Marriage and Mental Illness (Sequel to Tall Buildings and Pill Bottles)

Reoccuring Dreams

John's POV

The First Day Of Trial

"Are you ready to go?"

Sherlock was fiddling with his tie again, a nervous habit he'd had for as long as I'd known him. He sighed, finally letting me tie it correctly. 

"242 types pf ash, and yet you still can tie your own tie," I huffed out a small laugh.  

"243," He corrected, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. I reached up, kissing him once. I pulled back, watching as his eyes fluttered open, leaning forward into me. I watched as the small bit of playfulness melted into worry. We were both joking, only to mask the fear of what was to come.

"Into battle?"I asked softly. 

He gave a small nod, lips set into a firm line, "Into battle." 

Mycroft's trademark black car was already waiting for us outside the flat, Mrs. Hudson promising she'd be there at the trial today. Our joined hands dropped as soon as we stepped into the outside world and Scott's remark came to mind. 

It was true, Sherlock and I never held hands or acted like a real couple in public anymore. In the familiar corridors of Scotland Yard and at home, we were, but not out in the city. It wasn't because we'd grown apart, or were mad, it was because we were scared. Especially with the knowledge that there were many more Skinheads than we'd thought, any person in the crowd could try to hurt us. 

Muffled screaming could be heard when we neared the courthouse, growing louder with every passing block. 

"What the hell is that?" I murmured, searching the streets for a sign. We rounded the corner to the Courthouse, and I saw it. 

We'd known that there would likely be press and people waiting outside, but this was more that the press. 

Protestors stood, holding signs and chanting for Stewart's conviction. A shaky sigh escaped Sherlock was he scooted across the seat to see over me. 

Many signs held Bible quotes, the most common being, "Above all, keep loving one another earnestly, since love covers a multitude of sins. - 1 Peter 4:8." 

Some signs held our phrase, 'Olivia Lives On,' more held the names of the Skinheads victims. One was bright pink, the words 'Leave my body on Parliament's door' painted in black. 

They surrounded the Courthouse, police holding a pathway open into the courthouse. I recognized Donovan and Scott in them, carefully masked faces waving people behind ropes. In the middle of the chaos, the press was there, cameras and microphones at the ready. 

I gave Sherlock's hand one last squeeze before letting go. We both slipped out, the reporters immediately screaming questions. I dared a glance up at Sherlock, tears welling in his light eyes. This place was safe. This place wouldn't try to hurt us. And he needed support.

Slowly, I slipped my hand into his, knotting out fingers together. His attention snapped to me, confusion melting to gratitude. I turned back, ready to face today, this trial. 

Another black car rolled up, and a familar brunette stepped out. 

Alice was wearing a pale yellow jumper, Olivia's favorite color. With a head held high, she walked to us at te base of the stairs. Her eyes were lined with silver, but she nodded to us as Jack caught up. 

She didn't say a word as the four of us began to climb the stairs, cameras flashing around us. Alice caught sight of the bright pink sign, the one of many about Parliament. She stopped, reporters still asking questions. Her eyes turned slowly, to Sherlock, to Jack, then to the reporter.