Chapter Text
“I thought you knew. I’m not scared, John. I’m- I’m fucking heartbroken.”
-
Everyone goes very quiet all of a sudden, and John feels his mouth go very dry as his pulse suddenly becomes very loud in his ears.
“You- what?” he hears himself stutter distantly, because surely, surely he’s misunderstood this, except Sherlock is stepping forward and into his space – and he’s always done that, has always invaded the air around John like it was his space to command, like he belonged there – and he looks down at John and smiles and it’s possibly the saddest thing John’s ever seen.
“I’m in love with you, you absolute idiot,” Sherlock says quietly, like it’s just the two of them and John’s fiancé isn’t in the room with them. Then he leans down and presses a soft kiss on John’s cheek, just missing his lips before he straightens back up and walks out of the kitchen without a word. Distantly there’s the sound of the door downstairs opening and closing, and everything seems kind of.. detached and muggy. ‘I need a shock blanket,’ John thinks, and then he has to physically stop himself from bursting into hysterical giggles.
He doesn’t know how long he’s been staring at the door where Sherlock just left, but he slowly becomes aware of Mary standing at his side, and he turns to look at her, to check with her. Because surely, this is one of Sherlock’s ridiculous pranks, and any minute now he’ll come bursting through the door with that manic grin on his face and his deep voice rumbling in his chest as he laughs at John’s gullibility. Because surely, it can’t be what it seems, except that Mary’s voice is quiet and serious when she says
“I don’t think he’ll be back for a while. He’ll want some space,” and John realizes he’s looked back at the doorway without being aware of the decision to do so.
Apparently this is the one time that it’s exactly how it looks - there’s no prank, no joke, no hidden motive and absolutely no going around it.
“He’s in love with me?” John asks, finally turning back to Mary, who looks at him in a way that is, worryingly enough, entirely too reminiscent of Sherlock. It very clearly says ‘Oh, you poor, simple thing’.
John hates that look, but at this particular moment he thinks he might just deserve it.
“Oh, John,” Mary says gently, like he’s some delicate thing she needs to tiptoe around. “Of course he’s in love with you.”
It hits him quite suddenly then, that this is actually happening, and he sort of half stumbles, half falls to the nearest chair at the kitchen table. He really might be going into shock.
Mary sits down next to him and rubs her hand over his back as he focusses on taking deep breaths, his hands rubbing over his face as he tries to process the last few minutes of his life.
“You didn’t seem surprised,” John says after a moment and Mary shrugs.
“Well, it’s always been quite obvious, hasn’t it?” She says and John barks a laugh that has no humor in it whatsoever.
“Not to me it hasn’t,” he says, and then wonders aloud, “How many people know?”
And Mary sighs again as if he’s still being slow.
“John, everyone knows. In fact, I’d say the only one who didn’t know... was you.”
He looks up from where he has his face in his hands, unconsciously rubbing over the spot where Sherlock kissed his check, and stares at her.
“How did this happen? How long? Why- why did no one tell me?” he pleads, and Mary takes his hands again, wraps them in her own smaller palms and brings them to her lips.
“John, I’ve read your blog. People have been telling you from day one,” she paused before continuing, “but as always, it seems that unless it came from the mouth of Sherlock Holmes himself, you weren’t likely to pay it any attention.”
John bristles and snaps, “And what the hell is that supposed to mean?”
Mary sighs and leans back, looking around the kitchen of 221B and imagining how it had been, only a few years ago when John had lived here alongside Sherlock. It wouldn’t be noticeable to many, but Mary could pick the details out, could see that there were gaps, here and there. Pieces missing. A place on the shelf where a particular coffee cup was meant to go. One half of the table was clear of Sherlock’s equipment, but there were a few crumbs on one side of the table, as if the person eating there had sat and looked at the empty space across from them.
It reminded Mary of when she had first met John.
He’d had a lot of pieces missing, too.
“It means that Sherlock has always been number one to you, John. I knew it before we started dating, and as soon as I realized who it was that night in that restaurant, I knew that, engagement or not, I would never really have you for my own. Not completely.”
She smiled at John softly.
“And I was okay with that. Truly, I was. But now…” she shrugged. “Honestly, Sherlock wasn’t the only one who thought that you knew how he felt about you. I thought it was just this… unspoken thing between you two, but that you knew, of course you knew. How could you not? It sounds like he’s been head over heels for you from day one – for Gods sakes, John, the man faked his death to save you!” Mary’s voice rose sharply, before she took a breath and continued.
“But obviously, that wasn’t the case. You didn’t know – but now you do. And, honestly, I don’t know where we stand anymore. Because I know you, John. I know what jumper is your favourite, I know how you taste before you’ve brushed your teeth and I know that you’re more prone to having nightmares if you sleep on your left side. I know everything a fiancé should possibly know.”
Mary stood and stepped forward to rest her hands on John’s shoulders, running up his neck and gently carding through his hair.
“And I know that I will never know you like Sherlock Holmes knows you, and I know that it has nothing to do with his deductions. I know that when I met you… the man I met was... was devastated over the loss of his best friend and I thought, even then I thought, ‘he’s feeling this too strongly. It’s cutting too deep for it to just be friendship’ – but you assured me there had never been anything between you, and because we both never thought there would be the chance for it, I didn’t push it. But that man I first met and the man in front of me are so, so different,” she ran her fingers through his hair and stared down at John, his cornflower blue eyes meeting hers and Mary could see the truth there, that same spark she had seen flicker back into life that night when Sherlock returned.
“I know that before we had even left that restaurant you had forgiven him, because suddenly you looked alive in ways I hadn’t ever seen. I know you love him, and I know that you’re not quite sure how you love him. But it’s time for you to figure that out.”
Mary stepped back towards the door and John stared, in a state of confusion (which, he decided, had happened far too often today). He tried to speak but his mouth was dry from being quiet so long and he nearly choked on the words that fell from his tongue.
“Mary, what-”
“John, I love you. And if you had never known, if Sherlock hadn’t said anything, then I would have been happy to go on as we were, pretending that there wasn’t anything there between the two of you, something that I could never be a part of. But we can’t continue, not like this, and I can’t even resent Sherlock for that, because I would have done the same thing in his place.” She smiled, and swallowed, steeling herself.
“So I’m asking you to choose. I’m asking you to think about this – really think. Because I think you and I could have a wonderful life together, John, I really do. I think we’d be great together. But I also think that without Sherlock, you’re not yourself. You go grey and bitter around the edges and you’re still wonderful, you are... but with him? With him, you’re incredible. With him, you are who you were always meant to be. And I’ll admit, that frightens me, a bit. Because I don’t know that even if we still carried on, if we got married and settled down together.. I don’t know that I could ever live up to him.”
And for the first time, Mary’s face twisted bitterly.
“And how telling is that, John? You’ve never been together, you’ve always said you’re not gay, that Sherlock’s not like that… and I still doubt I could be a match for you the way he is.”
She turned to leave and paused in the doorway.
“And I think now that it’s very clear that Sherlock is like that- or, at least, he is when it comes to you. So I think you should talk to him. You’re not always an easy man to love, John. But I do. And he does. And then… you need to choose. Because I already feel like a consolation prize, and I refuse to start a marriage on that foundation.”
And she left.