Sherlock/Greg - Me

John/Mary - avidityfire

Warning: ! ! !

What he wanted was to just go back to soft kisses and loving smiles, promises of the future and the sound of Sherlock's laugh. Because when things had been good, they were very good. He'd been so happy for so much of it, Sherlock had been too, but that was all gone now. He let his fear single-handedly tear down their entire foundation, as if it were worth more than Sherlock Holmes. And to him, nothing meant more than Sherlock Holmes.

John didn't give it anymore thought after that.

He didn't have a clue what he was doing at this point, but he quickly left the flat and building, forgetting everything but his mobile in the process. John stood on the pavement and dialed Sherlock's number, lifting the phone to his ear. He was unsure of what he'd even say if he got him on the line, there'd been little time to de-escalate, and emotions were still running high on both their ends. What would he even do if he found him? What would he say?

John didn't know, but even if the outcome was the same, and even if this truly was it for them, he knew that he wasn't okay with that being their last conversation. Because he wanted Sherlock, God more than anything he wanted to be with Sherlock, he just didn't know to help himself.

"C'mon, pick up," he whispered, as he looked down the street, the chill air whipping against his cheeks. "Answer your phone, Sherlock, answer your phone..."

"John?" Greg answered, holding Sherlock's phone to his ear. "Hey. I got your text. Sorry, I would have replied sooner, but Sherlock came barging in here demanding a case. He's manic. Tossed his mobile at me when you called and told me to 'deal with this'." He glanced over to where Sherlock was now outside his office, yelling at a nervously shrinking officer. "Jesus Christ, mate. What the bloody hell happened?"

"Oh thank God," John loudly exhaled in relief, tipping his head back. "He's with you, okay, okay...It's all just a mess. I don't want to go into detail, but basically, things just...boiled over. I got some terrible news this morning, and between that and everything else, I lost it and suggested to him we take a break. Didn't give him much of a choice actually. He stormed off, I feel like shit, and that's where we're at," he said, shaking his head and bringing his gaze down to the ground.

"Right. Okay. Well," Greg responded in shock. "That's certainly... Huh. Hell, John." He scratched his head, glancing again at Sherlock's wild eyes and jerky movements.

Happy as he was to see the two of them together, Greg had no right to tell John not to make that decision. In all honesty, it was probably a logical one. They'd gone into this fairly quickly. For god's sake, it had only been a few days. But he couldn't imagine any two people better suited for each other. He wished he had had someone who looked at him the way Sherlock Holmes and John Watson looked at each other. Even before they had finally come to their senses.

"Is that something you, you know... want? You two, taking a break, I mean. Is that what you want? Because if it is, I can... I dunno, have a bit of a chat with him, or..."

John inhaled deeply, releasing the air slowly through his mouth. He took small steps in no blatant direction; it was seemingly impossible for him to stand still.

"No," he said finally, the word quiet but resolute. "No it's not." There was so much residual pressure in his face from his earlier outburst, and John brought a hand up to rub at his eyes and temples in attempt to quell the oncoming headache. "It's not. I really want this to work out Greg. He's it for me. I need him, you know? And even after everything I told him, I don't want to think about waking up tomorrow without him. But there's things that I also really need to work through, so...yeah," he said with a mirthless huff. "What do I do with that? I'm not feeling in control of anything right now and-"

He paused and licked his lips in thought, his brows furrowing. "You know what? There's someone I need to go have a chat with myself. Sherlock probably wouldn't be too happy about me doing it, so do you have anything you can send him out on? Anything he won't figure out in five seconds that's not terribly dangerous? I'd appreciate it if you can just keep him busy for a bit, and you can tell him I won't do anything until we get another chance to talk later. Unless he er...unless he wants me gone. After what just happened, I wouldn't hold it against him. I'm a lot to deal with right now, and I don't want him to feel like he has to."

Greg sighed wearily. "I'll see what I can do," he began hesitantly, "But Christ... He's really in no condition to be going on active crime scenes. Not in this state. If something happens, it's my arse on the line. So your little chat better be bloody worth it." He watched in relief as the officer finally made his escape, scuttling away as Sherlock sat on the nearest chair outside Greg's office.

He watched as Sherlock exhaled sharply and rubbed at his forehead, his shoulders slumped a bit in exhaustion.

Greg's eyes tightened.

"And you can't pull this bollocks again, John," he continued fiercely. "If you want to take a break, call the whole damned thing off, then fine. That's your decision, and even though I think it would be bloody stupid of either of you to give this up, you're free to do as you like. But you can't decide something like that—out of the blue, mind you—and then change your mind five minutes later. You of all people know how that sociopath nonsense of his is bullshit. He's more emotional than any of us, I reckon, and it terrifies him. And you bring it out of him, and that terrifies him. So the next time you make a fucking decision, you better think long and hard about it first, and then break it to him in a better way. I'll not be the one scooping him out of an alley because you let your fear push you into a rash decision."

His voice had risen quite a bit by now, and he made a conscious effort to calm himself down. "You're allowed to be scared," he added, his voice gruff but his tone gentle. "He's scared too." He looked out the window at where Sherlock was still rubbing at his temple, looking utterly defeated. " "Fuck it,I'mscared for the both of you. But the minute you let that become more important than anything else, it's time to take a step back and take a good long look at the situation. Do you understand? This is me knocking some sense into you, by the way," he informed him wryly.

"Yeah," John quietly replied after a long bout of silence. "I understand." Shame devoured him whole as Greg's words came from the other end of the line, but he had to accept it in full; he had done this,he had left both himself and Sherlock wounded and struggling.

But for however difficult it was being called out on for his actions, the DI had also done what John had desperately hoped; given him some much-needed perspective. He was so appreciative to have him as a friend, an ally, but immensely more grateful for just how much Greg looked out for and cared for Sherlock. For a deemed "sociopath", Sherlock really was doing a piss-poor job. There was a good handful of people who saw past all that bullshit and truly loved him.

That thought made John smile a small bit, but it fell as he considered it all in deeper context. Jesus, what Sherlock must be going through right now. John was rubbish enough at dealing with his own emotions, but Sherlock...Sherlock was always so desperate to keep it all reigned in. It's as Greg said, he was terrified of the magnitude of the sorts of things he felt.

God, how John just wanted to hold him. Apologise profusely, take him in his arms and hold him for the entire rest of the day. But for now, he had something to do. "I'll try to make it quick," he told Greg. "Thank you."

He disconnected, sighed, gave it a second, then dialed Mary. He could do this himself, do bloodysomething. Go and confront her about everything in that damn file, and what may not have been in it. Have her explain. Judge for himself that all of that...all of it was over and done with. And when he went back to talk to Sherlock later, ideally it'd be with a clearer head, some small sense of peace, and an unwavering resolution to move forward.

If he could get past this part, he felt, find some sense of jurisdiction in the whirlwind that was his life right now, he could make steps towards everything else.

Greg clicked off the phone and sighed. He set it down and banged his head down onto the table just as Sherlock walked in.

"Problem?" Sherlock asked haughtily. Greg sat up to snap at his bloody tone... then paused. He took in the hint of wariness in his voice, the hesitation in his expression. He looked so... vulnerable.

Sociopath, my arse.

"No," he replied in a bright voice, sliding the phone back to him. "Just, you know... rebooting." He gave him a smile. "Don't worry about him right now, yeah?" he suggested gently, "I don't really have any cases right now, but I've got loads of cold cases you could take a look at, if you don't mind."

Sherlock's jaw clenched. "There's a perfectly good murder case that came just an hour ago," he argued quietly, hands balled into fists behind his back. "An eight, at least. I'm perfectly capable of—"

"I know you are," Greg cut in quickly, trying to reassure him. "I know. And maybe tomorrow I can call you in for it. But today..."

He glanced meaningfully at the officer Sherlock had shouted at earlier. The poor man was easing around the corners, keeping an eye out for Sherlock so as not to run into him again.

Sherlock pinkened as Greg looked back at him with a raised eyebrow. "I can't have you on crime scenes when you're this wired," he told him bluntly. Subtlety was never very effective in his experience with Sherlock Holmes. "Take a day, solve some cold cases, find out what's going on with... things, and come back tomorrow. Hell, come back in a few days if you like. A bloody holiday might do you some good."

Sherlock stayed silent. Much as he was loathe to admit it, Lestrade was right. He couldn't think, couldn't concentrate. He felt hot and prickling in his own skin, itching to do something. To feel useful.

Sherlock didn't feel like admitting it at the moment, but he appreciated Lestrade's effort. They both knew he allowed Sherlock onto the crime scenes when it wasn't always in his best professional interest to do so. Especially not after the entire Moriarty debacle.

Keeping that in mind and desperate for a distraction, he pulled on his gloves. "Fine. I will be in the basement if you need me," he acquiesced quietly.

Greg sighed in relief. "Thank you," he replied with a small smile. "Let me know if you need to take any home, I'll get you the clearance." As Sherlock nodded curtly and headed for the door, Greg called him back. "It's going to be okay," he told him firmly. "Just give him a bit of time to realise what an idiot he's being. Don't give up on it, yeah? Don't do anything stupid. You two can talk later."

Sherlock stared for a long moment, unsure of whether to believe him or not. John had seemed so unwavering, so sure of what he had needed.

To be away from you, you mean.

Sherlock swallowed and nodded slowly, then made his way towards the basement.

Greg sighed and banged his head down on the desk once more.

"Coffee?"

John declined with a small shake of his head, waiting for her to settle opposite of him at their once shared kitchen table.

"So," Mary breathily started as she sat, her eyes diverted and fixed on the warm mug in her hands. "How're things over there? With...him?"

"Mm, we're not doing this," John said, quiet but firm, his jaw tightening slightly. "You. I'm here to talk about you."

Mary's eyebrows furrowed for a brief second before she finally brought her gaze to John. She tilted her head, her eyes slightly narrowed as she studied his face. John couldn't hold the gaze for long, it was too reminiscent of Sherlock reading him.

"He said something..." she said lowly. "Sherlock. Didn't he?"

"No," John replied immediately in Sherlock's defense. "No, he wouldn't tell me...not at first anyway."

Mary exhaled sharply through her nose and slowly shook her head, and it caused John's irritation to grow. "Sherlock seems to think he owes you something," he said harshly. After everything you've done, imagine that."

"Well, doesn't he?" she huffed in exasperation, shaking her head incredulously. "Have you completely forgotten what it was like? I was here John, through the depression, and the nightmares, and the panic attacks. He wasn't. He comes in and tries to pluck you up again like none of it happened, like he didn't bloody destroy you...and goes and takes the both of us away from the one solid thing we have in our life right now-"

John couldn't help but snort. "Solid. That's...that's good. I don't even know your name."

"Don't do this. Don't judge me, alright? Everything I've ever done has been in hopes of starting over. And everything I've done recently has been for you. So that we can have a life. I'm trying so hard to get away from the things I've done, I'm trying, and I truly do love you. For a while there, we were happy, I thought I actually had a chance; I was so, so close. John, please, just stop this. Please?" she begged quietly, desperately. "Come home, we'll go...we'll just go, we'll get out of here. We'll do whatever we need to do to-"

A long stretch of silence overcame the small kitchen as her words faded out; several seconds in which John could only stare at her with his brows deeply furrowed, mouth slightly open. She was quickly becoming visibly shaken, emotive, noticeably upset; such a stark contrast to her relative calm after their last two meetings.

"No..." John said, barely recovered, his voice significantly softer. Concern and unease settled deep in the pit of his stomach. "My home is with Sherlock. My home is always going to be with Sherlock."

Mary's phone loudly buzzed once, the vibration making both of them pause. They both looked to the lit mobile near her hands, John paying little mind to it and redirecting his gaze, mind still swimming.

"I'm so sorry, John."

His focus snapped right back to her then, her pale face and spoken inflection making the light hairs at the back of his neck stand on edge.

"You're going to hate me when this is all finished," she gasped shakily, eyes rapidly watering. "But you've got to stay alive John. I'm trying to keep you alive."

"Mary..."

"John," she pleaded determinedly. "John, Keep your eyes fixed on me, okay?"

Those few words made his stomach and expression drop completely, and just like that, he was right back at Bart's.

Roof. Fall. Blood.

He froze, his heart pounding in his chest, knowing he needed to turn around, everything in him screaming at him to turn around, fight, but his body had gone numb, wide eyes trapped in Mary's desperate stare. The result was him waiting out the inevitable with sharp, short breaths, and the last conscious acknowledgement was Mary crying across from him as he was struck from behind.

John's a target, a constant target, and I'm trying to end that today. Don't make a fuss: don't talk to your brother, don't involve the police. Rush to your flat if not already there; I have less than an hour to explain, and I'm going to need every minute of it. I won't lose him, Sherlock. You must open to cooperation. I imagine that today I'm going to find out just the kind of man you truly are. -MM

Avidityfire started it, I swear to god.

(I'm sorry this chapter is so short but I totally had to end it there. It was too perfect. Besides, I figured we were way overdue for an update)

I don't have any more idea about what's going through Mary's head than you do, so I'm freaking out as well.

Buckle in, everyone.