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Two things Sherlock Holmes knows without a doubt:
1. He is in love with John Watson. Since what feels like forever. Since they knelt over the corpse of a woman in pink and John called him "amazing" and "fantastic" and meant it. Since they ran through the streets of London together, him without walking stick because of Sherlock. Him, smiling and laughing because of Sherlock. He can´t remember what it´s like anymore - not being in love with John Watson.
2. John Watson is the best man he has ever known and will ever know. He knows that like he knows at least half the lifestory of every human being that he comes across. He just - knows.
And yet -
One thing that Sherlock Holmes honestly never could have even imagined is John Watson cheating on his wife and daughter. That is - one thing he never saw coming, he, who can deduct a cheater on his left hand or the state of his phone case. But - to be honest with himself - it´s been a long time since he could deduct John Watson. Sentiment clouds judment.
And yet -
While he always has and always will despise cheater, the dishonest who feel like they must destroy their relationship and their partner for a night of simple-minded pleasure - John Watson has always been his exception.
It hurts. To remember John´s eyes, Mary´s dead body and his voice - "Don´t you dare. You made a vow. You swore it." What about your vow?, he wants to ask for a single moment, What about the vow you made to her?
And then - then John Watson stands there, crying, in the middle of 221B Baker Street, after confessing to a imagination of his dead wife - Mary, who threw herself between him and this goddamn bullet - and Sherlock could never twist the knifer deeper then it already is. Because - he may not know much about love and sentiment but he´s pretty sure that´s what love feels like. It has to. It burns and it hurts and Sherlock feels like he can´t breathe for a moment and he stares at John, his beautiful John, so broken over a couple of texts and a woman who just couldn´t give up and another woman who just had to throw herself between the danger and an unworthy man, throwing her life with her wonderful husband and her wonderful daughter away -
He puts his tea down, more careful than he has to just so he can take another moment to reconsider. But - he can´t very well just sit here, useless, while John breaks down in front of him. It hurts just as much as watching Mary slowly bleed to death while it should have been him. Should have been him, laying there, maybe even with John close, maybe even with one last confession and then just hoping that they would keep each other save and that Rosie would grow up as beautiful and amazing as he imagines her to be -
He is slow as he approches John, mindful of every little singal he might give to show him that he´s unwelcome. He recives none but he´s still careful as the lifts his arms to wrap them around John. It feels awkward for a few seconds in which Sherlock tries to figure out how to proberly do this. He can´t remember when he last hugged someone. He last hug he recived was from Mary on the airport - and that is a parth he should probably not go down right now.
As soon as he finds a comfortable position - one hand on Johns neck to keep him close, one hand strocking his arm and shacking shoulder, cheek against his head - it just feels right. Like coming home. Like being in the center of a storm, sure, everything around them destroyed but - it´s also like they are safe for a moment. Just for this one moment, the two of them, together like they have never been before, closer than they have ever been before and - it´s alright. It would be alright. It had to be.
"It´s okay", because John Watson is still the best man he has ever known and will ever know. A couple of texts will change nothing, no matter how guilty John feels about them.
"It´s not okay", he says and while Sherlock would like to argue with him, like he always does, even he knows that right now is not the right moment. Because this, right now, is John letting go and moving on, this is John finally accepting Marys death and letting her ghost go. He will do that the way he has to.
But John Watson is also the wisest man Sherlock has ever known and will ever know, so to quote John back at himself seems like a good idea.
"No, but it is what it is."
They stand like that for maybe another minute, Sherlock holding John close, strocking his arm and breathing into his hair, John breathing heavily, tears falling and leaning against Sherlock for support, before John starts to shift. Sherlock is about to pull away, having promised himself to retreat the second John would become uncomfortable with this closeness and then maybe going to fetch Mrs. Hudson, for she would surely be willing to console John and would probably know much better what to say and what to do -
John moves his hand away from his face and wraps his arm around Sherlocks upper body in one swift movement before Sherlock has time to start moving away. His forehead is resting against Sherlocks collerbone now. He is surprised for a moment - for he was so sure that John had only accepted his hug because there had been no human being near by other than him. Had made himself no delucions about what this was - this was not John stopping to hate him or John forgiving him or them starting to be friends again. This was John grieving the woman that would have still be alive if Sherlock had not messed with things that were not his business, if Sherlock had kept his mouth shut, if Sherlock had not kept making empty promises.
He keeps breathing and tries not to read too much in such a simple gesture. "Anyone", he could still hear Mollys voice in his head as if she was standing right in front of him. "Anyone but you." Sometimes Sherlock hates his perfect memory. He could have deleted it - could have locked it in one of the dark rooms in his mind palace that he keeps well away from - But he could never have deleted something in relation to John Watson.
"I´m sorry", John says abruptly, his voice heavy with tears.
"She would forgive you", Sherlock says because it´s impossible to not love John so much that a couple of texts become meaningless against it.
"Yes - no - I don´t know", Sherlock can feel John suck in a breath. "That´s not what I meant."
Sherlock runs quickly about everything John said in the last minutes, but - "I don´t understand."
"You - I meant you."
It does nothing to cease Sherlocks confusion. What would John have to be sorry for relating to him?
John laughs harsh and bitter, before the tears choke him and he has to concentrate on breathing again. Sherlock quickly reassumes stroking up-and-down his arm, without quite knowing when he stopped.
"I beat you into a bleeding pulp", John says and was Sherlock imagining it or did he began to cry harder again? "I didn´t even stop kicking you when you were already on the ground - they had to drag me away from you - god Sherlock -"
"Mary -"
"No", John interrups him and tries to pull away. Damning is earlier plans, Sherlock held on; John immediately sank back against him. "Nothing Mary. Marys death is no excuse for what I did - for what I said. I couldn´t - I couldn´t see you. After. Because I couldn´t - cope. With seeing you. When she died for you."
Sherlock can feel the well-known guilt build up in him. But before he can try to apologize or do anything at all to make this in any way better, John keeps speaking, rushed, as if he had to get this off of his chest before he lost courage. "Not because you are to blame, Sherlock. You´re not. You didn´t - you didn´t force Mary to jump in front of you and I know it was the last thing you would have ever wanted. I know that. And I know you did everything you could to protect her. To protect us. It´s - it´s not that."
Another deep breath.
"I can´t - I can´t curse it all to hell, you know? I can´t whish for a world in which Mary never jumped in front of that bullet - because in that world you would be dead and you - I can´t whish for your death. Impossible. I know how that feels like and it´s not - I saw you, you know? When you spoke with Molly. I saw you through the window and Lestrade told me not a long ago how Mary died - what she did. And I saw you and though: Thank God he´s alive. But for that - for that she had to die and how can I be glad that my wife is dead? How can I -", Johns voice broke.
After another breath John contuined. "I couldn´t find a way to mourn Mary and be glad that you´re alive without feeling guilty for one or another thing. And - and if there´s one thing I was sure about than that you felt incredible guilty, too. And I used that, Sherlock. Against you. And I hurt you. You were in the hospital because of me. And got nearly killed there. And I just - wanted to apologize. For what I did."
"I forgi-"
"No", John interrupted again. "Don´t say that you forgive me. You don´t even really feel like I did something wrong. I know that too. But you weren´t responsible for Marys death. You weren´t -"
Sherlock can feel his shirt beginning to get wetter again. He´s careful as he hugs John tighter - the man had never felt more breakable as he did in that moment. Sherlock doesn´t think before he speaks - he just says the first thing that comes into his mind apart from "I forgive you" and "Please don´t feel guilty over me" because John doesn´t want to hear those words.
"I was in the hospital because of the drugs and not because of a bloody nose."
"And why did you take the drugs?", Johns voice is heavy with tears. "Don´t - don´t make apologizes for me. Just -"
And Sherlock pretends that Johns means to say "Just hold me" and processes to do just that, til John can breathe again without breaking down and they break apart to shakily smile at each other. It feels like friendship again. A friendship with the vague possibilty of something more.