Let The Shadows Win

Destiny Has Played Its Part

John POV: He had felt the sensation of Sherlock's proximity, yet John was too stupid to realize that it must mean they were getting closer. All throughout the night he had thought of that man, of his release, and how and when they were going to meet again. He had assumed the tugging in his heart was just left over from when he had gone to see Sherlock get released, and yet here he was, here the both were...in the bread aisle. John could only stare, his fingers clenching the shopping cart as his legs trembled, itching to go closer. Sherlock stood just feet away, looking just as he had when he was released, in the same outfit, looking just as beautiful, if not more. He looked healthier, rejuvenated in a sense. He didn't know what to say, he didn't know what to do. All of the sudden John felt two very conflicting urges to run closer and to run away. The scar on his neck alighted in fresh pain yet his heart began to sing in relief, for somehow they had found each other without looking. Destiny, it would seem, had a role in this.
"Daddy who is that?" Rosie asked carelessly, still clutching to the loaf of white bread which she had so sneakily placed into the cart a moment ago. John couldn't say anything, and it would seem as though neither Sherlock nor Mary could summon up anymore words of explanation. They just stared...blankly.
"John, you don't want to go?" Mary whispered, tugging on her husband's sleeve as if to try to encourage him to leave this aisle, or leave the store. Evidently she remembered the fearful plague that had overtaken him when he first learned of Sherlock's release, and maybe she thought that more panicking was soon to come. Yet she didn't understand, he was normal, dormant, and beautiful. How could John step away, how could he refuse such attraction as it bloomed up so obviously in both of their hearts?
"No it's...it's fine." John mumbled, pulling himself away from the cart as if to take a step forward. He merely wobbled on his heels before stumbling forward, and just as soon as he got the momentum he started walking towards Sherlock, walking towards the man he had not touched in thirteen years, walking towards his arms, towards his lips, towards his heart...and stopping a foot away. There was still an audience, after all.
"You're back." John muttered quietly, staring once more into those eyes which he had never forgotten. Those eyes that simply wouldn't let him forget.
"You never left." Sherlock whispered, speaking as though that astounded him, as if he expected to never see John again. The words came so forcefully from John's throat simply because he knew there was absolutely nothing to say, yet everything all at the same time. He needed to tell Sherlock why he never visited, why he never upheld his promises, and why he was willing to reunite with him after all of these years. Yet at the same time what he felt like he needed to do most did not involve speaking at all. What he wanted to do really wasn't suitable for a grocery store aisle, especially when his wife and child were overseeing the entire process.
"Why would...well why would you think I left?" John wondered quietly. Sherlock took a deep breath, looking down quickly towards his shoes before rocking a little bit awkwardly on his feet. The same nervous twitches, the same refusal of eye contact that John remembered so well. This was his social anxiety kicking in; the inability to express what he felt if he knew there was an audience watching. How adorable he was, even after all of these years! Thirteen years had aged his body yet not his mind, for John was still somehow convinced that Sherlock's seventeen year old self was talking to him through those thirty year old lips.
"You never visited. I thought maybe you had moved away." Sherlock admitted quietly. John nodded, feeling his face heat up in shame at the thought of having left this poor, innocent creature alone for all of those years.
"They wouldn't let me." John muttered truthfully.
"Who?" Sherlock asked immediately. He looked as if he was twitching just a little bit, one of his eyes closing and reopening as if to try to compensate for something that was going on in that side of his head. Almost as if he was trying to deny someone access of that eye, as if he didn't want them seeing what he was seeing. It seemed a very abnormal thing to do, and it made John wonder just how cleared Sherlock was to be walking about this grocery store without handcuffs and a monitor.
"My parents, my therapist...well everyone really. I tried until I realized it was hopeless, and after that I sort of just..." John took a deep breath, cutting off his sentence there because he was much too ashamed to admit the real reason he had stagnated.
"You forgot." Sherlock muttered.
"I didn't forget! No, Sherlock I never forgot about you." John insisted quickly, stepping forward before finding himself arm's length away from Sherlock. He found himself too easily in his grasp, in a place where he could read Sherlock's lips as they muttered silently his name once more. John took a step back, nodding and looking back towards where his family was waiting. He knew that this was an interesting scene to watch play out, especially since his family didn't know why it was so important to them both. They had no idea the meaning behind their reunion, or the power. They had no idea why it was so difficult for the men to keep their distance away from each other.
"Good, that's good. I never forgot about you either." Sherlock muttered. "Then again, I had no one else to hope for."
"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry I never visited, I just got so tied up in my life, and my job..."
"Is that your family?" Sherlock asked very quietly, keeping his voice low so as to hide his emotion the best he could. Yet John could tell he was trembling, he could tell that he was hurting. Sherlock didn't want to be left behind, did he? And yet he was beginning to realize that John had moved on, while he was stuck just where everyone had left him thirteen years ago.
"I'm sorry." John whispered right back, quiet enough so that the onlookers couldn't hear. Sherlock nodded, clearing his throat and looking once more at the two who waited behind with the shopping cart.
"She's beautiful, your wife. And your child looks a lot like...like you." Sherlock let his head hang once more, for he was unable to complete his statement without his voice cracking in emotion. It was obvious that he hadn't been prepared for this emotional blow, and right now it seemed as if he was so close to tears. John felt an aching pain erupt in his chest, for just as Sherlock's heart shattered he felt his gave a great lurch as well. In agony he felt his poor lover's pain, for how could Sherlock ever understand the desolation and the temptations of a normal life in those thirteen years they had been apart? Yet how also could he ever fathom how tempting it was to fall back into his arms once that hiatus had ended?
"Sherlock this doesn't mean that we can't see each other, I'm still here for you. I'm married, but...but that doesn't change anything." John whispered just as quietly as his voice would allow him to get. Sherlock hesitated, as if he was trying not to let that offer tempt him, as if he was trying to overcome the great temptations. Finally his face stilled back into that emotionless chasm John had come to recognize over the years, the face that Sherlock corrected back to, the face that Mycroft had assigned for him all those years ago.
"It changes everything, John. It means that you've moved on, and I'd be selfish to try to pull you back into the past with me." Sherlock muttered, picking up his grocery basket that still lay on the ground where he left it.
"Sherlock be as selfish as you would like, I beg you please...please let the past catch up to us. Let it continue into the future." John whispered, taking another step now as he had forgotten his fears. He had forgotten just how unnerving it was to be so close to the man that had cost him so much.
"Which is stronger, whiskey or vodka?" Sherlock wondered quietly, a question that John had not really expected to hear.
"I'm sorry?" John muttered in astonishment.
"Which is stronger?" Sherlock repeated with that dead, faraway look in his eyes once more. All that had once sparkled in those beautiful irises had gone dark.
"Vodka, I think. I guess it depends on the brand." John answered carefully. Sherlock nodded, clearing his throat before turning away and starting off down the aisle once more.
"Sherlock, Sherlock!" John called, racing after him so as to prevent his leaving. John reached out and grabbed his shoulder, trying to pull him back to which Sherlock cowered away with a yelp. Just as he had been when he was a teenager, so afraid of human touch. John felt rather embarrassed to have triggered such a reaction; however it had been enough to grab Sherlock's attention, enough then to get him to listen for a moment.
"At least let me give you my phone number, you can call me, we could meet up again, go out for dinner?" John suggested anxiously. He couldn't believe that Sherlock could so easily walk away, after the pain and the desperation that had been festering in John's heart for as long as he knew Sherlock was available once more. Was it really so easy for Sherlock to just leave him?
"I can't." Sherlock muttered with a shake of his head.
"Why not?" John insisted.
"Because you know my intentions! You know your own intentions! It wouldn't be right, John. I had wanted you to wait for me, you haven't done that. What am I supposed to do now, just ignore that you've moved on?" Sherlock hissed, spinning so as to look John right in the eyes, that old flame sparking once more. The flame that told John to back away, to avoid getting burnt. Yet he stepped forward all the same, he stepped forward because he felt he had no choice.
"I'm here now, Sherlock. I'm here for you." John insisted in an almost defensive growl. He wanted Sherlock to realize just how difficult this had all been, he wanted him to realize how impossible it was. Did Sherlock really take ethics so seriously, the laws of God that forced people not to have affairs? Why was he all of the sudden a moral person? The Sherlock that John used to know was much more lenient with such things. And now, to blame John's past faults for his own present cowardice, it was almost as if Sherlock was attempting to put this weight of denial all on John's back. As if he deserved it.
"Goodbye, John Watson. It would seem as though this was all very inopportune." Sherlock grumbled, starting away once more, to which John couldn't follow any longer. If Sherlock had ignored his pleas once he would ignore them again, and John had no choice but to cooperate.
"Where are you going?" John called back to him in something of desperation, for he hated the idea of Sherlock just leaving for the real world without so much as a mentor, or a contact. He hated the idea that it was so easy for Sherlock to walk away.
"The vodka aisle, I imagine." Sherlock admitted, and with that he took a sharp left and disappeared among the aisles and the masses of people, all of which wouldn't grant him a second look. All of which who wouldn't care to help him, even as he walked away with tears in his eyes.John struggled with the need to go after him, however he looked back to see that his family was watching with wide eyes, as if this whole thing was like a reality TV show going down before their very eyes. Mary looked particularly astounded, while Rosie only looked confused as to what had happened and why. John could only hope that they didn't see the hurt in his eyes, he could only hope they couldn't hear this heart breaking. And so he didn't go after Sherlock, purely because he knew he was no longer allowed to. He didn't go after him because Sherlock wouldn't accept him any longer. And that hurt all the worse than knowing that Sherlock was locked away. It was a lot easier to have an excuse for being separated, yet when that very excuse now was indifference, well that hurt like daggers.
"You good?" Mary presumed as John neared the cart. He nodded, looking back towards where Sherlock had vanished, almost as if expecting him to materialize so as to give John a second chance. Surely there was something he had done wrong, something that he could change if he was given a do over? For instance, hiding his family, that or denying they were even his. Mary patted his shoulder empathetically, yet as much as she tried to mourn for the loss he knew that she simply could never understand what it felt like. This was a feeling that was completely indescribable and unimaginable for anyone who had ever felt it. A passion that was boarding on madness left to fester and eventually to nearly snuff out for thirteen years. A commitment that had suddenly exploded in the promise of reunion, only to be stamped out by the more dedicated member of the party? John felt betrayed beyond belief, yet then again he knew that this was all his fault. Oh how he regretted ever marrying this woman! How he regretted attempting to move on, back then when he didn't understand the consequences it would bring! He should've been faithful; he should never have even attempted to move on with his life. Hadn't he realized back then that Sherlock would return, and that a family would only deter their relationship even longer? Was this thirteen years going to turn into forever? Suddenly he looked upon his wife, and suddenly he felt hatred.
"Ya, I'm fine." John lied quietly, nodding his head because he knew that was what she wanted to hear.
"Why'd he go away?" Rosie asked from where she now sat in the cart, having moved all of the groceries to make room for herself. John didn't want to look at her, for as much as it pained him to blame this on her existence; he knew that she was a great part of Sherlock's reluctance. Suddenly he didn't want her to be here; suddenly he didn't appreciate her existence. Oh why had he created such a permanent weight around his ankles, and such a permanent chain around his heart? He left because of you, Rosie, and Mary! He left because you're here with me, he left because he loves me and I love him!
"He left because he had to go." John muttered truthfully, starting down the aisle in the opposite direction that Sherlock had run off, just to ensure that he didn't have to get his heart broken once more by seeing Sherlock walk away again.