Fill: Interlude - Phone Calls
Story Type: Prompt Fill
Fandom(s): Sherlock/The Swan Princess/Swan Lake
Characters: Sherlock, John, Mycroft, (ref) Ann Watson, (ref) Harry, (ref) Vienne Holmes
Pairings: Sherlock/John
Warnings: Soldier!John is sweary. Very, very sweary. And Sherlock manages the most erotic unerotic conversation I've ever seen.
Summary: Part Two in the Swan Triad, follows Till Now I Never Knew and precedes Find a Way to You.
Phone Calls
The letters continued, until they were no longer enough. It was a trial and a half to secure phone time, but eventually he and Sherlock managed to set up a weekly appointment to chat voice-to-voice, and once they had that to supplement the letters, it was almost tolerable.
‘Christ I want you.’ John breathed into the phone.
‘Tell me.’
‘Thirteen months, twenty-six days.’
Sherlock groaned, and the sound sent violent shivers along John’s spine and consuming heat to his skin. ‘Too long. It’s much too long.’
‘We’re almost down a year, Sherlock. It’s not so long. We can make it.’
‘I hate this. I want to know how you taste. You must taste differently now. How am I meant to stand not knowing?’
‘Just one more year.’ John assured him. ‘Just one more. We made it through this one, we’ll make it through the next.’
‘I can’t wait to sleep beside you. My bed is cold with just me.’
‘Is that all you want? To sleep?’ John teased.
‘You’re being vulgar again. Of course I want more than sleep. I’d also prefer not to talk about what else I want on a military phone line.’
‘Point taken. I, on the other hand, have absolutely no problem with Her Majesty’s Armed Forces knowing just how badly I want to run my hands over every inch of your body.’
‘John.’ Sherlock warned.
‘How much I want to run my tongue across your skin, find out what the hollow of your throat tastes like.’
‘John.’ Sherlock groaned.
‘How painful it is not to peel away all of your clothes until I can explore every part of you I haven’t seen yet, to touch you and taste you and find every secret spot that makes you gasp and scream and writhe under me. How much it’s killing me not to hear you screaming my name.’
‘John, stop it!’
‘Louder, Sherlock.’
‘Piss off! I’m not having phone sex on a government line. Mycroft is probably listening.’
John chuckled. ‘I’m pretty sure he’s got better things to do than spy on our conversation.’
‘Don’t be.’
John glanced at the clock and licked his lips. ‘Tell me you want me, Sherlock.’
There was a pause. ‘John, please.’
‘I don’t have much time left. Please, I need to hear it.’
There was an audible gulp, and Sherlock quietly said, ‘I love you John. I want you so badly I can’t think. I’m going mad wanting you. It hurts. Please, John. Please for the love of God come home.’
John closed his eyes, let Sherlock’s voice and Sherlock’s need sink into his bones. He drew a ragged breath. “Thirteen months, twenty-six days, barring delays. Just hold on just that much longer. I will come back. And when I do, I’m taking you to bed and we’re not coming back out for a week.’
‘How much time?’ Sherlock’s voice was strained.
John looked at the clock again. ‘One more minute.’
Sherlock’s breathing shuddered. ‘Don’t say it.’
‘Never.’
‘Don’t think it, either.’
John smiled. ‘I’ll try.’
‘John, I love you.’
‘I love you, too.’
‘Promise me it’s soon.’
‘I promise.’
‘Don’t say it.’
‘Not a chance.’
‘Soon.’
John nodded, even though Sherlock couldn’t see. ‘Soon, love.’
John’s CO appeared and gave John a significant look. John took a deep breath. ‘Sherlock, it’s time.’
Sherlock made a sound, and John refused to call it a sob. ‘Don’t say it.’
‘I won’t. I love you.’
‘I love y--’ The line cut off. John looked up at his CO, who had his finger on the phone switch. John sighed and nodded, then he squared his shoulders and straightened his spine. ‘Sir, yes sir.’
---
‘John!’ Sherlock gasped. His voice crackled and snapped over the dodgy connection. ‘I’m here!’
‘You complete wanker, where the fuck were you?!’ John demanded. ‘I thought the phone was going to ring out.’
‘Sorry!’ Sherlock panted. ‘Sorry. Came as fast as I could. Arrested. Mycroft’s an ass.’ Sherlock was still breathing hard, and John’s own chest clenched in sympathy.
‘Wait, what? Arrested? What the bloody hell did you do?’
‘It was entirely defensible, John!’
‘Talk. Now.’
‘It was the only way to test the theory without--’
‘Tell. Me. What. You. Did.’ John kept his voice deliberate, a fine imitation of the officers’ command tones. He’d have to master it at some point, if he was going to join the RAMC after graduating from Bart’s.
Sherlock heaved a sigh. ‘I may have…liberated certain specimens from the biology lab.’
‘“Liberated”. You stole pickled dead things in jars?’
‘…yes.’
‘Why?’
‘I needed round the clock access to the experiment.’
‘And you didn’t ask your professor because?’
There was a pause.
‘Sherlock?’
More silence.
‘Sherlock Sherringford Holmes, I asked you a question.’ This time he adopted the voice of Auntie Vivi. He could practically hear Sherlock shuddering over the lousy connection.
‘…well, the faculty don’t generally mind loaning out specimens to diligent students.’
‘But?’
‘But apparently sixteen pig foetuses is considered “excessive” regardless of experimental merit. So I took matters into my own hands.’
‘And got arrested.’
No response.
‘Sherlock,’ John groaned. ‘Today? Today of all days you decide to land yourself in jail.’
‘Of course not! I’m not an idiot. I’d never take a risk like that on Wednesday. I did it yesterday, and Mycroft in his infinite arrogance decided it would be a fantastic idea to make me stay in the cell overnight, then faff about in his office until the last minute just to see how insane I went. ’
‘Why would he do that? Does he want me to break his nose? I’m perfectly willing to break his nose if that’s what he’s after.’
‘I think he figured it would be character building or some such nonsense.’
‘Sherlock, if you had any more character you’d be hazardous to public safety.’
‘I think I’m flattered. And a little randy. You’re cheating.’
‘Not at all.’
‘I’m not having phone sex. It’s bad enough knowing your mates are always reading my letters.’
‘I try to stop them. They’re very persistant.’
‘At least their vocabulary is improving. Lorris’s last little addition was practically coherant.’
John tried and failed to stop himself grinning. ‘Christ. Only you, Sherlock. So, am I going to come home to a delinquent?’
‘Relax soldier boy. Mycroft got me out of the ASBO. ‘
‘Pity. You know how danger turns me on.’
‘I can always go back and try again.’
‘Eh, don’t bother. Repetition is boring.’
Sherlock drew a sharp breath. ‘Stop that. I’m not having phone sex with you.’
John resisted the urge to stomp a petulant foot. ‘At least tell me what you’re wearing.’
‘Jeans. Dark blue, brown stitching. One of your old t-shirts, it’s that green one with the bio-hazard symbol on it.’
John chuckled. ‘I actually got that because it reminded me of you.’
‘Really? I thought you hated me back then.’
‘I did. It was ironic. And possibly should have been a hint. That was the year Mike had to keep telling me not to stare at you.’
‘I did like it. When I saw you wearing it. I wanted to nick it from your room.’
‘Why are you wearing it now? I thought I brought it back to London with me.’
‘You did. Your mother and Harry brought your stuff with them when they moved in. It still smells like you.’
‘Like us, now.’
Sherlock took a deep, unsteady breath. ‘The answer is still no.’
John gritted his teeth, then made himself relax. ‘Are you barefoot?’
‘Of course. Your obsession with my feet is a little worrisome.’
‘Sherlock, barefoot is the most uncovered you get. I have to have something.’
‘Harry made me pose bare-chested.’ He pointed out.
‘Yes, and I nearly came. Do you see what I’m getting at?’
Sherlock was quiet for a time, then he said in a low, sultry voice, ‘I lie in bed shirtless, when it’s dark and quiet. I lie there with your necklace against my skin and I think of you.’
John had to brace himself against the desk, a wave of dizziness overwhelming him as all the blood rushed from his brain to his groin. ‘More.’
‘It burns. I feel like my skin will catch fire. I want you to touch me, and I don’t know if you’ll put the fire out or if you’ll burn with me, and I don’t care.’
‘Christ. Where the hell did that come from?’
‘Isn’t this what you want?’
‘Yes. God, yes.’ Anything, anything to keep him talking in that voice, low and breathy and tinged with something that sounded like desperation. ‘Keep going.’
‘You’re stronger now. I keep looking at the photographs you sent me. I keep looking at the muscles of your arms. You could lift me up. It wouldn’t even be difficult for you. You could lift me off the ground and I could wrap my legs around your waist and we could be so close, John. Every inch of me touching you. Wrapping myself around you, trusting you not to let me fall.’
‘Fuck. Fuck, Sherlock, what the fuck are you doing?’
‘Do you want me to stop?’
‘No!’
‘We could breathe each other in, John. Inhale each exhale until we’re filled with each other, until you’re in my blood, moving inside of me with every beat of my heart.’
John’s vision was starting to blur, and he found himself leaning all of his weight against the wall. He didn’t trust his legs.
‘You could carry me, like that. Take me wherever you want. You would be so gentle, John. You would set me down somewhere soft, your hands would cradle my body, making sure I don’t drop too quickly. You would be so careful with me.’
‘Sherlock…’ John moaned. He hurt. He ached low in his body and Christ he was burning.
‘I’d let you. I’d jump into your arms. I’d give up that control to you. I’d want it. I know you’d never take me anywhere I didn’t want to go.’
‘Sherlock. Sherlock, please!’
‘Tell me.’
John actually had to gasp for breath at the sudden halt. He blinked, trying desperately to claw through the fog in his mind. ‘Wha…what?’ He shook his head to try an clear it.
‘Tell me, John.’
John managed to find his thoughts and put them to use. ‘Twelve-twelve months. Twelve months and six fucking days.’
'Can you hold on, just that much longer?'
'You bastard.'
He could bloody well hear the smirk on the smug git's face. 'You love me.'
'Yeah, you're damn right I do.'
---
'They're a lot like contacts, really, but they've got these sort of barbs on and they grip the inside of the eyelid to keep it from opening again. It's interesting, how much movement goes on after death. It's fairly kinetic, really.'
'That's…that's great, Sherlock.'
A pause. Then, 'While I realise you may not share my enthusiasm for Mr Haysworth's mortuary, you're generally more involved in our conversations than this.'
John winced. 'Sorry, love.'
'You're distracted.'
'I'm sorry, really. Go on. You were saying…something undoubtedly horrid. Do go on.'
'John, if I wanted to engage in an uninterrupted monologue, I would have written you another letter. The whole point of this weekly ritual is so I can hear your voice. Talk to me.'
John sighed and leaned back in his chair. 'It's nothing, Sherlock. Tell me about the dead people.'
'John.'
John said nothing, but he swallowed against a lump in his throat and closed his eyes.
'John, please.'
John took a deep breath and opened his eyes again. 'I'm… we've got a mission. We're moving out tomorrow morning. I nearly didn't get here tonight. I… I didn't want you to worry.'
Silence. John almost hoped they'd been cut off. Then, 'No.'
'Sherlock, I'm a soldier. Active duty. Basic is over, I have to do my job. And my job sometimes involves going places where people point guns at me and pull the trigger.'
'How many times has that happened?' Sherlock demanded. 'How much haven't you told me?'
'Not many.' John said quickly 'Sherlock, this is a peace-keeping mission, not a war. Sometimes violence breaks out and we show up to stop it. It's not really that scary.'
'You're scared now.' Accused Sherlock.
'Yes. Guns are just as lethal in peacetime as they are in war. But I'll be fine. I promised, didn't I?'
'Don't do that.' Sherlock snarled. 'Don't. Don't act like what we want or what we say has anything to do with what happens to you out there. Tell me the truth. You could die tomorrow.'
John clenched his jaw. 'So could you.'
'Stop it!'
'What do you want me to say, Sherlock? Do you want me to go on pretending what I do isn't dangerous? Should we just imagine that I'm abroad to study or something? I'm not. I'm a man with a gun who goes where he's told and follows orders and tries to make it back alive. That is what I do. That is who I am. And I won't apologise for it.'
Sherlock stayed quiet for a moment before he said, 'You could kill someone tomorrow.'
John froze.
'You might have killed someone already. Maybe more than once. Have you?'
John swallowed. 'No. No, it hasn’t gone that far yet.'
'But it could.'
'I'm not a murderer.' John said through his teeth. Suddenly he was eight again, waving a stick at Sherlock and pretending it was a gun.
'Yet.'
'It's not--'
'Don't tell me it's not the same thing. Everyone who kills someone believes the act justified. It doesn't change what it is. When you kill someone, John, you will be a killer. You just won't be a criminal.'
'What are you saying?'
'I'm saying it's going to change you. I'm saying that I love you, and I don't blame you for doing what you have to do, and I don't want you to hide it from me. I love you John. I'll still love you after you pull the trigger. Just, when it happens, don't act like nothing's changed.'
John swallowed again. 'Okay.' He said. 'God, how did you know…?'
'I spent thirteen years of my life with you, John. How could I not?'
John hesitated. 'Sherlock, tomorrow…well, a lot could happen and--'
'Don't say it.'
'I just don't want you to look back and regret that we--'
'Don't. Say it.'
'Sherlock, I--' He paused, then sighed. 'Okay. I won't say it.'
'Good. I love you.'
'I love you, too.'
'Tell me.'
'Ten months, sixteen days.'
'Too long.'
'Yes.'
'How much time?'
'We have about fifteen minutes. Tell me about the mortuary.'
---
Coming Home
Fandom(s): Sherlock/The Swan Princess/Swan Lake
Characters: Sherlock, John, Mycroft, (ref) Ann Watson, (ref) Harry, (ref) Vienne Holmes
Pairings: Sherlock/John
Warnings: Soldier!John is sweary. Very, very sweary. And Sherlock manages the most erotic unerotic conversation I've ever seen.
Summary: Part Two in the Swan Triad, follows Till Now I Never Knew and precedes Find a Way to You.
Phone Calls
The letters continued, until they were no longer enough. It was a trial and a half to secure phone time, but eventually he and Sherlock managed to set up a weekly appointment to chat voice-to-voice, and once they had that to supplement the letters, it was almost tolerable.
‘Christ I want you.’ John breathed into the phone.
‘Tell me.’
‘Thirteen months, twenty-six days.’
Sherlock groaned, and the sound sent violent shivers along John’s spine and consuming heat to his skin. ‘Too long. It’s much too long.’
‘We’re almost down a year, Sherlock. It’s not so long. We can make it.’
‘I hate this. I want to know how you taste. You must taste differently now. How am I meant to stand not knowing?’
‘Just one more year.’ John assured him. ‘Just one more. We made it through this one, we’ll make it through the next.’
‘I can’t wait to sleep beside you. My bed is cold with just me.’
‘Is that all you want? To sleep?’ John teased.
‘You’re being vulgar again. Of course I want more than sleep. I’d also prefer not to talk about what else I want on a military phone line.’
‘Point taken. I, on the other hand, have absolutely no problem with Her Majesty’s Armed Forces knowing just how badly I want to run my hands over every inch of your body.’
‘John.’ Sherlock warned.
‘How much I want to run my tongue across your skin, find out what the hollow of your throat tastes like.’
‘John.’ Sherlock groaned.
‘How painful it is not to peel away all of your clothes until I can explore every part of you I haven’t seen yet, to touch you and taste you and find every secret spot that makes you gasp and scream and writhe under me. How much it’s killing me not to hear you screaming my name.’
‘John, stop it!’
‘Louder, Sherlock.’
‘Piss off! I’m not having phone sex on a government line. Mycroft is probably listening.’
John chuckled. ‘I’m pretty sure he’s got better things to do than spy on our conversation.’
‘Don’t be.’
John glanced at the clock and licked his lips. ‘Tell me you want me, Sherlock.’
There was a pause. ‘John, please.’
‘I don’t have much time left. Please, I need to hear it.’
There was an audible gulp, and Sherlock quietly said, ‘I love you John. I want you so badly I can’t think. I’m going mad wanting you. It hurts. Please, John. Please for the love of God come home.’
John closed his eyes, let Sherlock’s voice and Sherlock’s need sink into his bones. He drew a ragged breath. “Thirteen months, twenty-six days, barring delays. Just hold on just that much longer. I will come back. And when I do, I’m taking you to bed and we’re not coming back out for a week.’
‘How much time?’ Sherlock’s voice was strained.
John looked at the clock again. ‘One more minute.’
Sherlock’s breathing shuddered. ‘Don’t say it.’
‘Never.’
‘Don’t think it, either.’
John smiled. ‘I’ll try.’
‘John, I love you.’
‘I love you, too.’
‘Promise me it’s soon.’
‘I promise.’
‘Don’t say it.’
‘Not a chance.’
‘Soon.’
John nodded, even though Sherlock couldn’t see. ‘Soon, love.’
John’s CO appeared and gave John a significant look. John took a deep breath. ‘Sherlock, it’s time.’
Sherlock made a sound, and John refused to call it a sob. ‘Don’t say it.’
‘I won’t. I love you.’
‘I love y--’ The line cut off. John looked up at his CO, who had his finger on the phone switch. John sighed and nodded, then he squared his shoulders and straightened his spine. ‘Sir, yes sir.’
---
‘John!’ Sherlock gasped. His voice crackled and snapped over the dodgy connection. ‘I’m here!’
‘You complete wanker, where the fuck were you?!’ John demanded. ‘I thought the phone was going to ring out.’
‘Sorry!’ Sherlock panted. ‘Sorry. Came as fast as I could. Arrested. Mycroft’s an ass.’ Sherlock was still breathing hard, and John’s own chest clenched in sympathy.
‘Wait, what? Arrested? What the bloody hell did you do?’
‘It was entirely defensible, John!’
‘Talk. Now.’
‘It was the only way to test the theory without--’
‘Tell. Me. What. You. Did.’ John kept his voice deliberate, a fine imitation of the officers’ command tones. He’d have to master it at some point, if he was going to join the RAMC after graduating from Bart’s.
Sherlock heaved a sigh. ‘I may have…liberated certain specimens from the biology lab.’
‘“Liberated”. You stole pickled dead things in jars?’
‘…yes.’
‘Why?’
‘I needed round the clock access to the experiment.’
‘And you didn’t ask your professor because?’
There was a pause.
‘Sherlock?’
More silence.
‘Sherlock Sherringford Holmes, I asked you a question.’ This time he adopted the voice of Auntie Vivi. He could practically hear Sherlock shuddering over the lousy connection.
‘…well, the faculty don’t generally mind loaning out specimens to diligent students.’
‘But?’
‘But apparently sixteen pig foetuses is considered “excessive” regardless of experimental merit. So I took matters into my own hands.’
‘And got arrested.’
No response.
‘Sherlock,’ John groaned. ‘Today? Today of all days you decide to land yourself in jail.’
‘Of course not! I’m not an idiot. I’d never take a risk like that on Wednesday. I did it yesterday, and Mycroft in his infinite arrogance decided it would be a fantastic idea to make me stay in the cell overnight, then faff about in his office until the last minute just to see how insane I went. ’
‘Why would he do that? Does he want me to break his nose? I’m perfectly willing to break his nose if that’s what he’s after.’
‘I think he figured it would be character building or some such nonsense.’
‘Sherlock, if you had any more character you’d be hazardous to public safety.’
‘I think I’m flattered. And a little randy. You’re cheating.’
‘Not at all.’
‘I’m not having phone sex. It’s bad enough knowing your mates are always reading my letters.’
‘I try to stop them. They’re very persistant.’
‘At least their vocabulary is improving. Lorris’s last little addition was practically coherant.’
John tried and failed to stop himself grinning. ‘Christ. Only you, Sherlock. So, am I going to come home to a delinquent?’
‘Relax soldier boy. Mycroft got me out of the ASBO. ‘
‘Pity. You know how danger turns me on.’
‘I can always go back and try again.’
‘Eh, don’t bother. Repetition is boring.’
Sherlock drew a sharp breath. ‘Stop that. I’m not having phone sex with you.’
John resisted the urge to stomp a petulant foot. ‘At least tell me what you’re wearing.’
‘Jeans. Dark blue, brown stitching. One of your old t-shirts, it’s that green one with the bio-hazard symbol on it.’
John chuckled. ‘I actually got that because it reminded me of you.’
‘Really? I thought you hated me back then.’
‘I did. It was ironic. And possibly should have been a hint. That was the year Mike had to keep telling me not to stare at you.’
‘I did like it. When I saw you wearing it. I wanted to nick it from your room.’
‘Why are you wearing it now? I thought I brought it back to London with me.’
‘You did. Your mother and Harry brought your stuff with them when they moved in. It still smells like you.’
‘Like us, now.’
Sherlock took a deep, unsteady breath. ‘The answer is still no.’
John gritted his teeth, then made himself relax. ‘Are you barefoot?’
‘Of course. Your obsession with my feet is a little worrisome.’
‘Sherlock, barefoot is the most uncovered you get. I have to have something.’
‘Harry made me pose bare-chested.’ He pointed out.
‘Yes, and I nearly came. Do you see what I’m getting at?’
Sherlock was quiet for a time, then he said in a low, sultry voice, ‘I lie in bed shirtless, when it’s dark and quiet. I lie there with your necklace against my skin and I think of you.’
John had to brace himself against the desk, a wave of dizziness overwhelming him as all the blood rushed from his brain to his groin. ‘More.’
‘It burns. I feel like my skin will catch fire. I want you to touch me, and I don’t know if you’ll put the fire out or if you’ll burn with me, and I don’t care.’
‘Christ. Where the hell did that come from?’
‘Isn’t this what you want?’
‘Yes. God, yes.’ Anything, anything to keep him talking in that voice, low and breathy and tinged with something that sounded like desperation. ‘Keep going.’
‘You’re stronger now. I keep looking at the photographs you sent me. I keep looking at the muscles of your arms. You could lift me up. It wouldn’t even be difficult for you. You could lift me off the ground and I could wrap my legs around your waist and we could be so close, John. Every inch of me touching you. Wrapping myself around you, trusting you not to let me fall.’
‘Fuck. Fuck, Sherlock, what the fuck are you doing?’
‘Do you want me to stop?’
‘No!’
‘We could breathe each other in, John. Inhale each exhale until we’re filled with each other, until you’re in my blood, moving inside of me with every beat of my heart.’
John’s vision was starting to blur, and he found himself leaning all of his weight against the wall. He didn’t trust his legs.
‘You could carry me, like that. Take me wherever you want. You would be so gentle, John. You would set me down somewhere soft, your hands would cradle my body, making sure I don’t drop too quickly. You would be so careful with me.’
‘Sherlock…’ John moaned. He hurt. He ached low in his body and Christ he was burning.
‘I’d let you. I’d jump into your arms. I’d give up that control to you. I’d want it. I know you’d never take me anywhere I didn’t want to go.’
‘Sherlock. Sherlock, please!’
‘Tell me.’
John actually had to gasp for breath at the sudden halt. He blinked, trying desperately to claw through the fog in his mind. ‘Wha…what?’ He shook his head to try an clear it.
‘Tell me, John.’
John managed to find his thoughts and put them to use. ‘Twelve-twelve months. Twelve months and six fucking days.’
'Can you hold on, just that much longer?'
'You bastard.'
He could bloody well hear the smirk on the smug git's face. 'You love me.'
'Yeah, you're damn right I do.'
---
'They're a lot like contacts, really, but they've got these sort of barbs on and they grip the inside of the eyelid to keep it from opening again. It's interesting, how much movement goes on after death. It's fairly kinetic, really.'
'That's…that's great, Sherlock.'
A pause. Then, 'While I realise you may not share my enthusiasm for Mr Haysworth's mortuary, you're generally more involved in our conversations than this.'
John winced. 'Sorry, love.'
'You're distracted.'
'I'm sorry, really. Go on. You were saying…something undoubtedly horrid. Do go on.'
'John, if I wanted to engage in an uninterrupted monologue, I would have written you another letter. The whole point of this weekly ritual is so I can hear your voice. Talk to me.'
John sighed and leaned back in his chair. 'It's nothing, Sherlock. Tell me about the dead people.'
'John.'
John said nothing, but he swallowed against a lump in his throat and closed his eyes.
'John, please.'
John took a deep breath and opened his eyes again. 'I'm… we've got a mission. We're moving out tomorrow morning. I nearly didn't get here tonight. I… I didn't want you to worry.'
Silence. John almost hoped they'd been cut off. Then, 'No.'
'Sherlock, I'm a soldier. Active duty. Basic is over, I have to do my job. And my job sometimes involves going places where people point guns at me and pull the trigger.'
'How many times has that happened?' Sherlock demanded. 'How much haven't you told me?'
'Not many.' John said quickly 'Sherlock, this is a peace-keeping mission, not a war. Sometimes violence breaks out and we show up to stop it. It's not really that scary.'
'You're scared now.' Accused Sherlock.
'Yes. Guns are just as lethal in peacetime as they are in war. But I'll be fine. I promised, didn't I?'
'Don't do that.' Sherlock snarled. 'Don't. Don't act like what we want or what we say has anything to do with what happens to you out there. Tell me the truth. You could die tomorrow.'
John clenched his jaw. 'So could you.'
'Stop it!'
'What do you want me to say, Sherlock? Do you want me to go on pretending what I do isn't dangerous? Should we just imagine that I'm abroad to study or something? I'm not. I'm a man with a gun who goes where he's told and follows orders and tries to make it back alive. That is what I do. That is who I am. And I won't apologise for it.'
Sherlock stayed quiet for a moment before he said, 'You could kill someone tomorrow.'
John froze.
'You might have killed someone already. Maybe more than once. Have you?'
John swallowed. 'No. No, it hasn’t gone that far yet.'
'But it could.'
'I'm not a murderer.' John said through his teeth. Suddenly he was eight again, waving a stick at Sherlock and pretending it was a gun.
'Yet.'
'It's not--'
'Don't tell me it's not the same thing. Everyone who kills someone believes the act justified. It doesn't change what it is. When you kill someone, John, you will be a killer. You just won't be a criminal.'
'What are you saying?'
'I'm saying it's going to change you. I'm saying that I love you, and I don't blame you for doing what you have to do, and I don't want you to hide it from me. I love you John. I'll still love you after you pull the trigger. Just, when it happens, don't act like nothing's changed.'
John swallowed again. 'Okay.' He said. 'God, how did you know…?'
'I spent thirteen years of my life with you, John. How could I not?'
John hesitated. 'Sherlock, tomorrow…well, a lot could happen and--'
'Don't say it.'
'I just don't want you to look back and regret that we--'
'Don't. Say it.'
'Sherlock, I--' He paused, then sighed. 'Okay. I won't say it.'
'Good. I love you.'
'I love you, too.'
'Tell me.'
'Ten months, sixteen days.'
'Too long.'
'Yes.'
'How much time?'
'We have about fifteen minutes. Tell me about the mortuary.'
---
Coming Home