Archive of Our Own ^beta

“You look like you’re having fun.”

John, who had retreated to the unfamiliar kitchen after being cornered by an overenthusiastic woman, jumped at the deep voice coming over his shoulder, then sighed. “Right, being dragged to a stranger’s party is really my idea of fun.” He turned and found himself himself facing an older man who was leaning against the counter and regarding him curiously.

“Dragged?” The man’s mouth turned up in a smirk, “you didn’t want to be here?”

“Not particularly. Apparently I’ve been ‘spending too much time in the flat’ and ‘need to get out more,’ but I don’t think a room full of boring strangers is going to help.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” the man stood straight and leaned toward him, grinning conspiratorially, “I don’t think everyone here is boring.”

John shrugged, looking down into his glass. “Maybe. I’m not really interested in finding out, honestly. At least the scotch is good.”

Before either of them could say anything else, Greg appeared, smiling in relief, likely in finding that John hadn’t just walked out. “Oh, there you are, and I see you’ve met Douglas. This is his place.”

John turned bright red as Douglas laughed out loud.

“None taken,” he put a hand on John’s shoulder and leaned in a little, lowering his voice. “Glad you’re enjoying the scotch, do try to have fun.”

John watched him walked away, feeling the embarrassment still heating his face.

******

A few weeks later, John stopped to pick up milk on his way home when he saw a familiar face in the shop. “Douglas?”

The man turned at the sound of his own name, smiling in recognition. “John, hello.”

John crossed to him, fiddling with the milk as he spoke. “Listen, I should apologize for my behavior at your party.”

Douglas shook his head. “Not at all. Greg already apologized for you – which I told him was unnecessary.”

“Well, still, I feel a bit bad about it. Can I buy you a coffee or something?”

******

“So, who is she?” Douglas asked when they were seated across from each other in the cafe, drinks in hand.

“Sorry?”

“At the party you said you were spending too much time in your flat, and Greg said something similar. Usually that means woman troubles. So who is she?”

John stared into his coffee for a moment, hesitating. “It was him, actually. He was my best friend and he’s, uh, dead.”

“Oh gosh, I’m so sorry. I had no idea. I just thought…”

“It’s alright, honestly. You had no way of knowing. Plus, it’s been a few years. Greg’s right, everyone is, I should be at least trying to live my life. Anyway, enough about that. You’re a pilot, right?” It was pathetic, but John was desperate to change the subject, “you must get to see a lot of amazing places.”

“Mm, I work for a small charter company – single plane, two pilots, one idiot steward. It’s not very successful, so our fearless leader takes a lot of odd jobs. Anyone who’ll pay us, really. In fact, last year, our captain…” he trailed off, concentrating on his finger running around the handle of the cup, “the captain before me, that is…”

“You two were close?”

Douglas let out a low chuckle, “you could say that.”

“What happened?”

“That’s the thing, I’m not sure. One day he was just...gone.”

“Gone?”

“Gone. As in didn’t show up for work, flat was emptied out, no note, no call. Just...gone. I even asked Greg for help finding him, but it was like he never existed.”

“That’s so strange.”

They talked for a while longer about less consequential things (John’s work, Douglas’s history as a pilot), before Douglas looked at his watch. “I’m sorry, I have to run. I’m in London again next week, I’d love to have dinner.”

“I’d like that.”

******

“So, what’s Douglas’s deal?” John stared into his pint, watching the beads of condensation race to the tabletop. It wasn’t that he was embarrassed to be asking, but he also knew that Greg was still a bit uncomfortable with this side of him, probably not helped by the fact that it was brought to light by drunken confession of John’s feelings for Sherlock just days after his death, though he was kind enough to pretend he wasn’t.

Greg placed his pint down carefully and raised his eyebrows. “Deal?”

“Yeah, tell me what he’s like, I guess.”

“Oh lord, you have a thing for him.”

This time it was John’s eyebrows that rose as a small laugh huffed out of him. “Thing? We ran into each other the other day and went for coffee. He seems like a nice guy. Am I wrong?”

Greg shook his head. “No, he is. He’s also been through a lot.”

“He told me about the disappearing boyfriend.” OK, so he hadn’t said “boyfriend,” but the implication was definitely that Douglas and Martin’s relationship went beyond just being colleagues.

Greg nodded knowingly. “That was bizarre. I even tried to get Mycroft’s help, but it was like the man never existed.”

“Did you ever meet him?”

Greg shook his head. “It’s not just that, though. He’s been divorced a few times, has a kid…”

“And I have the ghost of Sherlock,” John cut him off. One of the reasons John hadn’t put himself back out there after Sherlock – though not a major reason – was that he didn’t think anyone would get it. And even though he hadn’t spent that much time with Douglas, it seemed like maybe he understood that things could be complicated and not let that ruin things.

Greg took a sip from his pint and regarded John for a moment. “I guess just be careful.”

“I’m kind of...tired of being careful. But I appreciate your concern.”

******

When John arrived at the restaurant, Douglas was already there, looking, in John’s opinion, very good. He greeted John with his thousand-watt grin and gestured for him to sit. They ordered and set about chatting as if they were old friends with some casual flirting thrown in from both sides. John even managed to tell some stories about Sherlock in a detached enough way that it was neither sad nor awkward, and in return Douglas talked about working with Martin in a way that made John laugh. John marveled at how relaxed he felt talking to Douglas, this evening as well as when they had had coffee. It felt like the fog left behind by Sherlock’s death might be lifting just a bit, though he was careful about getting his hopes up.

John lived only a few blocks from the restaurant, and it was a blissfully clear night, so Douglas offered to walk him home after dinner. They continued their comfortable conversation, fingertips occasionally brushing as they walked.

When they reached the doorway to 221, there was a bit of an awkward shuffle as they decided how to say goodnight, and when Douglas leaned in for a hug, John kissed him instead.

Douglas kissed back for a moment, then pulled away to smile at John. “Don’t you think I’m a little old for you?”

“I think that maybe you think that. I also think you could come upstairs – if you wanted to that is.”

Douglas sighed and ran a hand down John’s arm. “Next time.” He leaned in to give John one more quick kiss, then walked off.

******

John closed the door to the flat behind him, pressing his back against it and letting his head land against it with a thud. Kissing Douglas had felt right in the moment. He’d wanted it, and he was no longer putting his own desires aside. But now it felt like betrayal. He needed to talk to someone, so he pulled out his phone and texted Greg.

Why does one kiss feel like I cheated on Sherlock?

As soon he sent it, he regretted it, but there was nothing for it now. He checked the clock. Greg would be asleep anyway.

He was slowly making his way toward bed, groggily getting out of his clothes when his phone rang. It was so shrill in the silence that he nearly dropped it before answering. “Greg, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

“No.” The response was so blunt that it startled John into silence for a moment.

“No?”

“No. You and Douglas obviously like each other and it’s been long enough, John. Sherlock is gone and we’re always going to miss him, but I’m not going to let you throw away something good over a ghost.”

“OK, but-”

“No.” Greg was clearly not taking any of his shit tonight. “It’s late, or possibly early and I’m not having this argument. To bed, John.”

“Greg?”

“What?”

“Thanks.” There was a grunt on the other end of the line and then the call ended.

******

John never let go of Sherlock, but was able to put him aside. Douglas was kind and funny, not to mention that dating someone who didn’t live in London meant that Sherlock wasn’t always following him around. Before John knew it, he was spending as much time in Fitton as he was London, with Douglas doing the same. They had integrated into each other’s lives easily – Douglas was already friends with Greg, who was basically John’s only friend at the moment, and Mrs. Hudson was charmed by him . John was able to impress Douglas’s friends fairly easily (especially Arthur) and sometimes, when everything aligned just right, he was able to join them on a flight. It surprised him to look around one day, months after their first date, and realize that he was happy.

******

It was a quiet day at 221b, Douglas was in town for a whole weekend and they were having a day in, straightening the flat with plans to order takeout later. It had been a long time since the flat felt like home, but John was finally starting to feel comfortable again, which was definitely helped by having Douglas there as often as he could be. John had just finished making tea, scooping up both mugs to carry upstairs to where Douglas was helping him sort through boxes.

He walked into the living room and froze, grip tightening on the mug handles. Standing in the doorway, looking skinnier and decidedly more ginger, was Sherlock. “Hello, John.”

The sound of his friend’s voice made his head swim and was vaguely aware of losing his grip on both mugs, which went crashing to the floor. “Sherlock?” It came out as a whisper at the same time a shout came from upstairs.

“John, what was that?”

Sherlock’s gaze flicked to the stairs then back to John, who thought there was a good chance he was going to pass out, or possibly throw up.

They stared at each other for a moment, Sherlock bracing himself for what he assumed would be an angry outburst, while John struggled just to keep himself upright. In the silence, they could hear footsteps before Douglas came down the stairs and into the room. “John, love, are you-”

“Douglas?” Sherlock’s eyes were wide, incredulous.

“Martin?!”

With Sherlock’s attention off of him for a moment, John was finally able to gather his bearings. “Martin? No, this is Sherlock, he’s-” In that moment, it all clicked into place. “Oh. Oh, I see.”

Sherlock took a step forward. “John, I can explain.”

John shook his head, taking a step back to keep the space between them. “I’m sure you can, but I’m not sure I want to hear it.” He pushed past Sherlock on his way out of the flat, slamming the door behind him.

“Douglas…” Sherlock turned toward the other man.

“Don’t bother.” Then Douglas was gone too, leaving Sherlock standing alone among broken mugs and spilt tea.

******

Douglas caught up with John, who was walking briskly down the street. “Hey, stop for a second.”

John turned to face Douglas and it was immediately clear that he’d been crying.

“Are you alright? I mean, of course you aren’t, but…”

“I’m – I don’t know. I mean, I went to his funeral and – god, not only was he alive, he was...he lied to you about everything, how are you so calm?”

“I’m not, not really. I think I’m too busy worrying about you. Sure, he lied to me, but – we could go back and forth about who had it worse all day, why don’t we go do it at my place where it’s warm and quiet?”

******

“Greg, do come in.”

“I just saw Sherlock, is John OK?” Greg stepped through the door, allowing Douglas to close it behind him.

“That depends,” the answer came from further inside the flat, where John sat clutching a tumbler of something that was clearly alcoholic, “did you know?”

“That he was alive?” Greg shook his head, “I walked into your flat and he was just sitting there. I thought I was seeing a ghost.”

Douglas gestured for Greg to sit, which he did. “I yelled at him,” he continued, “told him how much pain he’d caused you. He just sat there quietly and took it.”

“Yes, well,” Douglas allowed, “we were both pretty harsh with him.”

“It’s good of you to protect John.”

John made a noise at that, something that clearly meant ‘I am sitting right here, you know,’ though he didn’t actually speak.

“Oh, it’s not just that. It turns out that you have met Martin after all.”

Greg cocked his head, silent for a moment before understanding dawned on him. “Shit,” Greg slumped back into the sofa, accepting John’s offered glass and sipping.

******

A few hours later, John and Greg had made it through the entire bottle. Douglas had watched, mostly with amusement, as they angrily ranted about Sherlock, then Mycroft. Finally, it got to be late. “I’m going to bed, you gentlemen have a good night.” He leaned in to press a kiss to John’s temple before heading to get ready for bed.

As he lay in bed, he could hear them whispering loudly in the other room , sure that in their inebriated state they thought they were keeping it down.

“So, he’s back.”

“Yeah. He’s alive and back.”

“Do you feel there’s an opportunity here? You can make up for the chance you thought you missed?”

“What? No. I’m with Douglas. I love Douglas. Sherlock is the one who missed his chance while he was pretending to be dead, or a pilot or whatever. I’m happy now.”

Douglas smiled to himself and let himself drift off to the sound of conversation. He hadn’t been worried, not really, but it was nice to shut up the voice at the back of his mind that said he would always come second to Sherlock.

******

The next day, as Douglas was making breakfast and John and Greg were groaning about their hangovers – something Douglas definitely didn’t miss – there was a knock at the door. He probably should have expected Martin (Sherlock?) to be on the other side of the door, but it didn’t annoy him any less. To his credit, Sherlock (Martin?) at least had the decency to look sheepish, so Douglas gestured for him to come in. Lestrade excused himself to return back to London, leaving Sherlock to face John and Douglas.

“I should apologize.” Both men grunted some sort of affirmative, but offered no other input, so he continued, “John, faking my death was the only option. He was going to kill you if I didn’t die.”

“You could have said, sent me a signal, anything.”

“No, he was watching. Or, I suppose his network was. I couldn’t come home until I knew you’d be safe. And Douglas...I know that I lied to you about so many things. And yes, Martin was a cover story, a means to an end. However, you were an unplanned variable. I shouldn’t have gotten involved, should have kept my distance, but if I’m honest, I was surprised by how lonely it was, pretending I was someone else, having to run at the first sign of danger, and you were familiar. I shouldn’t be surprised that the two of you ended up together. I will understand if neither of you forgive me, but I hope that you can.”

A long silence followed where Sherlock studied the other men. He could tell that they were both considering it, deciding if he was deserving of their forgiveness. Finally, John spoke, “I can understand why you did it, but I’m not at all happy with how. I may be able to forgive you, but I’m going to need time. This is – it’s a lot.”

Douglas nodded, “I’m still trying to get my head around the fact that you’re not – well, any of the things I thought. It will take time to get used to.”

Sherlock let out a sigh of, not relief. Hope, maybe? “That’s fair. Thank you, both of you, for listening.”

******

And it did take time. Eventually, John had to return to London to work, and as angry as he was, he still couldn’t bring himself to kick Sherlock out.

As a result, Sherlock was able to re-ingratiate himself to both John and Douglas. He was more careful with his experiments and even did the shopping sometimes. As time passed, he was able to get them to understand just why he did what he did and even found time to sit Douglas down alone to really explain just how they’d ended up where they had before Sherlock had had to disappear.

As time went on, both Douglas and John began to treat Sherlock like a flatmate and then like a friend rather than someone they were tiptoeing around.

******

A few months had passed before Sherlock felt like he’d truly been forgiven (as much as he ever would be, anyway). Douglas and John started actively including him in their plans (i.e. asking if he wanted to stay to watch the film rather than just not asking him to leave), and John had started going to crime scenes with him again. Douglas was no longer looking at him dubiously every time he spoke, and he’d even gone back to Fitton to apologize to Carolyn (OK, he’d been dragged...and slapped). It still felt as if something was missing, something else he wanted – wanted to say- to John, to Douglas. It didn’t seem as if there would ever be a right time for it though and that that ship, as they say, had sailed.

******

John, who had always known Sherlock so well, was able to figure it out without issue. He saw the way that Sherlock looked at them both, especially when he thought no one was looking. He had also spoken to Douglas about the way that they both felt about Sherlock. It had changed, but it also had not. John had never really stopped loving Sherlock, not even when he was angry. For Douglas, there had been a slow realization that underneath the facade of “Martin,” he’d actually known a lot of Sherlock. And what new things he learned, it seemed he also liked.

They discussed this at length – what it meant for the person they both loved to be back in their lives. Eventually they came to the conclusion that they both wanted him there, possibly in a larger capacity.

******

John had hoped that Sherlock and his massive intellect would pick up on it, but it seemed he was still a bit skittish. Douglas suggested a scheme, but in the end they decided it would probably be better to just sit down and talk. They ordered dinner and invited Sherlock to stay.

After dinner, they moved to the living room, sitting on either side of Sherlock on the sofa.

“Sherlock, we wanted to speak to you about our relationship.”

“Yes, I assumed this would happen eventually.”

“You did?”

“Yes, and I don’t blame you. Your relationship will be easier if you live together, and as Douglas works in Fitton, it is more logical that you move there.”

“What? No, Sherlock, you’ve got it all wrong.”

“Yes,” Douglas spoke up, “no one is moving anywhere. We wanted to talk about our relationship with you.”

“How do you mean?”

“Well, we’ve realized that we both care about you -”

“We both love you,” Douglas interrupted.

“Yes, right, sorry. The point is that we wanted – we were wondering -”

Douglas sighed, though it sounded more fond than frustrated. “Sherlock, how would you feel about being in a relationship with us?”

“Oh.” There was a silence that was longer than John would have liked before Sherlock stood, then sat on the coffee table to face them both. “I don’t want to come between you.”

“Well, I think that’s exactly what we want, actually.” Both men shot a look at Douglas, who was grinning shamelessly.

“Sherlock, we want you with us. Obviously we will have to discuss what that means for each of us, but ultimately we want to be with each other and with you.”

“OK.”

“OK?”

“OK. Yes.”