beyond the gravestones (sherlock/johnlock fanfic)

Chapter 18

Sherlock watched him go, his heart in his throat. This was all going wrong, and horribly so - John wasn't supposed to leave. Heck, John didn't leave, not even when Sherlock drove him up the wall with his rudeness and his sulking. He could always be counted upon to be there in the morning, maybe grumpy but reliably, solidly there. They'd been given second chances, and thirds, and even fourths - and Sherlock realized that he couldn't keep squandering them anymore. He got up and ran after John, catching up with him halfway down the aisle and spinning him around.

"No, John, please don't go, I - "

John stood straight and tall, the letter from Mary crushed to his side, every bit the soldier, but Sherlock could see through it. The clenched jaw, the raised chin, the barely concealed emotion in his eyes - how could I be so blind? How did I not see it all along?

"Look, you don't have to pressure yourself into this." John said, his voice almost unnervingly steady. "It's not your fault. This was a mistake - you're married to your work, you told me that when we first met. We've been through worse. We can work through this."

"John, you're wrong. Again."

"Snarky bastard."

"No. Look at me." Sherlock tilted John's face up and met his eyes. "It's you. It's always you, John Watson. Didn't you know?"

"How on earth am I supposed to know? I'm not you!"

"You're not me, you're you, and I've wanted you for years." Sherlock said, and there was a hint of desperation in his voice now. "I thought about you, constantly, whether you were with me or not. Even when I didn't see you for two years, and after you got married - I never stopped loving you." His voice cracked, and he felt a tear trace its way down his cheek. He wiped it away angrily. "See? Body betrays me."

John was still staring at him, utterly taken aback. Finally, he sighed and reached out to wipe Sherlock's tears with his thumb.

"Oh, Sherlock. You're such an idiot."

Offended, Sherlock opened his mouth to retaliate, but the next thing he knew, John had pulled him closer. For a moment, their eyes locked, and then John's lips crashed onto his and everything was oblivion. He was vaguely aware of John's hands on his waist, and he knew his were doing something similar, but for the most part, his attention was diverted by John's mouth, soft and warm against his own, mixing with the salty taste of his tears. That smell - he smells like me, he thought - but to his utter disappointment, John pulled away. Sherlock made an involuntary sound halfway between a whine and gasp. How embarrassing, said the still-rational parts of his brain.

"Let's go home." John said. "We'll talk. Okay?"

"Yes. But first - John, I -" Sherlock wasn't entirely sure how to phrase what he was thinking. "I want to do the thing with you. You know, when two people who like each other go out and have fun and do things together..."

"You mean dating? A relationship? You want me to be your boyfriend?"

Sherlock shrugged. He'd never quite understood the point of these labels - but then again, he'd never understood the concept of love and sentiment. Still, he had to admit that part of him liked knowing that John was his. It wouldn't hurt to have a valid reason to drive away all those women who kept flirting with John.

"Yes. That thing." Sherlock said.

"You've never asked anyone out before, have you?"

"Well...not for me. Not when I really wanted it."

"That's not a real answer."

"Neither is yours."

John laughed. "Dating Sherlock Holmes. It's absurd. Yes, you bloody moron, absolutely. I'll be your boyfriend - if you'll be mine."