Don't Stray From The Light

Where To Go From Here

    Sherlock sighed heavily, longing back on the couch and pulling his silver robe around him in some modesty, looking towards where John was now just trying to button up his shirt with his fingers trembling so madly.
"You look to be in a panic, Mr. Watson. Relax, please." Sherlock begged.
"I'm afraid what she might say...Mary." John explained.
"Well it's not what she'll say, it's what you say to counter act it. Tell her you were up at the station all night making an arrest, something that she'll believe." Sherlock insisted.
"But if I tell her that I've arrested someone she'll think the case is over and that we'll go back to London." John protested, shaking his head apprehensively while Sherlock just sighed heavily.
"Tell her tomorrow that you had been on the wrong path, and had to release him." Sherlock suggested. John just smiled, nodding his head and looking back to Sherlock with a gleam in his usually docile eyes. It was astounding to see him lying there, something so beautiful, like a fine piece of art just waiting there to be appreciated once more. It was extremely freeing, if not a tad sickening, to know that Sherlock was now something of John's right. He could have him anytime, he could love him whenever he desired... My God what has this world turned into? What sort of tidal wave had he just unleashed on his way of life, what was his new normal? Could he live with himself properly, knowing now that he had loved a man? Could he even contemplate what he had just done, was it all a mistake or was it genuine? Was it meant to be, or was his entire life leading to this very moment, when he found himself waking up in those arms? Well of course it was the latter, the strings had been pulled at all angles, they had curled around them both, pulling and tugging them together.
"I have a feeling that I'll be making a lot of false arrests." John presumed, looking towards Sherlock while he struggled to tie his tie. Sherlock just laughed, shaking his head as if he couldn't believe just how stupid his new lover had come to be.
"I'll see you later, Mr. Watson." Sherlock promised.
"You'll be at the café?" John wondered, checking his pocket watch and seeing that it was actually only near eight o'clock. They'd both have time to enjoy their breakfasts like normal it would seem.
"Well yes of course. How else am I supposed to look upon the most beautiful man in the world?" Sherlock wondered with a grin.
"Look in a mirror?" John suggested, to which Sherlock just groaned, shaking his head as if he was legitimately disappointed in John's halfhearted attempt at a joke.
"How terribly funny of you John." Sherlock groaned, jumping to his feet and drawing his robe around himself more securely.
"Yes I know, it is one of my more positive qualities." John agreed. When finally he was ready to go Sherlock led him to the door (he insisted it was the gentlemanly thing to do) and together they both stepped out in the harsh morning sun. Michael had the carriage ready, with two of the sleepy looking horses reined up so as to take John back to the hotel where his wife would surely be waiting.
"Don't you think she'll recognize the carriage?" John wondered nervously, looking towards the rather distinct wooden framework of the elegant thing.
"Have Michael drop you on the corner, he won't mind." Sherlock assured. John nodded, pulling his coat together and buttoning it slowly all while looking a bit apprehensively at the carriage that waited for him. He really didn't want to leave, however he knew that it was necessary. As much as he would love to sit here with Sherlock for the rest of his life he knew that the world was still turning, and there were many people out there still waiting on him to return.
"I suppose this is where I leave you, for now." John muttered, turning back towards his host who stood quietly beside him, his arms folded behind his back in a very proud sort of way. He too looked reluctant to let John leave, however they both had to be strong now, going their separate ways wasn't as painful as it could be considering that they would reunite once more, very soon.
"For now, Mr. Watson." Sherlock agreed with a stiff nod. John could only smile at him, or at least try to, before he leaned in for a final farewell kiss. He knew that they had places to be, and if he wanted to see Sherlock once more then he would have to let the man go inside to get ready for the day ahead. And so it was a brief goodbye, and before John knew what was really happening he was sitting in the carriage once more, waving towards the solitary figure on the steps and thumping along in the backseat of the carriage. What a night it had been, oh just how curious it was all turning out! To think that he had come to frame another man for being a homosexual, only to return as one himself! It was the lure of Sherlock Holmes, it had to be, no one could resist him simply because no one out there was willing to try. He could have anyone, truly, and John was no exception. Oh but it was just an odd feeling, something like nausea and something like relief as well. It was a shift in his life, in his personality, in his very existence! And what now, where to go from here? Did he keep Mary? Well yes of course he couldn't leave her now; his old life was still something of a priority. Mary was his wife, whether or not he wanted her to remain that way was almost futile considered the stigma that went along with a divorce. And he loved her, he very honestly did, and yet that wave of madness that had come over him concerning Sherlock Holmes was love as well, simply love in a different form. If he left Mary now then he wouldn't have anyone really to run to, Sherlock's gender simply made him an impossible life companion! Had John really turned into the men that he had been searching for, married men who had fallen in love with a man and were just desperate to begin their lives now as someone who was entirely different than who they had started as? Was he destined to run away as well, to go missing as well? To run to Sherlock and to take him away somewhere, off to the continent where no one would ever think of where he had come from, or why? What a harsh reality this might turn out to be, what a difference a single night had made! And yet a night of beauty, a necessary night, one that he was going to forever cherish in the back of his mind. If it was the end of the world right now, well then John would die without any secrets that he had been too reluctant to act on. He would die without having any a regrets, any wasted moments, he would die quite possibly with a smile on his face, being exploded alone in the beautiful carriage of the Holmes family. What else could he really ask for? When Michael pulled up to the corner closest to the hotel John handed him a couple of crushed pounds he found in his pocket, and however reluctant the servant was to take them he seemed to understand that he had no choice.
"Thank you, Michael. I trust you to be well, discrete." John muttered, looking off towards where the flower boxes on the windows of the hotel could be seen.
"Your secrets are my secrets, Mr. Watson. I will do well to protect them." Michael assured, nodding his head in assurance before bidding John one final farewell and starting back up the hill to fetch his master. John sighed heavily, nodding his head before starting off with very little determination to the hotel, where he knew his increasingly impatient wife was most certainly waiting. When John walked in he found Mary sitting on the bed, fully dressed, and wringing her hands nervously. As soon as the door opened, however, she sprang to her feet and raced to her husband, throwing her arms around his neck and exclaiming about just how worried she had been.
"I'm fine, I'm fine Mary I'm sorry. We made an arrest last night, a thought occurred to me and suddenly I had figured the whole thing out...they're not as convinced as I am but I'm trying. I had to stay all night, filling out forms and whatnot, eventually I just fell asleep. I'm sorry to have worried you, but I'm alright." John assured quietly, hugging his wife once more for good luck before falling onto the bed with a huff, staring up at the ceiling and wondering if that was the only thing his wife had seen for the entire night. She undoubtedly couldn't sleep at all; not only her obsessive worrying would prove that but the bags that now hung around her eyes were also proof enough. The poor woman, having stressed so much over something that had ultimately come to pass. What would she think of her husband now, now that he had succumbed to the temptations that had been playing on his mind? Well surely she couldn't know, no she would never understand, must less work around it! If John intended to end the relationship then it was Mary's right to know what had been going on, however now with his future ahead of him and his new life just beginning, well he couldn't do anything but keep quiet and attempt to work everything out when it would all come to pass.
"No that's fine, that's fine John you poor thing! Do you need to rest?" Mary wondered nervously, coming to sit by his side and talk to him all the same.
"No, no like I said I fell asleep at the station. I just need breakfast, some coffee maybe." John said truthfully, rubbing his tired eyes and wondering just why he felt so fatigued. Well of course half of his night had been rather strenuous; however he really shouldn't be feeling like he had just woke up from death! Maybe it was the mental strain; maybe it was simply the difference between living behind a cloud and just beginning to realize the person you had just become.
"Then let's go to the café, come on now let's get you dressed." Mary insisted.
"I am dressed, I'm fine." John debated, shaking his head and pushing his wife off of him as he tried to get to his feet as quickly as possible.
"You don't look fine John. Come on those clothes probably stink." Mary exclaimed, however John was already out the door before she could at least try to attack him with a bottle of cologne. She had no choice but to follow, badgering him while trying to lock the door and scampering down the stairs to make sure he didn't have to wander about the café alone, looking half dead and starving. The truth of the matter was that John really was in no position to be out alone, he was getting more and more exhausted by the minute, and as the excitement of the night before began to fade away back into reality his head began to pound, his legs began to turn to lead, and his vision began to spin. It was all he could do but fall into his usual chair, look around for Sherlock Holmes, and wait for Molly Hooper to swoop in with his usual morning coffee.
"Good morning Mr. Watson." She said with a smile, appearing as she always did with the medium roast coffee he always asked for. If there was anything this waitress was good at (which honestly wasn't much) it was remembering the regular costumer's choice of brew.
"Good morning indeed." John agreed, sitting back in his chair and looking towards the chair that should be occupied by Sherlock, still empty. The man was undoubtedly getting dressed and pampered for the day, for that really seemed to be something that he held at highest priority. It would be another ten minutes, if longer, until John should really start looking around to see if his most beautiful company had arrived. His second most beautiful company had no trouble catching up, for Mary sank into her chair almost as soon as John picked up his coffee for the first sip. She bothered Molly about her own cup before starting towards the box of newspapers for the latest edition, milling through the front pages without much of a word.
"That arrest, do you think it went through then?" Mary wondered, scanning the police section to see if it was mentioned anywhere. John shrugged his shoulders lamely; for there wasn't an actual criminal in the police station now, and if he didn't exist then there was no way he could actually be guilty. Nevertheless John had to pretend to be enthusiastic about the matter, and so he tried to look at least a bit concerned while he scanned the street for the familiar Holmes carriage. He wasn't sure why, but the excitement of seeing Sherlock again was becoming all the more unbearable. His stomach was twisting and his feet were tapping, and to be quite honest he was almost positive that the fatigue he was feeling was due almost entirely to Sherlock's being absent. He wanted more than anything in the world to lay eyes upon that man once more, even though it had been less than an hour John felt like he was going through some sort of withdrawal!
"I don't know about the arrest. I don't know." John admitted finally. Mary hummed, obviously not paying attention as she read some of the gossip sections, looking very interested to see what sort of love affairs were going on now in the world of the rich and famous. She was so oblivious it was almost kind of pathetic; for she spent her mornings reading about scandals of sorts that she probably thought would never apply to her. Little did she know that she was sitting across from a key player in the very same sort of love affair that she was reading about now, however she would never know, never suspect, for it was her own husband. She had a sort of faith in him that was appreciated, however foolish it might be. She would never know unless he told her of what he was really up to, and even then she might be so stuck in denial that she couldn't be able to accept it. That might be a good thing about having such a trusting wife, while all the same it was almost sad to see her sitting there in her own sense of false security, thinking everything was fine while the world she thought was so sturdy was coming crashing down around her feet. It was half way through John's breakfast that the carriage finally arrived, that great magnificent vessel pulled by a two beautiful white horses. John had to stop and stare, his silverware nearly falling from his fingers as he gaped in amazement at the carriage and its occupant. His heart leapt with a fury he did not recognize, and as soon as that door opened and Sherlock disembarked John felt rejuvenated once more. Whatever exhaustion had plagued him in the man's absence was instead replaced by a feeling up utmost excitement and energy, John felt like jumping up and greeting him with one of the largest smiles he could muster! However he sat silent, for his wife was still sitting across from him, totally oblivious to the momentous arrival that had just taken place. Sherlock was wearing those round sunglasses which suited him so well, however they prevented John from being sure if Sherlock noticed him or not. Of course the most obvious answer would be yes, for there really was nothing else that took priority over John in this entire café, however with John's sort of self-esteem he was almost trying to convince himself that Sherlock had looked towards other people first. So it was all he could do but sit tall and try to watch as Sherlock went to his chair, greeted immediately by a most enthusiastic Molly Hooper. John twisted his fork a bit warningly in his fingers, however he knew Sherlock enough to be sure that he would pay her only enough attention as was polite. John was happy to know now that there was no chance Sherlock would be interested in such a woman, or in fact any woman at all, for some reason that calmed him in a way he would never have expected. He had always been so worried about what Sherlock's romantic life was like, he had always been so caught up with the idea of Sherlock with a woman that he had never even considered that there were no women involved at all! He had never even realized that John, instead of just being obsessed with the idea, had been in fact dreaming of taking that woman's place instead of contemplating her! He had wanted this for so long, he hadn't even known it before now but it was just...well their being together was something of a necessity; it was something of unavoidable event! His heart had been set on it the moment he first met Sherlock Holmes, and his brain was only now realizing that it agreed. How late he had been to his own coming out, and how forceful it had been, so on the spot! He hadn't gone to the Holmes manor for love; he hadn't even considered the thought until he stood in front of that mirror, feeling Sherlock's hands on his chest and his breath on his neck. He was so caught up in the idea that Sherlock might be the criminal that he hardly had any time at all to realize that he was getting ready to do something incredibly rash. And it was rash, wasn't it? Yet necessary all the same.