Let The Shadows Win

A Flame With Potential

"So how have you been? I know you were just released, that must be tough getting back on your feet." Mary asked, very awkward now that she understand she had to make conversation with a criminal.
"I've been well, surprisingly well. I've never been on my own before, there's something strangely terrifying yet very satisfactory about it." Sherlock admitted with a small and timid laugh.
"I agree on that. When I went to college I sort of...well I sort freaked out a little bit. Being my own person really was an adjustment." Mary admitted with a grin.
"Yes well, I'm still adjusting to that part. Yet I have help of course, friends. My land lady has been very kind to me, and John of course." Sherlock agreed with a smaller voice, as if he was ashamed to admit he even knew John at this point. Just being acquainted almost felt like a sin.
"Oh he's always been a good man; surely all those years never changed that." Mary agreed.
"It's changed something." Sherlock murmured, once more to himself.
"Would you like to sit down? We've got wine as well, if you would like a glass." Mary offered. Sherlock smiled, nodding his head in appreciation and making himself comfortable on the couch.
"A glass of wine would be lovely, thank you." He agreed.
"I've got it!" John called from the kitchen, bypassing his wife's attempt to get away. He really was clever, and very thorough, when making sure their conversation didn't dwindle.
"John's got it then." Mary muttered with an almost bitter tone, sitting down on an armchair and smiling once more. She was very good at fake smiling, and the only reason Sherlock knew these smiles were fake were of course because they were pointed at him. A defensive housewife really has no need to smile at her competition, even if she didn't know yet what they were competing for. Sherlock didn't know what to talk about, and with nothing now in his hands he found it terribly hard to sit still. He was nervous in this woman's presence, simply because he knew that she was his replacement. Everything that John had promised Sherlock had been transitioned onto her, and their forever had been forfeited onto her finger instead.
"So you and John were friends through high school?" Mary presumed finally, watching thankfully as her husband approached with three glasses carried very carefully on a silver circular tray.
"Ah, just like a waiter. Thank you John." Sherlock said appreciatively, feeling much more comfortable now that he had John to censure whatever topics he didn't want to discuss.
"Yes we were friends right at the end, or at least the end for me. I never graduated." Sherlock admitted with a guilty shrug.
"It was a funny companionship, wasn't it Sherlock?" John asked with a laugh, taking a sip of his wine before seating himself on the couch next to where Sherlock was sitting. Very close, actually, or at least close enough for their shoulders brush together should they both lean at the same time.
"It worked out nevertheless." Sherlock shrugged. John just laughed, and Sherlock noticed that his hands almost reached up to his neck, the constant reminder of just how badly their companionship had actually worked out.
"Yes, it worked out." John agreed, his hand dropping back to his side while his wife just slanted her eyes curiously, looking between the two as if trying to decipher just what had happened then, and even more so what was happening now.
"How did you two meet then?" Sherlock wondered, looking towards Mary as if feeling the need to bring the conversation far away from himself and his relationship with John.
"Oh, we met through college." John said quickly, as if wanting to surpass this harmful conversation as well. And Sherlock appreciated this censuring, for as much as he didn't like to talk about his own relationship with John he knew that it would be even more agonizing to have to listen about John's relationship with Mary. The stand in for him, the one that had become permanent.
"He was so hesitant at first. I thought it would be impossible to get him to marry me." Mary admitted with a laugh.
"Hesitant?" Sherlock clarified, looking over at John with a renewed sense of appreciation. So he was resisting then, he was keeping Sherlock's heart in the back of his mind.
"Well yes, it had been years since my last relationship ended. I still always had that thought in the back of my mind, that maybe it could come back and continue on." John clarified in a sort of tone that Mary might not understand, the loving tone that Sherlock had gotten so used to. The tone John used when he was saying something that really should be obvious to the both of them. And so John had waited, hadn't he? All of this time, Sherlock had the impression that as soon as he was taken away John went and married the first woman who would have him. Yet it didn't work like that, not in the end.
"I was able to talk him out of it in the end though, wasn't I?" Mary said proudly.
"In the end, well I knew it was time to move on." John agreed with a little mutter.
"Better things, I'm sure. That girl from all those years ago, she's probably married off by now as well. Probably not thinking of you at all." Mary said a bit too confidently, almost as if she was too stupid to realize that 'girl' was sitting right next to her.
"Oh I doubt that." Sherlock shrugged, looking over to John once more with a soft look in his eyes. "I'm sure she thought of you every day."
"Well that's not a reassuring thing to say." Mary said with a bit of a nervous laugh, as if she was taken aback by Sherlock's seeming to contradict the validity of their marriage. Almost as if he was supporting this mysterious damsel. John nodded, taking a long sip of his wine and very awkwardly looking back towards the kitchen, so as to take this treacherous conversation elsewhere. Anything more with this conversation could turn into dangerous territory, especially since John would blatantly have to go along with this extended metaphor should he say something else. It was obvious that his wife was looking for confirmation that he hadn't thought of this 'woman' since they had gotten married, all while Sherlock was hoping to hear that he hadn't let his mind trail for all of those years. There was nothing John could say to make them both happy, and so he really couldn't say anything at all. He would leave them both in suspense as to where his loyalties lay.
"The chicken must be ready. Mary do you mind getting Rosie down here?" John asked politely, getting to his feet and beckoning for Sherlock to follow.
"Yes of course, she's up in her room playing I'm sure." Mary agreed, sounding a bit disappointed with her daughter's antisocial tendencies.
"That's fine; she can help set the table." John decided, starting towards the kitchen where Sherlock followed like a little lost puppy. Mary went up the steps to find her daughter while the two of them collected in the kitchen, and while Sherlock expected John to tend to the chicken that was undoubtedly roasting in the oven, he instead turned on Sherlock in their precious moment of solitude.
"You thought of me every day?" John clarified in a daring whisper, looking up at Sherlock with that returned look of appreciation, the one he recognized even from so long back. John may have changed, in body and in purpose, yet his eyes had remained the same. The same beautiful brown irises, the same sparkle that gleamed whenever he got the slightest hope, the slightest dream! He wanted to be with Sherlock, that much was becoming increasingly and daringly obvious.
"I hadn't much else to think about while there." Sherlock defended a little bit shyly, still unsure if his declaration was going to be seen as creepy or if it would be appreciated.
"Don't be humble, Sherlock. You still love me, don't you? You always have, haven't you?" John clarified in a harsh whisper, still coming closer, to which Sherlock simply could not step back. It was that look that paralyzed him, the look that made him want to step closer, that made him what to kiss this fool in the middle of his kitchen, all while the probability of his wife entering was dangerously high.
"John you can't ask me these things now, as if you have any right to reclaim me just because you..."
"Do you?" John growled, now so close that he could reach out and strangle the words out of Sherlock if he wanted to.
"Yes of course." Sherlock agreed weakly, feeling his hands as they trembled at his side, feeling his heart as it throbbed in his chest. That was a declaration he wasn't ready to announce yet, to himself or to John for that matter. Yet it was enough to get them both on the same page, it was enough to help them both understand at least the primary settings of their hearts. At least now they both had the same desires, if not the same end goals. The sound of approaching footsteps was enough to finally get Sherlock to fall away onto the counter, practicing some sort of awful side lean while John ducked down to stick a thermometer in the chicken that was baking in the oven. It was enough of a reaction time to cause no suspicions, and when Mary and Rosie arrived they were still smiling.
"Rosie loves the pony you bought her, Sherlock. She was just making her Babies play cowboy when I found her." Mary said with a little grin, patting the head of her daughter as they both went to the cabinet to begin setting the table.
"The chicken is done, but I'd give the potatoes a couple of minutes." John said confidently, setting aside the thermometer and donning some very attractive alligator oven mitts so as to grab the hot pan from where it sat on its rack.
"Whatever you say dear." Mary said with a careless shrug, passing her daughter some place mats and forks while she grabbed four plates from the cabinets and went over to the table. Sherlock was observing very awkwardly, feeling something of guilt yet something of excitement all the same. There was a horrible sort of feeling in his stomach, a feeling that was reminding him repeatedly that there were still words unsaid, and emotions still yet undiscovered. John knew, and Sherlock knew, that now their love was declared mutual. And that feeling of exhilaration really was enough to make him look at Mary almost with a secretive little smile, feeling somehow dominant even in her own house. For her husband, undoubtedly the light of her life, was beginning to illuminate Sherlock instead. This was a horrible feeling really, or at least Sherlock knew it should be. He knew he should feel ashamed, yet having declared his love right under that woman's nose, now with her husband so keen to get him alone, well he almost felt invincible, and of course, unpunishable. When dinner was ready and the table was set they all arranged themselves around the food, with Sherlock sitting next to Mary and John sitting next to Rosie, so that he could cut up her chicken into manageable sized pieces for her. He was across from Sherlock, enough so that if either one of them decided to stick their feet out as long as their legs would allow them, they would brush together. There was a great meal prepared, undoubtedly in the family's effort to impress Sherlock, or to at least demonstrate to him how well they had put their lives together. There was a whole roasted chicken, as well as baked potatoes, sautéed broccoli, and potato salad. Everything was fantastic, especially since Sherlock's diet now considered mostly of peanut butter sandwiches and potato chips. It was a home cooked meal like one he hadn't had since his brother had died, and this alone was enough to justify his coming to meet his competition. It was enough to justify the dark, jealous looks he felt from Mary when his eyes had turned to meet John's. She had to suspect there was something up, it wasn't like a woman to ignore something so obvious! Yet she made no indications, at least not directly. Sherlock was half expecting her to corner him when John had left to tell him very flat out that she didn't want him around anymore, however the rest of the night was smooth sailing. Even Rosie seemed to like Sherlock, for she kept telling what she thought were funny stories and cackling to herself. Most of these stories were just incomprehensible mutterings, a bit too unclear for Sherlock or any of the adults to properly understand. Yet she seemed enthusiastic, and so whenever she ended up with her punchline, whatever it had been, all the adults forced a laugh and a smile. It was sort of a relief when Rosie had to go to bed, for it wasn't like Sherlock didn't enjoy her company, yet it was sort of burdensome and it most definitely censured their range of conversations. They all got to their feet when Rosie was supposed to be put to bed, mostly to clear their desert dishes (a wonderful peach cobbler had just barely survived), but also to say a formal goodbye to Rosie. Sherlock could tell that the night was winding down, for it was almost nine o'clock and his eyes were getting droopy already. He knew that he shouldn't overstay his welcome, and while he didn't know quite what his welcome was, he knew that the earlier the better at this point.
"Say goodnight to Sherlock, Rosie." Mary insisted, shuffling her daughter along towards where Sherlock was standing with two empty plates of pie in his hands, attempting to make it over to the kitchen so as to put them in the dishwasher where everything else was already stacked up.
"Goodnight Mr. Sherlock!" Rosie exclaimed in her screeching child voice, running over to him fearlessly and wrapping her arms around his legs in a very uncomfortable hug. At first Sherlock was a bit taken aback, however he was sensible enough to set down the plates and return the hug, at least on her level that was.
"Goodnight Rosie, it was very nice to meet you." Sherlock said with a little smile, rising back to his feet once he had pried her little arms off of his neck. She was a very good child, very sweet and appreciative. It was hard to force himself to hate her, however he did know of course that if Rosie wasn't in this world it would be a lot easier for him to take John back into his own. She was the spawn of unfaithfulness, the ultimate proof that John had abandoned Sherlock for someone else, for a drastically different path of love. It was very hard to appreciate such a girl, no matter how adorable she was.
"Nice to meet you too." she called off, already running off towards the stairs with her mother in her wake. Sherlock felt the need to call goodnight to Mary as well, however she had vanished before Sherlock could manage, and he was still entirely unsure of how late he was planning to stay. That would depend, supposedly, on what John was prepared to do in his family's absence. Sherlock grabbed the plates from the table and went back over to the dishwasher, feeling a very different air in the house now that the women had disappeared. He could feel John watching him from where he was still leaning by the table, watching as Sherlock rinsed the plates in the sink like the good housewife he wasn't.
"Rosie seemed to like you." John commented.
"Yes she um...well she's a great child. You're lucky to have her." Sherlock muttered a bit forcefully, not allowing himself to look at where John was standing.
"Are you prepared to let the Holmes bloodline die?" John asked a little bit quickly, catching Sherlock off guard enough so that he finally turned to look at John once more. He had moved closer, now he was leaning on the counter a couple of feet away.
"Well how would I continue it? And even if I could...why would I want to? We're not exactly the most stable of dynasties." Sherlock muttered regretfully.
"That could change of course. You were merely raised in inopportune situations; your children could have it differently." John suggested. Sherlock just laughed a little bit doubtfully, raising his eyebrows as if he was wondering just why John would be suggesting such a thing.
"You're suggesting I get married as well? Move on, like you have?" Sherlock clarified with an amused little chuckle.
"No I suppose you're not the type to marry." John agreed a bit reluctantly.
"I'd marry, I just feel as though after I did, having a child of my own creation would be...well impossible." Sherlock admitted with a little smile.
"I suppose you're right. From all that I know of you, Sherlock, you would be disgraced to have a woman on your arm." John admitted with a laugh.
"You seem to be managing just fine." Sherlock pointed out, nodding off towards the staircase as if alluding to where his wife had disappeared.
"Fine is different than happy. She made it clear when she mentioned my hesitation, it took a while. It's still taking a while, and now that I've got a welcome interruption, it might stop abruptly. I don't have to be with her, you know. I don't have to be with anyone but you." John promised. Sherlock took a breath, inhaling sharply before managing a smile and nodding quietly.
"Yes well, that might be impossible as well." Sherlock murmured.
"Not impossible, no Sherlock, nothing's impossible. We can make it work, even if I share my body between the both of you, my heart will always be yours to keep." John muttered, coming closer all the while Sherlock dared to take a step back.
"You shouldn't." Sherlock muttered a bit sternly, yet even now he was beginning to realize that John had made up his mind. Even know he was beginning to realize that he had decided as well.
"Doesn't mean I can't." John pointed out, still coming closer while Sherlock's heart was leaping up to his throat, as if trying to prevent him from saying anything more that would deter John or stop this moment from ever happening. He couldn't speak then, because his body wouldn't allow him, and in a leap of horror he attempted to take a step back, yet ultimately took a step forward instead. Closer to John, the man who was now just simmering with unfaithfulness. Together they merged, or at least bumped into each other close enough so that their chests were touching. The closest they had been in a long time, now that their hands were just beginning to reach for the other, that their hearts were just beginning to cry out. It was wrong, it was so wrong, yet Sherlock could even feel that wedding ring against his skin, and he didn't care! Why could he not bring himself to uphold John's honor, why could he not force himself to step away and save them both? This wasn't just wrong, this was sinful, this wasn't just a kiss but a damnation! Not that Sherlock had expected anything different. He could only now listen to the chorus of John's heart, coupled with his breathing, as their lips lingered closer to the other's, so overwhelmed in what was happening now that there really was nothing to say. Nothing either of them could do now, not now while they had made up their minds. It was a quiet kiss, one that had almost accidentally happened as their brushed their lips to close together. A mere touch, really, that ignited a flame that had the potential to turn them both to ash. The smallest little brush, turned passionate as they finally pressed their lips together as they should've long ago. A kiss shared that was long overdue from the moment they first saw each other, shared in the domain of a foreboding yet ultimately helpless creature. For Mary had no say in the matter, she had no control over her husband's heart. It was his choice now, to reclaim the love he had been forced to give up. And of course he chose Sherlock, of course he chose this. Yet Sherlock was quick to pull away, as soon as he could feel John beginning to get excited, as soon as he could feel his lips begin to take up a more aggressive rhythm, he needed to pull away. And he could hear John's breathing still, he could hear his heart still, yet there was another sound. A sound that was coming not from inside of his head, but from all around him instead. He noticed the shadows that hadn't been there in a long while, collecting around the both of them as they stood tangled in each other's arms. Laughing that was familiar to him, that laughter that he had heard for thirteen years, down in the pit. Materializing before him again, the shape of his brother as he cackled, standing near the fridge and watching as Sherlock condemned himself once more.
"Always so eager to jump right back in, aren't you brother dear?" Mycroft laughed. Sherlock blinked, expecting him to vanish, and pulling away from John so that he could stumble into the counter. Mycroft remained.