Let The Shadows Win

Happiness Is Tempting

 John POV: Dinner that night was quiet, partially owed to the fact that the family had not been able to get together since last night's fiasco. John still hadn't given Mary a decent explanation for why he was gone so late; all he could do was say that he had gone out before he fell into bed in an exhausted heap. And then he had gone off to work, ignoring her questions in a way only a guilty husband could manage. So tonight they ate in silence, and while John was trying to keep a conversation going with Rosie about what she had done that day in school he knew all the while that Mary's eyes were watching him for any sort of indication that he had been out where he shouldn't have been that night. Watching for a possible nick on the neck, where some unnamed and inexistent female might had bit him in the heat of the moment, or possibly a tear in his shirt where someone pulled it off of his body right then and there. She was looking for any moment to entrap him in her own spout of conversation, in her own string of accusations, yet for now she sat like a set trap, ready to spring shut on John's ankle if he made just one misstep throughout this dinner. Thankfully John was careful, at least careful enough to keep himself in the company of Rosie as long as he could manage. It was when she had scampered off to her room when the trouble began, when John and Mary were stuck together washing dishes, without any reason to sensor the conversation that was about to unfold. 

"So where were you last night?" Mary asked immediately, setting down her drying towel while John paused with a plate under the hot, soapy water. He felt attacked, that was for sure, and he was still trying to figure out if a lie was worth it or not. He knew that she wouldn't suspect him of an affair at first, so long as he made sure to mention Sherlock's name. She wouldn't consider her husband capable of homosexuality without firm proof, yet the romantic part wasn't the whole problem. There was also the factor of admitting to being with a known and released criminal instead of being home to watch the child. Yet it was better than being accused of being at an old nasty hotel with a woman that didn't exist, especially since Mary was already up in arms, ready to strike.
"I went to see Sherlock." John admitted, continuing his dish washing all the while Mary stood there dumbfounded.
"Sherlock Holmes? The murderer?" she clarified with a gape.
"Yes, Sherlock Holmes the murderer. Released and reformed murderer. So actually, Sherlock Holmes the civilian." John corrected in a snap.
"A civilian with a prison record and a headcount." Mary muttered in disappointment. "Why would you leave your daughter here, why would you leave me here to worry, when you were off parading around with your friend?"
"Because, Mary, I didn't know how else to find him. And when Greg mentioned he had gone to the house I knew I had to go there before he could leave." John said with a snap.
"So why did you lie about it?" Mary wondered.
"Because if I had told the truth, Greg would've stopped me. He doesn't trust Sherlock, he never has. He would've made sure I didn't go." John admitted truthfully, passing along the now sparkling plate to Mary to dry. Yet she didn't yet, she merely held it in her hands, still gaping at the audacity of her husband.
"Why doesn't Greg trust him?" she asked. John sighed heavily, shaking his head as if he really didn't want to talk about this now.
"Because of everything that happened." John said with a snap, now on to washing a gigantic pot, one that was almost too big to fit in the sink. Mary paused; nodding as she finally began to dry off the plate which she was holding.
"Well if Greg doesn't trust him, then why do you? If he was the one that gave you that scar, why would you go to his house alone, without telling anyone?" Mary asked in an astounded sort of way. She tucked the plate where it was supposed to go in the cabinet and continued to watch as John struggled to think of his answer as well as scrub the pot.
"Because Greg doesn't know the whole story, and I do. I knew Sherlock better than anyone, and therefore I'm the only one who knows his justification." John admitted with a frown.
"What, that he was just crazy?" Mary asked with a little condescending chuckle. John scowled where his wife couldn't see, for just because Sherlock had been crazy didn't mean people could go throwing that word around as if it had no meaning and no impact. Sherlock may have been a little bit disturbed, and yes maybe a little bit crazy, but in his own madness he saw a very just and almost noble reason to kill. When John understood that Sherlock wanted to kill him to ensure their being together forever he felt almost privileged to have someone so committed to their relationship. A relationship that he had betrayed, and turned his back upon just because he thought something better had come along. Oh how foolish, how selfish he had been!
"No." John said simply.
"Then what was it? Why'd he try to kill you, and why do you say it was justified?" Mary asked in an astounded sort of way, still talking about Sherlock as if he deserved no respect and no privacy at all.
"There are parts of my life, Mary, that I would rather not discuss. This is one of them. So just trust me, for once in your life, and let me see him without having to explain everything to you!" John snapped, shoving the pot in her direction so violently that half of his brain was already preparing to smack his wife in the head with it. Yet somehow she managed to take possession of the thing, taking a step back as if she was suddenly threatened, all while John leaned over the sink with the sponge squished in his hand, oozing soap suds all over the cabinets without his caring. Already he was becoming overwhelmed, upset once again about his choice in partner, upset again about his choice of abandonment. How selfish he had been all of his life to leave Sherlock when he thought he was gone! Sherlock who wanted nothing but to be together forever, and who was locked up as punishment for such a dream. And John who would go behind his back, taking advantage of his imprisonment to live out his childhood fantasies of marrying Mary Morstan? What a twisted and horrible person he had turned out to be! And what a mistake he had made, he was realizing that just now. For his wife would never understand, his wife would never even try. She didn't want to know why Sherlock was a good person; she only wanted to see him under the light of a criminal. She only wanted to see him as a monster, a mere topic of conversation over the neighborhood's bridge games. She didn't understand how special Sherlock was to John, or how meaningful their relationship was. She didn't want to give him a chance because she couldn't bring herself to look at him in any other light. She wanted him to be evil, and so she wouldn't sit here listening to John's explanation about why he was a hero all along.