Fic: We Only Part To Meet Again (3/5)
We Only Part To Meet Again - Part Three
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: John/Sherlock
Warnings: Sexual situations
Spoilers: The Reichenbach Fall
Beta: lady_t_220
Summary: One year after Reichenbach, John is sent to Corsica on an errand for Mycroft. What he doesn't expect to find is a second chance to say all the things he never said.
Part Two
****
Dawn is only just starting to turn the sky pink when John wakes, but the space next to him is glaringly empty. A moment later, he spots movement out of the corner of his eye. He rolls onto his back, leaning up on his elbows, and stills when he sees Sherlock. The other man is sitting on the windowsill, smoking a cigarette, dressed only in boxers and a loose shirt. He looks as aloof and detached as ever but it only takes a glance at the red mark on Sherlock’s neck to prove that last night was not just a vivid dream.
“Morning,” John says as Sherlock finally turns to him, finishing and disposing of his cigarette.
“Morning,” Sherlock replies, his mouth twitching into a smile.
Without a moment’s hesitation Sherlock climbs onto the bed, crawls up over John, and presses his lips to John’s mouth. John huffs out a breath in surprise but pulls Sherlock close with a hand at the back of his neck. Sherlock kisses him hungrily, then moves to nip at his jaw.
“I thought you were never going to wake up,” Sherlock complains.
“Some people need more than four hours’ sleep."
“Hmm. Shame,” Sherlock murmurs smoothly, tracing his tongue over John’s pulse point. “I could help you stay up longer, if you like.”
John laughs, even as he leans into the caress of Sherlock’s tongue.
“Innuendo. Not usually your forte.”
He can feel Sherlock’s smile against his skin and he draws the other man away, cradles his face in his hands.
“There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you.”
“And it can’t possibly wait?” Sherlock comments with a raised eyebrow. John blushes. This is definitely a side of Sherlock he had not expected.
“There are so many things I want to do to you," he whispers in John's ear.
John lets out a helpless moan and is suddenly uncomfortably aware of his nakedness, even with the sheet as a barrier between Sherlock's body and his.
"Sherlock... Wait, I..."
He has his hands on Sherlock's shoulders, as if to push him away, but they both know if he really wanted Sherlock gone, he'd have done something about it already.
Sherlock groans but then he is moving to lie on his back beside John. He is still close enough that their shoulders brush with the slightest movement.
"Thank you," John says, "This is... new, for me."
"I know."
When John glances in his direction, Sherlock looks thoughtful but his expression softens and he smiles as soon as he catches John watching him. John jolts when he feels Sherlock’s long fingers winding around his.
“You were saying?”
“Oh. Yes. Yesterday, at the beach... why did you make me wait so long?”
Sherlock tenses almost immediately and he looks away, fixes his gaze on the ceiling.
“Sherlock?”
“I wasn’t supposed to show myself to you at all," he explains hesitantly, "I wanted to - I had to see you, but you weren't supposed to know."
“What?”
Sherlock’s gaze flicks to his and then back to the ceiling.
“The success of my plan rests on my remaining dead to everyone who knows me. Especially you.”
John has to take several deep breaths, has to close his eyes and focus on staying calm.
“How long were you planning on staying dead?”
“As long as it took.”
John inhales sharply, clenches his hands - and only then remembers that Sherlock’s hand is still clasped in his. He releases it in a rush, struggling to control his anger.
“Why did you get Mycroft to send me here then? Why risk it?” John asks, bitterness colouring his voice.
“I wanted-"
“I know we went through this yesterday," John cuts in, "But it obviously didn’t sink in. Do you have any idea what it did to me, losing you?”
John had thought the intense emotions of last night had somewhat calmed in the light of day, soothed by the intimacy he had shared with Sherlock, but in an instant they all come swarming back and his left hand starts to tremble.
“A part of me died with you, do you understand that?” he asks, his voice shaking, “I could barely function for- for months afterwards.”
“John.”
Sherlock moves close, his head pressed to John’s shoulder. John wants to shout at him, wants to push him away, but he can’t bring himself to do it.
“And what happens now? Now that I know you’re alive? Do you honestly expect me to go home and pretend you’re still dead?”
“I need you to,” Sherlock whispers, “I have to keep you safe.”
“I’ve done a pretty good job of keeping myself safe for the last thirty-eight years.”
“Except for the bullet in the shoulder, you mean.”
John takes a calming breath. He still can’t bring himself to open his eyes and look at Sherlock.
“I don’t know if I can do this, Sherlock. I can’t be this close to you and then go home and pretend it never happened. I’m not as good an actor as you.”
“You don’t understand.”
“No. I really don’t.”
John finally forces his eyes open and turns his head towards Sherlock. Sherlock has his face buried against John’s shoulder and doesn’t look up when John moves.
“Moriarty was one man, one small part of a huge organisation. There are a number of men already fighting to take his place. If they get even the slightest hint that I am alive, they will kill everyone I care about. Not just you, John. Mrs. Hudson, Lestrade, Mycroft, Molly. Anyone with even the smallest link to me. All those people dead, because of me. I can't let that happen.”
Silence falls over them and John feels his chest tighten at the thought of all those innocent people killed. He doesn’t like it, but he is starting to understand the danger they are in; starting to understand what Sherlock is trying to protect them from.
“Sherlock,” he says, rolling onto his side and pressing his mouth to Sherlock’s hair as he loops an arm round the other man’s shoulders, “Let me help. I’ll do anything. I just want you home again.”
“John-”
“Think about it, at least. Please.”
Sherlock lifts his head and holds John’s gaze for a moment, before he nods hesitantly.
“I just want you home,” John repeats, leaning in and brushing his lips against Sherlock’s, “With me.”
Sherlock moans and John tugs the other man flush against him, kissing him tenderly.
****
The day passes far too quickly, and the next one even more so. They spend hours talking, making up for a year of silence. They walk along the beach, hand in hand, and spend an inordinate amount of time wrapped around each other in bed. It feels like some kind of warped honeymoon and John never wants it to end.
On the fourth morning John stumbles sleepily downstairs to find Sherlock at the kitchen table, an envelope clutched in his hands.
"What's that?" he asks, resting a hand on Sherlock's shoulder.
"Flight details," Sherlock says quietly. He tilts his head and presses his cheek against John's hand.
Even though John knew this was coming, knew their time was limited, he feels suddenly weak. He drops into the nearest chair.
"When?" he manages to get out.
"Your flight to London leaves tomorrow morning."
"And you?"
"Tomorrow afternoon."
"Where to?" he asks, helpless to stop himself.
Sherlock simply shakes his head. They've been over this a hundred times, but John is still desperate to know. Sherlock is just as desperate for him not to. John rubs his eyes tiredly and starts when he feels Sherlock's fingers wrapping around his wrist. Sherlock pulls his hand away and leans in, pressing their heads together. John lets out a long shaky breath and buries his fingers in the curls at the nape of Sherlock’s neck.
"Promise me you won't do anything stupid," John says. "Promise me that'll you'll come back."
"John."
"Promise me," he repeats firmly, his grip on Sherlock's hair tightening for a second.
"I promise."
Sherlock tilts forward and their mouths meet in a gentle kiss. All John can think about is the fact that they are running out of time, and desperation leaks into the kiss. It makes him kiss Sherlock more roughly, makes him tighten his grip almost hard enough to hurt.
Sherlock pulls away and presses his face to John's neck as John locks his arms around the other man's shoulders.
"Come back to bed," John says. "If we've only got today left, I don't want to waste a single minute."
Sherlock snorts in what sounds like amusement.
"I see your skill at soppy romantic drivel hasn't diminished in the slightest."
Despite his mocking, Sherlock doesn't move from John's embrace.
"Shut up, you git."
"Will you write me love letters?" Sherlock asks playfully.
"And where exactly would I send them?"
"Nice try," Sherlock mumbles, pressing his mouth to John's skin.
John squeezes his eyes shut and his heart clenches painfully. He wants this so desperately; wants Sherlock back in Baker Street, taking the piss and dragging him around London and sharing his bed.
"I love you," John whispers.
"I love you," Sherlock replies quietly and John presses his face against Sherlock’s hair, breathing in his scent for a moment.
“Come on, enough soppy drivel,” John says. “Come back to bed."
****
Part Four
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: John/Sherlock
Warnings: Sexual situations
Spoilers: The Reichenbach Fall
Beta: lady_t_220
Summary: One year after Reichenbach, John is sent to Corsica on an errand for Mycroft. What he doesn't expect to find is a second chance to say all the things he never said.
Part Two
****
Dawn is only just starting to turn the sky pink when John wakes, but the space next to him is glaringly empty. A moment later, he spots movement out of the corner of his eye. He rolls onto his back, leaning up on his elbows, and stills when he sees Sherlock. The other man is sitting on the windowsill, smoking a cigarette, dressed only in boxers and a loose shirt. He looks as aloof and detached as ever but it only takes a glance at the red mark on Sherlock’s neck to prove that last night was not just a vivid dream.
“Morning,” John says as Sherlock finally turns to him, finishing and disposing of his cigarette.
“Morning,” Sherlock replies, his mouth twitching into a smile.
Without a moment’s hesitation Sherlock climbs onto the bed, crawls up over John, and presses his lips to John’s mouth. John huffs out a breath in surprise but pulls Sherlock close with a hand at the back of his neck. Sherlock kisses him hungrily, then moves to nip at his jaw.
“I thought you were never going to wake up,” Sherlock complains.
“Some people need more than four hours’ sleep."
“Hmm. Shame,” Sherlock murmurs smoothly, tracing his tongue over John’s pulse point. “I could help you stay up longer, if you like.”
John laughs, even as he leans into the caress of Sherlock’s tongue.
“Innuendo. Not usually your forte.”
He can feel Sherlock’s smile against his skin and he draws the other man away, cradles his face in his hands.
“There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you.”
“And it can’t possibly wait?” Sherlock comments with a raised eyebrow. John blushes. This is definitely a side of Sherlock he had not expected.
“There are so many things I want to do to you," he whispers in John's ear.
John lets out a helpless moan and is suddenly uncomfortably aware of his nakedness, even with the sheet as a barrier between Sherlock's body and his.
"Sherlock... Wait, I..."
He has his hands on Sherlock's shoulders, as if to push him away, but they both know if he really wanted Sherlock gone, he'd have done something about it already.
Sherlock groans but then he is moving to lie on his back beside John. He is still close enough that their shoulders brush with the slightest movement.
"Thank you," John says, "This is... new, for me."
"I know."
When John glances in his direction, Sherlock looks thoughtful but his expression softens and he smiles as soon as he catches John watching him. John jolts when he feels Sherlock’s long fingers winding around his.
“You were saying?”
“Oh. Yes. Yesterday, at the beach... why did you make me wait so long?”
Sherlock tenses almost immediately and he looks away, fixes his gaze on the ceiling.
“Sherlock?”
“I wasn’t supposed to show myself to you at all," he explains hesitantly, "I wanted to - I had to see you, but you weren't supposed to know."
“What?”
Sherlock’s gaze flicks to his and then back to the ceiling.
“The success of my plan rests on my remaining dead to everyone who knows me. Especially you.”
John has to take several deep breaths, has to close his eyes and focus on staying calm.
“How long were you planning on staying dead?”
“As long as it took.”
John inhales sharply, clenches his hands - and only then remembers that Sherlock’s hand is still clasped in his. He releases it in a rush, struggling to control his anger.
“Why did you get Mycroft to send me here then? Why risk it?” John asks, bitterness colouring his voice.
“I wanted-"
“I know we went through this yesterday," John cuts in, "But it obviously didn’t sink in. Do you have any idea what it did to me, losing you?”
John had thought the intense emotions of last night had somewhat calmed in the light of day, soothed by the intimacy he had shared with Sherlock, but in an instant they all come swarming back and his left hand starts to tremble.
“A part of me died with you, do you understand that?” he asks, his voice shaking, “I could barely function for- for months afterwards.”
“John.”
Sherlock moves close, his head pressed to John’s shoulder. John wants to shout at him, wants to push him away, but he can’t bring himself to do it.
“And what happens now? Now that I know you’re alive? Do you honestly expect me to go home and pretend you’re still dead?”
“I need you to,” Sherlock whispers, “I have to keep you safe.”
“I’ve done a pretty good job of keeping myself safe for the last thirty-eight years.”
“Except for the bullet in the shoulder, you mean.”
John takes a calming breath. He still can’t bring himself to open his eyes and look at Sherlock.
“I don’t know if I can do this, Sherlock. I can’t be this close to you and then go home and pretend it never happened. I’m not as good an actor as you.”
“You don’t understand.”
“No. I really don’t.”
John finally forces his eyes open and turns his head towards Sherlock. Sherlock has his face buried against John’s shoulder and doesn’t look up when John moves.
“Moriarty was one man, one small part of a huge organisation. There are a number of men already fighting to take his place. If they get even the slightest hint that I am alive, they will kill everyone I care about. Not just you, John. Mrs. Hudson, Lestrade, Mycroft, Molly. Anyone with even the smallest link to me. All those people dead, because of me. I can't let that happen.”
Silence falls over them and John feels his chest tighten at the thought of all those innocent people killed. He doesn’t like it, but he is starting to understand the danger they are in; starting to understand what Sherlock is trying to protect them from.
“Sherlock,” he says, rolling onto his side and pressing his mouth to Sherlock’s hair as he loops an arm round the other man’s shoulders, “Let me help. I’ll do anything. I just want you home again.”
“John-”
“Think about it, at least. Please.”
Sherlock lifts his head and holds John’s gaze for a moment, before he nods hesitantly.
“I just want you home,” John repeats, leaning in and brushing his lips against Sherlock’s, “With me.”
Sherlock moans and John tugs the other man flush against him, kissing him tenderly.
****
The day passes far too quickly, and the next one even more so. They spend hours talking, making up for a year of silence. They walk along the beach, hand in hand, and spend an inordinate amount of time wrapped around each other in bed. It feels like some kind of warped honeymoon and John never wants it to end.
On the fourth morning John stumbles sleepily downstairs to find Sherlock at the kitchen table, an envelope clutched in his hands.
"What's that?" he asks, resting a hand on Sherlock's shoulder.
"Flight details," Sherlock says quietly. He tilts his head and presses his cheek against John's hand.
Even though John knew this was coming, knew their time was limited, he feels suddenly weak. He drops into the nearest chair.
"When?" he manages to get out.
"Your flight to London leaves tomorrow morning."
"And you?"
"Tomorrow afternoon."
"Where to?" he asks, helpless to stop himself.
Sherlock simply shakes his head. They've been over this a hundred times, but John is still desperate to know. Sherlock is just as desperate for him not to. John rubs his eyes tiredly and starts when he feels Sherlock's fingers wrapping around his wrist. Sherlock pulls his hand away and leans in, pressing their heads together. John lets out a long shaky breath and buries his fingers in the curls at the nape of Sherlock’s neck.
"Promise me you won't do anything stupid," John says. "Promise me that'll you'll come back."
"John."
"Promise me," he repeats firmly, his grip on Sherlock's hair tightening for a second.
"I promise."
Sherlock tilts forward and their mouths meet in a gentle kiss. All John can think about is the fact that they are running out of time, and desperation leaks into the kiss. It makes him kiss Sherlock more roughly, makes him tighten his grip almost hard enough to hurt.
Sherlock pulls away and presses his face to John's neck as John locks his arms around the other man's shoulders.
"Come back to bed," John says. "If we've only got today left, I don't want to waste a single minute."
Sherlock snorts in what sounds like amusement.
"I see your skill at soppy romantic drivel hasn't diminished in the slightest."
Despite his mocking, Sherlock doesn't move from John's embrace.
"Shut up, you git."
"Will you write me love letters?" Sherlock asks playfully.
"And where exactly would I send them?"
"Nice try," Sherlock mumbles, pressing his mouth to John's skin.
John squeezes his eyes shut and his heart clenches painfully. He wants this so desperately; wants Sherlock back in Baker Street, taking the piss and dragging him around London and sharing his bed.
"I love you," John whispers.
"I love you," Sherlock replies quietly and John presses his face against Sherlock’s hair, breathing in his scent for a moment.
“Come on, enough soppy drivel,” John says. “Come back to bed."
****
Part Four