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Sherlock took a breath and stepped back, away from Mary, and glanced at Mycroft. “Since this is likely to be the last conversation I'll have with John Watson, do you mind if we took a moment?” He saw the ever so slight movement of his eyebrows, in a look of mild discomfort. With a slight tilt of his head he turned and walked towards the car with Mary following.
As the two retreated John stepped forward, hands in his coat pockets. After several moments of awkward silence where they both avoided eye contact John sighed.
“So here we are.”
“William Sherlock Scott Holmes.”
“Sorry?” Sherlock felt a little smile try to form at the look of bewilderment on his face.
“That's the whole of it. If you're looking for baby names.” Realization dawned on John's face and he started to laugh, stepping away to shake his head. A nervous habit, he was trying to ignore the strain of the conversation.
Still grinning, he glanced back. “No. We've had a scan and we're pretty sure it's a girl.” There was a sense of vague disappointment.
“Oh…” Sherlock shrugged. “Okay.”
They lapsed back into silence again. John fixed his gaze on the ground and Sherlock studied him intently but didn't attempt to insight eye contact. He didn't particularly want to look him in the face at the moment. Instead he busied himself with examining his jacket, the way he stood a little back on his heels. Little things that he'd memorized over the years, everything he'd refused to forget, refused to delete. Perhaps he had even classified the information as priority.
“Yeah.” He looked up as John spoke, a little too loudly. Laughing softly, John looked back at him. “You know, I can't think of a single thing to say.”
Sherlock smiled ever so slightly at the ridiculousness of their inability to find words. “No, neither can I.”
“The game…” He raised his eyebrows as John sighed once again. “Is over.” The defeat in his tone brought a little anger to the front of his mind.
“The game is never over, John.” He hesitated to reign in his annoyance. “But there may be some new players now. It's okay. The east wind takes us all in the end.” John frowned, eyebrows furrowing. Confusion.
“What's that?”
“It's a story my brother told me when we were kids. The east wind, this terrifying force that lays waste to all in its path. Seeks out the unworthy and plucks them from the earth.” A small pause. “That was generally me.”
He chuckled. “Nice.”
“He was a rubbish big brother.” John nodded. There were several moments of silence.
“So what about you then? Where are you actually going now?”
“Oh,” Sherlock had to force a laugh. “Some undercover work in Eastern Europe.”
“For how long?” He hesitated. It wasn't that he was unsure that he could lie to John, he did that regularly with incredible success. He hardly ever picked up on anything. No, this wasn't a matter of capability, this was a matter of willingness. He didn't want his last conversation with John to be filled with lies.
“Six months my brother estimates. He's never wrong.”
“And then what?”
He swallowed hard. “Who knows?” John nodded slightly, studying the ground. He took several moments to take deep breaths. This was his last chance, last thing to say anything he wished. Anything he ever wanted to say. To do.
And there were many things he wished to say. Even more things he wished he could have done. But truly only one thing came to mind.
“John there's something…” He looked up and suddenly Sherlock’s throat went dry. Still he managed to make words come out. “I should say. I've meant to say it always and I never have. Since it's unlikely we'll ever meet again I might as well say it now.”
John straightened, looking directly at him, anxiety clearly being pushed away to focus on him. It took him several moments to speak. He knew the words he wanted to say, just couldn't quite force them out. The whole time John just looked at him, studying his face like he for once was trying to make his own deductions.
“People… people like to tell me that I can't love like a normal person.” He felt something squeeze in his chest, fear. In reality he had nothing to lose but it didn't feel that way. For once he felt himself unable to rely on logic, forced onto the unsteady base of feeling. He hated it. He hated it and yet it was something new, something that made him feel as if he was flying.
“And I don't know if I can but if I had ever gotten the chance…” He hesitated again. Swallowed hard. Opened his mouth, shut it. John moved like he was going to reach out for him, maybe touch his arm. Sherlock spoke before he could.
“If I had ever gotten the chance to find out I would have liked for it to be with you.”
There was silence for a very long time as his gaze remained on the ground. His hands clasped together, then unclasped, then shoved themselves in his pockets. He took a shaky breath, then looked up at John. Through tears he didn't realize were forming in his eyes he could see John's face.
For the first time he didn't quite know what the look on his face meant. He was just staring at him, mouth opened slightly.
“Well.” His voice cracked. “I should be going.” Hands shaking, he reached up to flip his collar up like that'd magically make him feel more secure. Less like the world was spinning underneath him. He turned on his heel and began to walk towards the plane as fast as he could without seeming too urgent.
“Sherlock!” John called out from behind him but he just kept walking. “Sherlock Holmes!” He knew both Mary and Mycroft would be watching now, wondering what had just been said, but he didn't stop. No one made him.
-
Sherlock laid across the couch, eyes closed. There was a knock on the doorframe and he sighed loudly. “Not now Mrs. Hudson!”
“It's not Mrs. Hudson.” In an instant he was upright, eyes wide. John stood in the doorway, watching him.
He'd managed to avoid him for nearly a week, ignoring him while he finished solving the case, treating him as he always did but refusing to be alone with him. John hadn't said anything either but he'd caught Mary looking between the two of them, either he'd told her or she'd just known. Mary always seemed to know.
“May I?” John never asked if he was allowed in, this was as much his flat as it was Sherlock's. It took him a moment to realize he actually was going to wait for an answer.
“Oh go on then.”
With a tight smile he stepped in. “Mind if we have a talk?”
“Very much.” Still, he stood and joined John as they settled in their chairs.
Once they sat he found a small patch of wall next to John's head to find extremely interesting. The two stayed in silence for a long while.
Finally John sighed. “Mary told me to come and talk to you.”
“That seems to have become a habit of hers.”
“She said I was sulking and she was sick of it.” He didn't respond.
"Sherlock."
"Watson." John made a vaugely frustrated noise.
"Listen, Sherlock-"
"I wouldn't have told you if I knew I was going to see you again. I would extend my apologies but even with my limited knowledge of how people like you operate I know that would not fix it." When he didn't speak Sherlock looked at him. When their eyes met, John visibly took a deep breath.
"I don't want-"
"To work with me. I figured as much."
"No I-"
"Am uncomfortable? Understandable."
"Would you stop that?" Sherlock fell silent. "Bloody hell, let me talk." He swallowed hard and nodded. John maintained eye conact like he was making sure he was actually going to stay quiet and when he did he nodded as well.
"Brilliant. Thank you. As I was saying." He took a breath and began again. "I don't want to lie to you and tell you that this doesn't change things between us. I also don't want to lie to you and say that I don't have... similar feelings. I'm not entirely certian what I can call them, love probably."
He stared, there was nothing in John's face to show that he was lying. "For me?"
"Yes for you, you daft-" He stopped himself. "Yes. Love, for you."
"But-"
"Shut up. I am in love with you Sherlock Holmes and I need you to let me talk."
His world seemed to spin and he sank back into his seat, laughing under his breath. He always love to talk about those who were unable to follow logic. "Love is human error." But those words coming out of John's mouth made every single second he'd spent forcing down whatever he had started feeling worth it.
"This makes everything... wildly complicated. Not just because... just because of us but I have a kid. And a wife who apparently is more invested in us than I am because she's offered to divorce me at least five times and printed the paperwork twice." Sherlock chuckled and John matched his grin. "I'm beginning to worry she was just waiting for an excuse to leave."
"Mary wouldn't."
"I don't know what Mary would or wouldn't. Either way, that's hardly my point."
"And what is your point?"
"My point is that this," He gestured between them. "Whatever this is. Whatever it's ever been. Flatmates, couleges, friends, I don't know what this has been. But it's not going to go back to what it was, it's going to be different. And probably harder. But if you're okay... with it, we could... embrace it being different."
Sherlock tilted his head. "And how, exactly would you propose we go about doing such a thing?" John tried to say something but just went a light shade of red. "Are you blushing?"
"Like you aren't." He snapped back. Uncertainly he reached up and touched his cheeks. They were in fact warm to the touch.
"Oh."
"Would you have dinner with me?"
"What?" Sherlock stared at him and John cringed.
"I know we've known each other for years but something... a night to ourselves. Specifically to-"
"John Watson," He tried not to sound too amazed. "Are you asking me on a date?"
"It doesn't have to be a date just-"
"John Hamish Watson, for years you have agressively defended yourself every single time someone assumes we're together and now you're asking me on a date." He let out a long breath as he watched John visibly squirm is discomfort. "The tables have turned ladies and gentlemen because apparently John Watson is gay."
"Would you stop?"
"I'm not doing anything. Just talking. Which is what you wanted to do."
"Brilliant. If we're talking then I can do it too. Sherlock Holmes confessed that he'd like to be in love with me."
"That is-" He nearly choked. "That is not what I said."
"Right, it was more that you would have liked to have figured out what love was with me. More romantic than anything I would have ever expected ever could come out of your mouth." He opened his mouth but nothing came out. John looked a bit pleased. "Not as fun when I do it, is it?" They both realized they were grinning at each other and Sherlock felt like he was trapped in place by John's gaze.
After a long moment Sherlock looked away, aware of his face burning. "So. You wanted to do dinner?"
He cleared his throat. "Dinner, yes."
"Dinner."
"We said that already."
"Okay then. Shall we... people plan these sorts of things?"
"Plan. Yes. A time?"
Sherlock frowned. "Are you asking me?"
"Tomorrow night?"
"That sounds good." John nodded several times.
"Brilliant. Tomorrow night. I'll talk to Mary."
"Send her my best wishes."
"No, I don't think I will."
"Whyever not?" John let out a long sigh.
"Because." He gestured towards him. "You, who are scociopath and has never wished anyone well, just asked me to pass a message my wife, who is probably divorcing me, in the same conversation in which I asked you out." Sherlock smiled.
"Mary adores me, she'd love it."
"I know she does." He stood. "That's why I'm not telling her." After another moment he nodded. "I'll be off. I'll text you."
"Please don't, I delete them." John winced.
"I don't know why I expected better treatment now."
"Neither do I. Good day." Shaking his head slightly, he gave Sherlock one last look before heading out the door.
Within moments of the front door shutting he heard a squeal from down the hall.
"Mrs. Hudson, if you insist on listening to everything at least make yourself useful and get me some tea."