His Life Before Me (Sherlock BBC Fanfic)

AN - Back to my usual program - part of the non magic arc - set after 'Dysfunctional'

AN2 - spot the Cannon references!

AN3 - THIS IS A BIT DARK - WARNING!

&%&%
They've been together for three years when Andrew Morstan walks into their lives.

Walks may not be the best description - falls would be more accurate. Someone had tried to murder the man by shoving him off a scaffold in Westminster after amputating a thumb with a cleaver of some sort, and if Sherlock had realised the pain he would cause John then he'd have finished the murderers task himself.

As it was, John was strangely insistent on Sherlock taking the case of the 'Engineers Thumb' as it would be later called in the Blog of Doom (Sherlock had christened it that and John had given up protesting) and equally insistent that he didn't spend any time alone with their new client.

Sherlock found this Out Of Character, which he didn't like.

"I'm accustomed to mysteries at one end of my work, to have them at both is too confusing," Sherlock declared in a taxi on the way to the Yard with the final evidence that Lestrade needed to close the case legally. It was all well and good for the consulting genius to be able to solve the crime to his own satisfaction; John had taught him that proving it in a court of law was also satisfying. Lestrade liked it better when he co-operated fully too, which meant fewer drug busts, which meant that Mrs Hudson was also happier.

His life was so much more comfortable since he'd found John.

"Sherlock... you won't like it and, more importantly, it's not relevant to the work," John sighed. Sherlock frowned.

"Facts are facts, John," Sherlock reminded him, "I neither like nor dislike them?"

"You could have fooled me, the way you carry on when you know something the rest of us don't," was the sharp reply, "Leave it, Sherlock. I don't want to talk about it now."

John didn't want to talk about it for the next three weeks, which meant that Sherlock was sleeping alone, something he disapproved of highly. If he hadn't known that John would be absolutely enraged, he would have done some research himself. However he'd learnt his lesson about doing background checks on John the hard way and wasn't willing to risk their relationship like that again. Andrew Morstan had some sort of hold over John, because Sherlock's partner was in and out of the hospital seeing to him daily, looking all the more worn and pale as he did.

Sherlock disapproved of this as well, but knew that the matter had to be handled delicately. As the third week drew to a close, he immersed himself in research, taking advice from several well respected sites on-line as well as conducting some passive surveillance on John. He knew the other man wasn't having an affair, but also knew that there was some sort of emotional connection to Morstan, one that had been dormant for some time. Sherlock wasn't sure he'd be able to sever it, no matter how much he wanted to, as human emotions were notoriously tricky things.

Finally, the day that Morstan was released from hospital and collected by his parents for the trip home - John had at least told him that much, which was a relief as Sherlock wasn't sure what he'd have done if John had decided to go home with Morstan and nurse him back to health - Sherlock set the scene in the flat for his confrontation with John. He'd find out tonight what past hold Morstan had over his partner if it was the last thing he did. Now that Morstan was out of hospital, Sherlock had no qualms about paying a call on him and coercing the information out of him either.

John came in, looking almost haggard and took in the sight of Sherlock sitting on the couch, John's wedding ring tucked under his arm possessively.

"What are you doing with Tweedle Dee?" John sighed, "Sherlock, I'm shattered. Can whatever this is wait until tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow will be too late," Sherlock replied, knowing that John spoke the truth. It fit into his plans anyway, as John was notoriously good at evading him when fully rested, "You may not be getting Tweedle Dee back."

"You're leaving me," John breathed in shock, devastation on his face. Sherlock very nearly caved right there, but held strong only because he knew that this was the only way to get the truth out of his partner.

"You've left me," he retorted, "Carrying on with that Andrew Morstan."

"What? No! He's not... I mean he was..." John collapsed into his chair, staring at Sherlock with exhausted bewilderment. Sherlock knew he'd be paying for this discussion for some time: welcomed the knowledge in fact. It meant that John cared.

"Sherlock, I am not now, nor have I ever, nor will I ever cheat on you!" John said forcefully, "How could you even think that I would?"

"You won't tell me about Morstan," Sherlock returned evenly, "You avoid being left alone with him - or you did. You were keen for me to take the case, but wouldn't leave me alone with him either."

"Bloody hell," John groaned, wiping a hand over his face and slumping bonelessly back into his chair, "Sherlock..."

"Just tell me how you knew him. I've deduced that it was when you were younger, possibly before Afghanistan, certainly before you met me," Sherlock leaned forward, "Just tell me."

"I eloped with his sister Mary when we were nineteen. We went to Gretna Green in Scotland," John sighed, staring up at the ceiling in resignation, "She died two weeks after I graduated from med school - hit and run by a drunk who didn't even stop. She was six months pregnant at the time. I joined the Army the day after their funerals and I haven't looked back. I didn't want to. They never liked having me for a son-in-law or brother-in-law for that matter, and they didn't object too much when I went off for my first tour overseas. We lost touch. When I saw Andrew land in front of us, I didn't connect him to Mary at first, but once I had I asked you to take the case, not for me, but for her. In her memory."

Sherlock sat still, not moving or breathing. John rolled his head to look at him and then nodded once.

"I'll pack," he announced, and got up, defeat dragging at his wrists.

"No!" Sherlock was up and across the room, the skull trapped awkwardly between them as he crushed John to him, "No - don't!"

John wrapped his arms hesitantly around Sherlock and the thin genius held on fiercely, regretting his high handed dramatics more than John would ever realise. John had lied about not looking back. In the four years that Sherlock had known him, and the three years since they'd become intimate, John had disappeared twice a year for a day, always returning looking tired and drawn.
'Birthday and anniversary, he visits the grave then, it's probably not local but he goes alone to see them... should have paid better attention, will pay better attention from now on...' the thoughts ran through Sherlock's mind in microseconds.

"I'd like to meet them, one day," he hadn't realised he was going to say that, and from the look of astonishment on John's face, his flatmate hadn't expected that either.

"Why?" the question was not cruelly meant but hurt none-the-less. He may not do emotions on the whole, but for John he would at least try. How best to explain that to John - how best to speak a language that he was inept at best, downright insulting at worst?

"Because they are part of you," Sherlock replied, "From the part of you that was there before me."

And to his relief, it seemed that John understood.

END

Disclaimer - setting and characters as depicted in BBC series not mine. No money being made. Plot is mine.