Chapter Text
Sunset finds John knocking on Sherlock’s door. When he opens it and John steps inside, he’s surprised to find most of the surfaces free of paper, open boxes piled around.
“What’s going on?” he asks. “Are you going somewhere?”
Sherlock rubs his hand across the back of his head. “Just cleaning up,” he says, and gathers a sheaf of papers from the sofa and tosses them into a box. “I heard what happened.”
“Yeah,” says, and sits down heavily. “I’m sorry.”
Sherlock snuggles down next to him on the sofa. “I expected nothing less of you.”
“But I was so close. If I’d not been such a jackass and been busted on the first hop…I could have stayed here.” The ‘with you’ is left unspoken, but John knows Sherlock understands what he means.
“Ashes and sackcloth don’t suit you, John,” Sherlock says, and he turns to tuck his face into John’s neck. “Let’s just make the most of what we have.”
John does, takes Sherlock to his bed and makes love to him slowly, deliberately, trying to hold on to as much of the experience as he can. Sherlock’s focus is breathtaking, frightening, and John can feel the edge of desperation in his voice when he comes with John’s name on his lips.
He feels that same desperation himself, that need to stay wrapped together, breathing across each other’s skin. But their time is ending fast, and John, despite furious and futile brainstorming, has no good way to prolong it.
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Graduation rolls around three days later and as he and Copper wait in the vestibule for things to start, Sherlock is nowhere to be found. John’s texted him at least a dozen times over the three days with no response, and not-so-subtle inquiries at Commander Holmes office were met with “He’s in Fallon, as far as I know.”
“Sir,” John had asked, the third time he stopped in. “Would there be any other positions available here at Fallon for a pilot? I mean, I understand not an instructor position, but perhaps patrol, or extra training for the instructors? I … enjoy being here, sir.”
Holmes looks at him with a knowing smile. “There are not, Watson. You are a highly trained fighter pilot. I suggest you continue to use those skills accordingly.”
John had been crushed. Now there was certainly no way to stay, and another two years before his enlistment was up, but at least twelve more before he could retire.
He’d left Sherlock’s house the previous Wednesday with a kiss and a promise to see him Saturday, but those three days without Sherlock’s kiss, without his touch, were maddening. John had spent the last couple of days finishing up work, packing, fighting off the urge to hunt Sherlock down, and wondering where he ended up in the standings. The winner of the Top Gun trophy is announced at the graduation ceremony and not before. He knows he didn’t win, but perhaps second? He has to have beaten Viper, at least, if there were any justice left in the world.
“Would you mind taking a picture,” Viper says from his left, and holds out his phone. “I mean, Tiger and I won’t be able to, so if you could just get a good shot of us holding the trophy I’d appreciate it.”
“Sure thing,” John says, and Viper looks shocked as John takes the phone. Until, that is, John tosses it into the trash can next to the door.
“You shit,” Viper says, and dives for it. John and Copper just laugh and make their way in to sit down. John looks around once more for Sherlock, but he still can’t find him.
“Stop that,” Copper says, and elbow him in the side. “He said he’ll be here, so he’ll be here.” Copper waves to Elizabeth, who is standing in the back with her son. Her eyes are glassy and her smile wobbles a bit.
“Will she be okay?” John asks.
Copper pauses. “Yeah. It’s been five years since her husband was killed, but it’s her first time back on base. I’m … I can’t believe she’s here for me.”
“I can. I’m happy for you. Really.” And he is, he’s thrilled for Copper, but it just emphasizes the Sherlock-shaped hole in his life. Where could he be?
“Welcome, everyone, to the 45th Top Gun Naval Aviation Training Program graduation ceremony,” Commander Holmes says from the podium, and John finally turns around, settles in his chair. It’s pointless to keep looking now. It’s obvious Sherlock’s not going to be here.
“I know that everyone is most interested in the winner of the Top Gun trophy,” Holmes continues. “Rest assured, this is why we’re here, and I’ve never been fond of making people wait unnecessarily.” The room stirs, everyone sitting up a little straighter and craning their necks to see. John’s heart pounds.
“The winners flew a flawless performance under difficult circumstances. They showed intelligence, bravery, commitment to duty and seriousness of purpose. Their flying skill is second to none, creative and lethal. I’m honored to present the Top Gun trophy for exemplary performance to pilot Irene Adler, call sign Whiphand, and RIO Molly Hooper, call sign Bonesaw.”
Molly whoops and crushes a stunned Irene in a massive hug. John stands and claps as hard as he can despite the gnawing feeling of dread in his gut. He knew it wasn’t going to be him, but the final nail in the coffin of his future with Sherlock is still difficult to hear.
Irene and Molly smile and shake hands and pose for pictures. When John looks around for Sherlock once again, his attention is caught by the ugly, angry sneer on Viper’s face. He’s slumped down in his chair, the picture of an indignant pout. John nudges Copper in the side and he turns around as well.
“Oh Jesus,” Copper mutters, and pulls out his phone. He holds it up at an obvious arms length. “Watch the birdie,” he chirps, and snaps a picture when Viper’s pout turns into a snarl. “That’s lovely. Gorgeous. You should have been a model.”
“Shhh,” John says. “We’ve still got the certificate thing to do.”
Copper just snickers and turns back to the front as Irene and Molly take their seats again and Iceman walks back up to the podium.
“Now, before we move on to the rest of the ceremony, we have a special presentation.” He reaches below the podium and pulls out two small, black, velvet boxes. “In a training situation, it is rare for our participants to go above and beyond the call of duty. The situation is generally controlled, and without the sort of risk that comes with being deployed. Lieutenant John Watson and Lieutenant Greg Lestrade, please come to the front.”
John and Copper look at each other in disbelief, but shuffle their way through the seats to stand next to the podium.
“These two men flew an exemplary program, with a couple of notable exceptions,” Holmes starts, and gives them both a wry look at the chuckles that make their way through the crowd. “And despite that, they remained tied for first place going into the final hop. However, when it became clear a fellow pilot was in trouble, they abandoned the completion of the exercise to assist, most certainly costing them a first place finish. For exemplary dedication to their fellow officers, and for exhibiting that dedication in the face of personal sacrifice, I present Lieutenant Watson and Lieutenant Lestrade with the Medal of Commendation for Meritorious Achievement.”
John is stunned. He had no idea this was coming, and by the look on Copper’s face as Holmes pins his medal to his uniform, neither did he. When it’s John’s turn, he stands straight and shakes Holmes hand, accepts his congratulations. He’s pleased, and proud, and it feels even more real, more weighty, than the Top Gun trophy ever could.
“I have one more small announcement,” Commander Holmes says. “It is also my privilege to offer Lieutenant Watson and Lieutenant Lestrade training positions with the program, if they choose. Congratulations again, gentlemen.”
John and Copper share a look of shocked disbelief for a moment before Copper punches the air, shouting “Yes! Yes!” Elizabeth is laughing, tears in her eyes, and John is thrilled to his toes. It’s almost everything he’d hoped for.
He just wishes Sherlock were here to share it with.
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John sits in Sherlock’s driveway after the ceremony, trying to manage the conflict he’s feeling.
He hasn’t been able to reach Sherlock in three days, and now, when it matters most, he finds Sherlock’s house dark and a ‘for sale’ sign in the front yard. Christ, he’s left, despite what Iceman told John earlier. He’s left without saying goodbye, without any sort of message or note of any kind. John can’t believe it, and he takes a deep breath to steady himself before he ends up looking like a complete fool in Sherlock’s driveway.
John rides back toward base in the gathering dusk. His plan was to leave tomorrow afternoon to go back to the USS Carl Vinson for a short deployment before he coming back to Fallon, but without Sherlock there, he’s starting to rethink his decision to accept the position. He wants to, but now that it looks like the bright dreams of sharing the little house with Sherlock, the secret fantasy he’d nurtured in his heart, will never happen, and it’s crushing.
The road turns at the end of the runway and John slides around the curve at top speed. As he is about to pass the observational lay-by at the end of the runway he sees Sherlock’s black Jag pulled off the side and Sherlock himself stretched out on the hood, shoulders propped up on the windshield, watching the planes take off overhead.
John hangs a sharp turn into the small lot, scattering dust and stones as he skids to a stop and knocks down the kickstand. Sherlock sits up partway and the look on his face is terrified.
“Why haven’t you returned my calls?” John starts.
“I…I’ve been very busy,” Sherlock says, and his fingers are tapping out a nervous rhythm on the hood of the car. “It’s overwhelming, the end of the program. Paperwork to do.”
John sits back on the seat of his bike. “That’s not true. You said you were going to be at graduation. You weren’t. And now I just saw that your house is for sale. Were you going to let all of this go without even saying goodbye?” John wants to go to him, to wrap his arms around him and never let go; but it seems Sherlock may have other plans.
"I wasn’t. I didn’t know how to tell you, and what you would think of it.” Sherlock crosses his legs, his arms, perfectly defensive. Or protective. “I found a position in Norfolk,” he says.
John stares for a moment before the realization of what Sherlock is telling him slowly sinks in. Norfolk, home port of the USS Carl Vinson. His ship. His home port. Sherlock was moving to be closer to him.
John climbs of his bike, strides over to Sherlock and pulls him down into a deep kiss. “You idiot,” John breathes against his mouth. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I thought it was too soon,” Sherlock replies. “I couldn’t let you go, John. I couldn’t say goodbye forever, and when you gave up the trophy, I knew I would have to. Unless I could find a way to go with you. Even if I have to say goodbye for six months at a time, I would always know you were coming back to me.”
“Christ, Sherlock,” John says, and his throat is tight, burning. “I was just offered a position at Fallon. This was the happiest day of my life. I was coming to tell you I could stay. I was ready to leave the Vinson forever for you. ”
Sherlock chokes out a laugh. “Then I suppose I can take the sign down at the house,” he says.
“If you want to. But we still have some options.”
Sherlock slides down off of the hood of the car, opens the door and pulls John into the back seat, open to the stars with the convertible top down.
“This is going to be complicated,” Sherlock says as he hitches a leg over John’s lap and settles against him.
John groans at the tight heat against his hips, his stomach, and the long, lithe body wrapped around his. He slides his hands up Sherlock’s back, revels in the heartbeat under his ear.
“Yes, but you like it complicated,” John says as he starts to work open Sherlock’s shirt buttons. “And thank God you don’t date students,” he adds as Sherlock laughs, the roar of a rising jet shattering the sky overhead.