The Adventure of the Civil Partnership Chapter 17 Ripples Part B
Sherlock and John are hunting a kidnapper who has been taking newlywed couples across the Greater London Area and Sherlock has the perfect way to flush him out. Warning: Pre-Slash/Slash of Sherlock/John Work in Progress - Very Slow Updates
Disclaimers: I certainly do not own Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s amazing creation of Sherlock Holmes and Dr. John Hamish Watson. I also do not own Steven Moffat, Mark Gatiss, and the BBC’s adaptations of those works.
Spoiler Warnings: Series 1 and 2 of Sherlock
Ratings: M Warning Pre-Slash/Slash.
Beta: Ivory Winter - All mistakes are mine.
Return to Chapter 17 Ripples Part A
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The next hour was spent answering questions, asking questions, and going over his chart and expected aftercare in extensive detail. It probably didn’t need to take that long but John wasn’t quite ready to be alone with Sherlock again, and despite what the consulting detective had implied John had found Dr. Egan, ‘call me Andrew’, to be an intelligent and competent surgeon, with an excellent bedside manner. They were still swapping stories when the man was paged away.
Sherlock didn’t look up as the surgeon left, a scowl planted firmly on the genius’s face as he tapped away aggressively at his mobile. John’s eyebrow rose. “Anderson do something foolish again?”
“Anderson is always doing something preposterous, however that isn’t my current concern. Lestrade is inquiring if the two of us would be willing to come to Scotland Yard once the doctors have released you. Apparently Davis Reid has already arranged a deal with the crown prosecutors. He will confess to all of the murders and accept a life sentence without the possibility of parole if and only if we are present for his confession.” Sherlock looked up, an intent air about him. “They want to know if we are willing to agree.”
“Of course.”
Sherlock frowned. “I realize that you likely consider that this is your duty to the crown or some such nonsense, but they have more than sufficient evidence to convict him without a confession, there is no need to subject yourself to additional horrors.”
John smiled. “Thanks, Sherlock, but it’s alright, what’s a few more nightmares. Plus if it saves the families some of the trauma, it’s worth it.”
“Always the healer and the solider, my John.” Sherlock’s murmured, face taking on a contemplative expression. “Why did you never ask me what Moriarty threatened in order to force me to jump?”
“What?” John was completely thrown by shift in topic, unsure how they had gone from discussing listening to a serial killer’s confession to Sherlock’s Fall. “Ummm… I don’t know, never really got around to it I suppose, and then after a while it just didn’t seem important. You’d stopped whatever bomb or disaster that psychopath had planned. You explained how you and Molly managed it, and we had it out, multiple times I might remind you, about the idiocy of not letting me help. You never apologized, but you did finally grudgingly concede that perhaps even if it wasn’t safe to inform me of your plans preemptively, you could have arranged for me to be brought into the loop after the fact instead of leaving me grieving for seven months. Anyway after all that, why didn’t seem important. Moriarty was dead, his network was essentially destroyed, and you were back. That’s what I needed to know.”
“Ahh… John, questions are the vital first step in the deductive process. I fear that once again you have missed an important detail and therefore failed to gather essential data.”
“Fine, what did he hold over your head, you arrogant twat,” John demanded, about a half inch from losing his temper with his flatmate. He wasn’t feeling well enough to deal with one of Sherlock’s lectures on observation and deduction.
“Not what, who.”
“Well who then!” John snapped.
“Mrs. Hudson, Lestrade, and you.”
John couldn’t even come up with a reply, he just gaped blankly at Sherlock, mind empty. Sherlock smirked, continuing, “Surprised. I was too. It was apparent that my suicide was the end move of Moriarty’s game, and that some additional threat was being made against the three of you. The IOUs made that perfectly clear, but I fear that I didn’t expect anything quite so blatant as threatening your deaths.”
“IOUs?” John asked confused, for now ignoring the information that he, Mrs. Hudson, and Greg had their lives threatened, “What are you talking about?”
“The first one was carved into an apple when Moriarty came for tea, an obvious threat against you.”
“Ummmm… Sorry, not seeing it. I thought that was about him planting the imaginary computer key, and you know, being creepy. So why wouldn’t it just be a visible statement of the threat against you? It’s not like he appreciated you derailing his plots.”
“Oh, John, why waste a perfectly good visit to accomplish only one thing when he could accomplish two. Now, think, he enjoyed riddles, rhymes, metaphors, proverbs, and fairytales.” When John continued to look confused, Sherlock sighed, “An apple a day…”
“Keeps the doctor away. Oh… Of course,” John finished, thinking hard. “Okay, fairytales, metaphors. Umm… The envelope on the front step, the one full of breadcrumbs, you were following Moriarty’s trail of clues. He was using them to set you up but you were following them. And the burnt gingerbread man, that was you right? He was burning the heart out of you and saying you couldn’t run away from him.” He frowned deeply. “I still don’t see what you mean about threats against Greg and Mrs. Hudson, neither of those clues relate at all to either of them.”
“Correct in all particulars, John,” Sherlock said, smiling benevolently, which only irritated John more. “Don’t blame yourself for missing the other two. Moriarty arranged it so that I was the only one to see Lestrade’s. Three letters spray painted on the windows of the building across from the Yard the night of the kidnapping, and then quickly covered with blinds. It also marked the second step in my fall, planting doubts in the minds of the yarders, which of course leads us back to Baker Street and our wonderful landlady, Mrs. Hudson. You were a touch busy being a hostage at the time but as we rounded the corner and left Baker Street that night there was some lovely new angel wing graffiti centered around the letters IOU on the empty house.”
“Mrs. Hudson, and Moriarty’s last coffin nail in your image,” John summarized softly. “Christ, Sherlock. Why did you never tell me?”
“When I first came back, I thought you knew about the three snipers. You wanted to know if the threat had been eliminated. Took me almost two days to figure out that you knew there was a threat but hadn’t worked out precisely what it was. As you have pointed out repeatedly I am somewhat oblivious to sentiment, so I determined that the best course of action was to allow you to ask me when you were ready.”
“I just… well, I just figured it never mattered. I suppose I shouldn’t have assumed.” John paused for a moment, still not sure how he felt about the information, mind still spinning. “And can I just ask how we got onto this topic? Not that I regret learning the information, I’m just not sure how we got here.”
“We got here because you needed to know precisely how important you are to me for the rest of this discussion.” Sherlock leaned forward, elbows resting on knees, fingertips steepling under his chin in the prayer position, gaze intent on John’s face. “Moriarty’s choices weren’t random, he was attacking three specific people in my life. Those who he felt tied me to the side of angels, who made me ordinary.”
The pause that followed Sherlock’s words, was taut. John lay unmoving on the bed, unable to speak not knowing the right words. “Lestrade is simple, he is my access to the Yard, to the Work, and a somewhat tolerable acquaintance.” A shot of humor went through John at Sherlock’s grudging admission of Greg’s friendship. “Mrs. Hudson, one of my more successful early cases, and even before that CIA trained moron injured her, it would have been extremely apparent to Moriarty that I hold her in high regard.”
“You treat her like a beloved relative,” John asserted softly, “and she obviously adores you, even if you find the worst possible way of breaking bad news about her boyfriends to her.” Memories of harpoons and men with wives in Doncaster ran through his head.
“Irrelevant to the current discussion, John. Particularly since you made me promise to tell you immediately if any of her romantic interests are less than honorable men,” Sherlock said, gaze still intent on John’s face. “What we should be discussing is why did he pick you?”
“Because I’m your friend, your closest friend.”
“Yes, you’re my friend, but that’s not why he targeted you,” Sherlock disclosed, leaning back in his chair.
John frowned. “Well, if not that then what? I wasn’t a threat to his plan to destroy you, even when you were gone and I knew Moriarty’s stories were lies, no one would listen to me, I couldn’t prove anything.”
“Actually, John, you were the biggest threat to his scheme, and likely the reason he finally decided to go through with his attempt to finish me.”
“What! Why?” John asked, confusion and pain ripping through him at possibly being the cause of Sherlock’s Fall.
“Because you are the physical embodiment of my heart,” Sherlock stated bluntly. “The proof that not only can Sherlock Holmes have and keep a friend, but that he can fall in love.”
No sound came out of John’s mouth. It just hung there open, because John knew that there was no way he had actually just heard what he thought he’d heard. “Yes, John, fall in love,” Sherlock said, a frighteningly smug grin on his face. “As loath as I am to admit it, you have pulled me into your world of caring and sentiment.” The detective leaned forward, apparently to emphasize his words, “And I wouldn’t go back even if I could.”
John inhaled sharply, not breaking Sherlock’s gaze, articulating each word slowly, carefully, “Let me make sure I’m following you since I usually miss something of importance. You,” one hand coming up to point at Sherlock, “have fallen in love with me.” He brought his hand around to point at himself.
“Yes.”
“Okay… Okay.” John was pretty sure his brain was locking up, “Okay.”
Sherlock chuckled, leaning back in his chair, one hand swinging out to retake John’s. “Surprised. You shouldn’t be. Although this wasn’t exactly the way I had planned to break the news to you, or how I was going to inform you that I have been aware of your feelings for some time. I would have preferred to have this conversation in Baker Street and with you not hopped up on copious amounts of pain relievers. I had intended to start this conversation prior to our vacation. I presumed while on it we could complete some of the more annoying required relationship tête-à-têtes. Several internet sites list fifteen things every couple should discuss prior to marriage, and although we are already married I expect both you and Mrs. Hudson would lecture me to a maddening degree if we didn’t talk about them. Although I feel we covered the financial question in detail the other night.”
John’s mouth opened, a strangled noise erupting from him before he swallowed, clearing his throat. “Ummmm….. You love me… as a friend, a brother-in-arms sort of way.”
“John! Now you’re just being purposely obtuse, brothers-in-arms don’t have discussions about finances and marriage.”
“Right. Sorry. So how long have you known?” John asked, avoiding the question of what exactly love meant to Sherlock.
“How long have I known that you’re in love with me or how long have I been in love with you?”
“Either, git,” John snapped, suddenly irritated about how much fun Sherlock seemed to having with this situation.
Sherlock’s smile increased John’s exasperation level, “How typically you, John. You never react quite the way I expect you to.” His smile remained, his hand playing absently with John’s fingers, even while he continued, “You admitted your love for me to yourself sometime around Moriarty’s trial, although I’m compelled to admit that I deduced that information with the clear vision of hindsight and not at the time. I was only certain of the fact after you broke up with Mary.”
“Mary? How did-” John started to ask only to be interrupted by Sherlock.
“You broke up with her because you felt guilty. You feared you were using her,” Sherlock said, voice frighteningly gentle. “You didn’t. And your choice finally made your feelings clear to me.”
“That’s when you noticed?”
“Not my best work admittedly.” Sherlock shrugged, “Sentiment is a disadvantage, clouds the issue and muddles the mind. If you weren’t such a wonderful inspiration to my genius, the damage you do to my mind the rest of the time would be inexcusable. As it is you are ridiculously invaluable, and I refuse to do without you ever again.”
“Do without me?”
“Yes. You’re not allowed to leave me, and I will be dragging you along with me, willingly or unwillingly, if the Work ever requires an extended leave of absences from London again.”
John’s mouth opened and closed several times, words refusing to travel from his brain to his mouth. The more Sherlock spoke, the more hope slowly rose in John, the pain of it tightening his chest, and drowning out the throbbing in his leg. He finally came out with, “You know one person can’t legally tell another person what they are or are not allowed to do in this country.”
Sherlock laughed, the one of true enjoyment only John got to see. “And that, my John, is why I love you.”
John’s jaw dropped, “Because I make you laugh.”
“Because you make me laugh, because you laugh with me, because you say ‘amazing’ not ‘piss off’, because you are handsome, because you fear for me, because you don’t just tolerate me - you willingly and happily enjoy being my friend, because you are you. There are so many reasons, John, that we could be here all day.”
“Not sure I would mind, Sherlock, it’s not that often that you compliment me. Have to enjoy it while I can,” John said, a dazed smile spreading across his face. Sherlock loved him, and god, he managed to say it in a way that was so completely Sherlock.
Sherlock smirked, a typically evil Sherlock smirk, dropping John’s hand to reach up behind his neck, wincing at the pressure this movement put on his ribs, to unclasp the chain around his neck. John watched as the detective stood slowly and stepped to the side of the bed, leaning slightly over John, picking up his left hand and sliding the ring back home on his finger, before leaning down and, in an obviously deliberate move, kissing his ring finger again. Sherlock’s head rose from his bent position to meet John’s eyes, still smirking. “Much better, those idiot doctors refused to let me put it back on until you had significantly improved. They insisted that the metal could have caused localized frost bite if they had to repeat the ice bath to decrease your temperature again.”
John settled himself by taking a deep breath and then he used his free hand to push himself up slightly, ignoring the pain of stretching sutures on his chest, stopping when his face was mere inches from the consulting detective’s. “I love you.”
Sherlock smiled widely, and John couldn’t wait a second longer, moving forward the final few inches and softly brushing his mouth against Sherlock’s. It was soft, sensual, and sweet. It was nothing like he would have expected and beyond what he had ever hoped for or allowed himself to imagine. It lasted for a lingering moment, a gentle brush of lips, neither pushing farther, John just savoring the newness, before Sherlock broke it off, slowly straightening up, grimacing in pain, the detectives’ hand tightening painful around John’s fingers. “Sherlock? Are you alright? Your ribs?”
He nodded, tightly. John pulled himself further upright. “Inhale slowly and gently, your muscles will gradually relax and the pain will pass.”
It took several moments but gradually the lines of pain in Sherlock’s posture eased, and he slowly sat back down looking wan. And John gradually started to chuckle, the absurdity of the situation setting in, and he leaned back in his bed, exhausted physically and emotionally. Sherlock gave him an inquiring look, and John just waved a hand around the room. “Just you know, us, this situation. This is now the most ridiculous thing I have done, and I not only invaded Afghanistan, I’ve been chasing your sorry arse around London on your ludicrous cases.”
Sherlock tried to look vaguely offended at the term ‘ludicrous’, but John noticed that he couldn’t seem to override the soft smile hovering on his lips. “You should get some sleep, Sherlock. You look drained. I’m fine. There has to be a hotel somewhere around here you can get a room for the night.”
“No.”
“Sherlock, really I’m alright and there is no way you’re going to get any rest in that chair with your busted ribs.”
“I’ve no intention of sleeping in this chair.”
John glared at him. “You need to sleep and rest or you aren’t going to heal properly.”
“Of course and there is a perfectly good bed for me in here.”
Both of John’s eyebrow’s attempted to climb his forehead at this statement, glancing at the only bed he could see in the room-his. “Despite how large this bed is, there’s no way you and I can fit in it without hurting your ribs, or my leg, Sherlock. There simply isn’t enough room, no matter how enticing the offer would be if my leg, sides and head weren’t throbbing to three separate rhythms.”
“Enticing, that’s encouraging,” Sherlock stated baldly, smirking when John’s face went red, recognizing what he had admitted, but smiling anyway because Sherlock was flirting with him. “However, I wasn’t referring to your bed. The couch contains a hide-away that I’m sure Mycroft’s goons can be convinced to pull out and set up for me.”
John yawned while he asked, “Goons?”
“Yes, brother was concerned that the press might attempt to bother us for interviews and felt that the hospital’s security would not be sufficient in keeping them away. I allowed it only because it was either them or some of the local PCs. Mycroft’s men are more likely to fetch and carry for me.”
John smiled sleepily at the oh so Sherlock snarking, trying to stay awake to ask more questions, wanting to know more about Sherlock’s feelings, when he had fallen in love with him, how the detective expected their relationship to work, and utterly failing. He felt lips softly brush his forehead, and the last thing he heard before exhaustion pulled him back under was Sherlock’s voice in his ear, “Sleep well, my John. I’ll promise to answer all those bees buzzing around in your bonnet when you wake.”
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FanFiction Writer Notes: I want to thank all my amazing readers for hanging in there with me. I hope that once again you find this worth the wait. As always, I can make no promises about when the next chapter will be out, but I promise this story will be finished.
I want to thank all everyone who took the time to review, alert, and favorite. Your encouragement and suggestions are wonderful. In addition I want to thank all my reviewers for not leaving huge spoilers in the reviews. To my LJ readers I apologize for the weird break in the posting of this chapter, but the site required me to break it into two parts to post and that was the best point I could find.
Once again thanks to my wonderful Beta Ivory Winter, who helped me work through some huge emotional beats in this chapter. Her support and advice was invaluable.
Thanks,
Rairakku
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