he took their suitcases. His boyfriend disappeared to take Redbeard out before it made a mess in the flat, so, John went about tidying things up just a tad. He cleared off a section of the table and set the dishes in the dishwasher so that the sink and counters were clear. He organized a few things that were on the floor, determined that at least the carpet should be visible. Satisfied by a bit of order being introduced he was now able to relax. He grabbed his mobile from his bag in the bedroom, hoping to quickly get texting Harry out of the way. Last he heard she had met someone and was staying sober. If that was the case, he wanted to meet up.
John walked back into the sitting room and paused in front of the armchairs. He touched an arm of the sleek leather chair almost reverently, he could vividly picture Sherlock sitting there, all majestic angles and powerful wisdom. The chair was elegant just like the man. The other chair was cozy looking, knitted and soft. It was definitely more homely and John felt like he and Sherlock were depicted perfectly by the set of mismatched chairs. Even though one was high end, Sherlock, and the other was much more common and less debonair, John, they somehow fit perfectly together. He smiled at the thought.
He sat in his chair and waited for Sherlock to come back.
WSSH
twas the day before the day before christmas and holy frick that is a tedious description
Sherlock tugged John through Hyde Park, his sly smile contagious. The taller young man kept trying to hide his boyishly excited grin but John could see straight through his attempted guise. It was the night before they would go to Sherlock's parent's for Christmas Eve dinner, and apparently Sherlock had a surprise. It was mostly dark out, and the sun was setting, but Sherlock must've pulled some strings because here they were, walking through the park.
"Sherlock," John said, walking fast to keep up with his boyfriend's long legs. Sherlock was clutching his hand tightly and leading the way. He looked down at John.
"Hmm?" Sherlock asked, a mischievous glint shining in his porcelain mint eyes. John wondered what he could ask to 'sneakily' get a hint at what exactly they were doing out here.
"Why didn't we bring Redbeard?" John mused, trying to mimic Sherlock's deduction skills. This wasn't just any old jaunt in the park, the time of night and absence of the beloved dog clearly indicated that much. Sherlock's grin grew wider. He didn't say anything, but he seemed to walk a bit faster now, as if even more eager to reach their destination.
John gazed at the sky, out here in the park one could see slightly more stars than usual. Just looking at those sparks in the sky made him smile, it reminded him of that excited glaze that would come over Sherlock's celadon eyes as he raved on about some case. Sherlock looked down at John and smiled fondly, his face uncharacteristically open and soft. John's eyes flicked down from the stars to meet his boyfriend's gaze.
"What?" John asked, curious as to why such love was in Sherlock's expression. Sherlock shook his head slightly, his curls bouncing around his cheekbones. John realized that they had stopped walking. He felt even more confused, what was going on?
"John..." His voice trailed off and he looked down at John with wonder filling his eyes. John waited for him to speak. Sherlock angled his body closer to John, stepping so that their feet were nearly parallel and he could take both of John's hands. The feeling of Sherlock's faintly warm skin was delightfully reassuring and John practically melted at his touch. He didn't know how Sherlock knocked the breath from his lungs so thoroughly by doing so little.
"John, while I have never been one well adept to expressing emotions and sentiment, as you well know," He blushed guiltily and John smiled wryly. "I do still endeavor to be the partner that you deserve." He paused, taking a moment to reach up and brush the hair away from John's face, caressing the tan lines of his face reverently.
"But still, even I must admit that you are quite possibly suffering from some mental disabilities if you're willing to stay with me for this long." Sherlock and John shared a laugh, the shorter man shaking his head.
"When I think forward, I used to picture myself, alone in a room, surrounded by evidence of my many accomplishments. I used to think that I was perfectly suited to exist by myself. Now I know this all to be utterly false." Sherlock took his hands again, offering John a small, nervous smile.
"Now when I look to the future I see myself sitting with you, nothing besides us, because the greatest thing I could ever hope to do is earn a place in your future. You, John Watson, are my miracle, and the grandest thing to have ever happened." Sherlock admitted, he looked away awkwardly as he said this, as if slightly ashamed. John felt his heart beat a bit faster, and his chest ached. Sherlock loved him that much?
"I want to see you every night and wake up to your sleepy face every morning. I want to go on grand adventures and take you with me because there is no one I'd rather journey with than you. I want to wait in the airport when you get sent home from a deployment. I want to be the one you go home to. I want to be the one you grow old with, the one you yell at for forgetting to clean up an experiment. I want to live and die in Baker Street or wherever you choose because you are where my home is, John." Sherlock confessed, and finally he looked up into John's eyes. The shorter young man was stunned by these revelations and declarations of love. He had thought along much of the same lines as Sherlock, many times actually, but to hear him say these things made John's heart soar.
"I know that this isn't very conventional as we have only been together for half a year, but how much more time do we really need? I already know that I can't live without you. John, if you would be willing, despite everything, my faults, my mistakes, my very stubborn nature, would you consider staying indefinitely by my side as you have so faithfully already?" Sherlock let go of his hands to softly touch John's face. John leaned into the touch and smiled brightly.
"Of course I will you git," John breathed. He kissed Sherlock eagerly, holding his face in his hands. "Oh god yes, yes."
Sherlock let out a small laugh at John's enthusiasm but he smiled back brilliantly. "I love you, John Watson."
"I love you, Sherlock. So so much." John let Sherlock slip a thick silver band on his hand and then he shyly offered John a second one. John took it, kissing it before sliding it onto Sherlock's finger.
John slid his arms around Sherlock's thin frame and a few tears of joy slipped from his eyes. He hadn't realized just how much he loved Sherlock, just how much he had needed this assurance, just how much he needed to know that Sherlock felt this all so strongly too. Sherlock held him tight and John thought that he could hear him laughing slightly in happy relief. They pulled back and John pressed his lips to Sherlock's, but both were smiling much too wide and all they did was accidentally click teeth. This sent them into another bought of relieved and happy giggles.
They clutched each other and their dreams of the future, smiling broadly at one another. Once his grin was under control, John brought his lips to Sherlock's and kissed him. It was loving, deep, passionate; a promise of all the years and love to come.
"John!" A shrill voice shrieked. Sherlock and John quickly pulled away and turned to look at the newcomer. John clutched Sherlock's hand.
"Mary?" He blinked, confusion filling him. What the hell was going on? Why was Mary standing a few feet away from them in the park? It was supposed to be closed, they shouldn't even be there. The look in her eyes was wild and she was trembling slightly. A shot of panic went through him- everyone would know. He didn't care if his friends knew, but he had to be able to explain things calmly. He didn't want Mary to run off and ruin the rest of his life by making it look like they weren't trusting of their friends and families. Sherlock suddenly went stiff behind him and after a second John realized why.
She was holding a gun. His eyes widened, and he looked back at her. Her eyes darted around wildly and she fidgeted, but there was no mistaking the black handgun that was clutched in her trembling fingers. Her other hand clenched a bottle, the dregs of alcohol swirling within.
John felt horror rise within him. He could only pray that Mycroft was sending someone.
"JOHN!" Mary howled angrily, and Sherlock protectively pushed past John, shielding him.
"Mary," Sherlock said calmly, but his voice carried the promise of threat. John clutched his arm, not wanting to let Sherlock be in danger. He tried to pull him back but the detective wouldn't budge. "Walk away, now, or you will be caught." He warned, his expression was menacing, and John would not want to be caught receiving it.
"You!" She screeched, clutching the gun in shaking fingers. "You took John from me!"
Sherlock cursed under his breath, love was a vicious motivator. "Mary, you do not, and never have, owned John. He was never yours to be taken."
"He's mine!" She screamed, tears dripping anew on her face. Her mascara ran in rivers and John thought that it would have looked almost comical if it weren't for the fact that she had a gun pointed at them.
"No, Mary, I'm not." John said firmly, and her eyes bored into his, the deep depths of anger seething in her gaze. It made him even more afraid.
"You chose wrong, John, I can't let you do that again." She trembled, her body moving in strange ways. John couldn't believe that he had ever dated her, had ever cared, had ever thought her to be lovely. She leveled her gun more firmly in Sherlock's direction, and John felt more panic rise up in him.
"I'll never chose you, Mary. I'll always pick him, Always." John's hand found Sherlock's, and he clutched to it. He'd never need anything more than he needed him.
Mary seemed aghast and shocked. Sherlock felt disgust towards her, she had truly believed that John would pick her if Sherlock were out of the equation. He eyes narrowed in hatred.
"He's done something to you, don't worry, John. I won't let you chose wrong again." She stepped closer and Sherlock let her draw nearer. If he could just grab the gun.
The gun went off and pain shot through Sherlock's body as he turned to see that John was staggering back with blood blossoming on his jumper.
"John!" Sherlock cried out in horror. John felt dazed, something hot and burning was high in his torso, dangerously close to his heart. He crumpled to the ground and soon pale hands were flitting around him. In the hazy recesses of his mind, John could only see the dark sky, and the beautiful pale eyes of his Sherlock...
Sherlock spent the night in the emergency room. He waited and waited for John to be okay, waited for news, waited for something to happen. When it did, he was overjoyed for a injured and weary John Watson to be returned to his care. It turned out that the bullet had been easy to extract, and had not caused any severe damage. Sherlock was ashamed that John had gotten injured at all on his watch, but he was a bit calmed by Mycroft's admittance that Mary had been in the possession of some rather interesting gear. She was more than meets the eye. The revelation was enough to placate Sherlock for the time being.
WSSH
Lestrade and his father, respectively junior and senior officers, eyed Mary. She was cuffed to the table. Her eyes didn't show emotion. She truly felt no remorse for her actions, she wasn't even fighting the charges against her.
Greg sighed and opened the door into the interrogation room. He sat down at the table, across from Mary. He folded his arms and let out a loud sigh.
"Look, Mary, I'm just trying to understand what the hell happened. We found you, drugged to high heaven, sobbing next to Sherlock with gunpowder on your fingers!" Greg tried very hard not to yell, but his best friend was on the operating table right now getting a wound stitched and Mary was the cause of all this. He couldn't help raising his voice.
Mary didn't say anything. Her shirt had vomit crusted all over the pink material, her eyes were red, and she looked like a broken doll. Greg was discomforted by the thought that maybe he was just seeing through a carefully maintained facade, that Mary really was this wretch of a creature that slumped before him.
Her lips parted and she inhaled a weak, rattling breath. Her vacant, glassy eyes flicked up to him, yet a mad glint overtook them. "He chose wrong, I couldn't trust him to pick right." She hissed, venom practically oozing from her form. Greg hid a frown. That was the same thing that she had been howling and whispering for the past few hours. It was all they could get out of her. He shook his head, standing up. He moved to leave the room but he glanced back at her.
She didn't give him a glance.
He walked out the door in disgust. When he stepped outside, however, he almost ran into Mycroft Holmes, himself. The eldest Holmes brother was holding his umbrella and wearing his usual look of worry. His eyes softened slightly when he met Greg's frustrated gaze.
"Anything else?" He asked, but he knew the answer that he would get.
"No," Greg sighed. Mycroft nodded, that was exactly what he had expected. They both looked at the now shut door. "What are you going to do with her?" Greg asked.
"Put her to use. No one touches a Holmes and gets away with it. The little moronic Goldfish thinks herself at all our's level but she is nearly worthless." Mycroft took a calming breath and Greg was surprised by his passion. He was also slightly pleased that Mycroft seemed to include him in a better class of person. "But even deadlier fish can serve a purpose. This one has... Potential."
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