Archive of Our Own ^beta

John steps into Gilly’s, a pub made to look like an American Honky Tonk, that Bill Murray introduced him to. Not his normal choice, but it’s his last night of leave and it’s close to his hotel. Murray is spending tonight with his family before they head back to base and then fly out on February 1st a couple of days later. All John plans to do tonight is get drunk. Grabbing a seat at the bar that gives him a pretty good view of the whole room, he orders a beer.

The band is playing 80s country music and the singer’s doing pretty well with the American, Southern twang accent. From his spot, John watches the couples on the dance floor. After his second drink, John’s foot is tapping along and he thinks maybe he will ask someone to dance. That’s when He walks in.

Yes, He with a capital H. The He in question has stopped just inside the door, looking around with a touch of apprehension on His face. He takes a deep breath, sets His expression into one of aloofness, stands a bit straighter. John smiles as He walks across the floor acting like it's something He does all the time. However, John can see the bit of tension in the broad shoulders, wonderful broad shoulders - “stop it” John silently admonishes himself but he doesn’t. He looks a bit uncomfortable in those painted on faded black jeans. The flashing colored lights bathe His pale skin in blues and purples, play across His dark curly hair. This man is too posh for the likes of this place, for the likes of John. Like a member of the royal court visiting a peasant’s pub.

The stranger stands at the bar, trying to catch the bartender’s eye. John downs the rest of his pint then steps up to Him. “I can tell you’re used to champagne but can I buy you a beer?”

He turns to him with the most beautiful eyes John has ever seen. A relieved breath puffs out of that perfect mouth. “I would like that.”

At this rate, John thinks, his cheeks will be aching from all the smiling he’s doing. He nods to the man, turns his head and yells out to the bartender, for two more beers. They stand next to each other, silent and awkward. The bartender hands John the iced mugs. Turning back to the man, he asks “Do you want to sit down?”

A shy smile and “Yes, please.”

Finding a table a bit away from the dance floor, John sets down the beer then pulls out a chair for Him. “Sit, please.” Then he takes his own seat. “I’m John, John Watson.”

“Sherlock Holmes.”

“Sherlock.” John loves how it rolls off his tongue. “This is going to sound like the cheesiest pick up line ever, but what is a man like you doing in a place like this?”

Sherlock takes a sip of his beer, trying unsuccessfully to keep a grimace of his face. John swallows some of his own drink to keep from laughing at the sight. This man is beyond adorable, he thinks to himself. Sherlock steals himself and takes another drink, doing much better to get it down without the grimace before he answers.

“You have me all figured out. Yes I’m used to drinking champagne and country clubs. I’m supposed to get married in a few days to a man I don’t love. Continue with an even more extravagant lifestyle as candy for my husband’s arm. Just once though, once before that. I want to just be a ‘normal’ person.” Sherlock finishes his drink. “That probably makes no sense to you.”

“I can’t say that I understand it, but I think I just might be able to help if you’ll let me.” Getting a nod in answer, John signals the server and orders another round, with shots on the side. Drinks having come and gone, he holds out his hand to Sherlock, “Care for a turn or two around the dance floor? It is the ‘normal’ thing to do after all.”

Sherlock hesitates just a beat but this is what he came for. He takes the offered hand “I have no idea what I’m doing.”

“Me either, we’ll do what feels right. If they don’t like it, they can piss off.”

Sherlock answers with a laugh and a nod. The two dance to a few songs, smiling and laughing as they go. A brief rest for another round of beer and they are back on the floor as the singer belts out a song about “fishing” in the dark.

“People don't actually do that right?”

John smiles “Not talking about actually fishing, love.”

The song finishes and a slower song starts. The singer begins:

There’s a lot of ways of saying what I want to say to you.
There’s songs, and poems, and promises and dreams that might come true.
But I won’t talk of starry skies or moonlight on the ground.
I’ll come right out and tell you I’d just love to lay you down

The most beautiful flush rises on Sherlock’s cheeks as John pulls Sherlock tighter and whispers up at him how true those lines are. They sway to the music, all else disappearing. But bar bands are bar bands, the next few songs have a faster beat. They move apart but they don’t lose contact, always finding a way to touch each other. While neither know the songs, the high energy of the crowd is contagious. More beer is drunk, more songs are danced too, more laughter rings out. The favorite part for both is when the beat slows and they can hold each other again.

“Last call” rings out and John is surprised how quickly the night has passed. He’s sure the disappointment he spots in Sherlock’s eyes is reflected in his.

“Come back to my room?” A gentle kiss is applied to the back of a hand.

“I’d like that, yes.” is softly answered.

The sun hasn’t made its appearance yet as John gives a soft kiss to the top of the head laying on his shoulder. As he goes to move, the arm across his chest tightens. “Trying to sneak out? Isn’t that bad form?” sleepily asked.

“I need to go. Got to collect Bill and head to the station. The room is paid for. Check out isn’t until 11. You can stay here.”

Both are silent for a few minutes.

“Thank you. Last night was just what I wanted, what I needed.”

“I know it’s none of my business Sherlock, but you don’t need to marry…”

Sherlock shakes his head, “I have to John, you don’t understand.”

John lets out a heavy sigh, with everything they talked about last night, this was a topic that Sherlock avoided. “All right. I’m glad I could make one of your dreams come true.”
Sherlock looks up and they share one last tender kiss before leaving their bed. They dress in silence. An awkwardness that wasn’t there since they first met falls between them. John realizes he needs to be the one to leave. Taking a deep breath, he squares his shoulders, lifts a hand to cup Sherlock’s cheek. “Take care of you.”

Sherlock covers John’s hand, “You’re the one invading Afghanistan. You be careful.”

“I’ll try.”

John slowly lowers his hand and they both give one last squeeze. John turns and makes it to the door before Sherlock calls out as he opens it.

“Every year.” Sherlock says as John turns to him. “I will return to Gilly’s every year on the anniversary of last night. Maybe we’ll meet again.” There are tears in his eyes, he wants to believe it will happen but knows it won’t.

Not being able to lie, not even now, but not being able to say no outloud, John answers with a sad smile “See you around, Sherlock.” He’s surprised at how much strength it takes him to turn away and head out the door.

When John walks through that door and out of his life, Sherlock’s tears fall. He doesn’t know how he is supposed to go through with this sham of a marriage when he knows John is out there. John, who captured his heart and taught him what he will be missing. Sending a prayer to a God he doesn’t believe in that John returns alive and whole to England, Sherlock leaves a few minutes after John.

Bill isn’t in a talking mood when John shows up at his place and for that John is grateful. John isn’t ready to talk. About last night, about Sherlock. He might never talk about him. There’s a space in his heart that will always belong to Sherlock. Sherlock is special, more so than anyone he has ever met. John prays that if he can’t marry for love, that this future husband makes him happy at least.

*************************

Sherlock returns to Gilly’s for the first anniversary. Waking up in the hospital from an overdose, he realizes he missed the 2nd one. He goes to rehab, does what he has to be released, and gets high on the way back to James’ house. James’ house, not home. It will never be home. Home is probably in Afghanistan, or wherever John is. Not that John would recognize the man he is now. Would even want the man he is now. Two days later, James takes him to another party and the cycle begins again. Party, crash, fight, repeat.

After Sherlock’s third overdose, Mycroft’s investigation is finally done. James is arrested for tax evasion at their wedding anniversary party. The divorce is rushed through, and after 3 years and 6 days, Sherlock is finally free. Recovery takes longer; he misses Anniversary #3. But he’s ready for tomorrow, Anniversary #4.

***********************

John throws himself into his work. Between patrols and hospital shifts, he doesn’t have time to think about Sherlock. At least that is what he tells himself. Picking up extra shirts, his men deserve time off and if he can help by working those extra shirts and covering others’ leaves, so be it. He has no one at home to call, write or visit. Sherlock has his own life. Their night together is hopefully a pleasant memory. Or maybe even a funny story to share at a party; how he had a night with a regular soldier and how the posh life is so much better.

The patrol is ambushed right outside the base’s gate. That and Bill’s quick work is probably the only reason he survived the gunshot to his shoulder. He’s not really sure how he survived the infection and fever that ravished his body afterwards. Now, a plane touches down in RAP Northolt. John hobbles off the plane, duffle bag over his shoulder, cane in hand.

Knowing it's a bad idea, a horrible idea, John books himself back into the Strand Palace, the same place he stayed at 4 years ago . He keeps telling himself he won’t go to the bar, that there is no reason to do so. That Sherlock wouldn’t be there. That John’s not the man he was and there was no way Sherlock would look twice at him now. But here it is, January 29, and he’s opening the door to Gilly’s.

Not much has changed. The bar is still based on an American Honky Tonk but no band plays tonight, just music blaring from the speaker system. Head down, John makes his way to the bar and orders a drink before letting himself look around. He shouldn’t have come, shouldn’t have gotten his hopes up. This was a stupid idea. Sherlock’s not here. After drinking his beer, John slams the mug on the bar, grabs his cane and makes his way out the door. Outside, a cold icy rain is falling. “Bloody perfect.” John mumbles before turning down the sidewalk to his hotel.

Sherlock throws money back at the driver angrily. He tried to get here an hour ago but traffic was horrible. He hurries to the door of Gilly’s, grabbing the handle, he’s about to open it when he notices the man who must have just left. A man hunched against the cold rain, limping slowly along the icy sidewalk, cane tapping at his side. He drops his hand away, stands still and silent for a moment. His heart is trying to convince his brain of who he is seeing but having a hard time doing so.

“JOHN!” He almost startles himself when he shouts.

No, there is no way,itcan’tbe,JohnWatsonisnotthatlucky. These thoughts are melting together in his brain as he turns. But yes, there he is. Sherlock.

Somehow they are hugging, arms wrapped tight around each other, John’s cane forgotten at their feet. They stand together in that cold rain, hanging on for dear life. John’s shoulders start to shake, then Sherlock’s. By the time they pull back and look at each other, they are giggling out loud.

“You git, you’re getting soaked.”

“So are you.” They stop giggling expressions turning serious.

“You’re actually here. Really here, I didn’t think you’d ever return to me… to London.”

“I couldn’t stay away.”

“I’m not married anymore.”

“Oh that’s….that’s good. You’re unattached. Just like me.”

They smile at each other.

“We are the picture of a cliche romance. Reunited in the rain.”

“I’ve got a place, come home with me.”

“Of course.”

Their lips quickly warm up as they kiss the last 4 years away.