Let The Shadows Win

What I'd Say If I Could

 John POV: A week went by before he had to pick up the phone, for Sherlock was not usually so silent. After the kiss no words were exchanged, not nearly enough to at least reassure him that he had made the right move. Who knew how Sherlock was taking it, and after a week of silence he could only assume that suddenly Sherlock deemed it in their best interest to stay silent. Yet that absolute fool, how could he think that staying quiet after their first kiss was anything but nerve wracking? Did he think that John wanted to ease himself into it, or did he just assume that they both wanted to forget about it as quickly as possible? Well neither was correct, and just about any other rationalization for spending a week apart after such a significant milestone would obviously be ill appreciated as well. John wanted to see Sherlock, not just every week but every day. It had come to the point where every morning and every night he looked at his wife and just wished she was not there. He wished that she was replaced by Sherlock, and somehow their thirteen years had been lived as it should have been together, and that all of this was just simply a bad dream. And that he would wake up, and finally be reunited with the man he wanted most and only in this world to love. And so he called. This time John locked the bathroom door, for his wife was still getting Rosie situated in bed and it was his only moment to call. It was a Saturday, and so he hadn't gotten the lunch break he usually would have taken advantage of. No today had been another family day, and so there hadn't been a moment where it was convenient to have a private phone conversation. The line rang quite a bit until finally it was picked up, and this time Sherlock was the first to say a word. 

"John?" the shy voice at the other end of the phone clarified.
"Sherlock, how are you?" John asked quietly, running the sink water so as to give himself some background noise. There was silence once more.
"John, did I really break you so badly all those years ago?" Sherlock clarified in a hushed voice, in a guilty voice. Almost as if he was ashamed to ask such a question because he knew that the answer would be, of course, yes.
"What do you mean by that?" John clarified nervously. "What do you mean, break?"
"I mean did I really drive you to try to kill yourself?" Sherlock whispered in the quietest of all voices, almost as if he was ashamed to even have to ask such a thing of John. John was quiet, wondering how on Earth Sherlock could have figured out such a well-kept secret. Even Mary didn't know... John looked in the mirror carefully, carefully letting his fingers run against the wound that had finally healed after so long. The wound that he had pried open with his own fingers for weeks, hoping that this time the blood loss would be enough to kill him. Because he felt that a wound inflicted by Sherlock would be a wound that stuck them together in the end, and that if he killed himself by his own hand that it wouldn't have had the same affect. For weeks after Sherlock had been dragged away on that stretcher, John wished that he could only have the honor of having being killed by a stroke of his blade. Because John cared about nothing more in those days than Sherlock, he lived, breathed, and existed purely with the intent of reuniting. And now he was different, now he was changed. His heart had healed, just as Sherlock's mind had. And now they were both in the position, of course, to love each other like adults, and to take it in moderation. But had Sherlock even known of those dark days?
"Have you been talking to Greg?" John whispered nervously, steadying himself with one hand on the towel rack so as to ensure he didn't fall over from sudden weakness. For even remembering such times put him back in that mindset, in which he wanted to rush to Sherlock's arms and let him finish the horrible task he had set himself to. In which he would have begged to let Sherlock tie the noose and push him off the ledge. Yet John didn't want death, he couldn't want death now that Sherlock was so easily accessible in life. Back then he had imagined that dying would be the only way to meet him again, when now all it took was a simple drive down Main Street.
"Yes, I've been talking to Greg. I thought I was the one confronting him, but he told me horrible things, John...horrible. Did I really do that to you?" Sherlock whispered.
"Sherlock it wasn't just you, it was a combined effort it was...well it was the after effects of the love we just didn't know how to express." John insisted anxiously. "Don't go thinking that it will happen again."
"Greg said to stay away." Sherlock pointed out.
"Greg's not my keeper. I'll do what I like." John snapped, shaking his head at his best friend's idiocy when it came to trying to protect him. Like it had been all those years ago it still was now, Greg nosing his way into John's love life as if he had any right or any say in the matter.
"I don't want to hurt you again." Sherlock whispered. John shook his head once more, sitting down heavily onto the toilet seat and holding his head in his hands, the phone pressed so closely to his ear that he was afraid the screen might shatter against the side of his face.
"You won't hurt me, Sherlock. It's different now, it's all different." John insisted.
"Different in what way?" Sherlock whispered fearfully. "Tell me that you're not just loving me because...because it's easier than trying to back away?"
"I'm not doing anything because of anything! Sherlock I love you! Everything I've done for all of these years is because I love you, and back then I just didn't know what to do when you were taken from me. It's not a disease, I'm not suicidal...you're not the drug Sherlock you're the cure." John whispered.
"The way Greg made it sound; you went crazy because you were trying to get me out of your head." Sherlock whispered, sounding a little bit more persuaded now as his voice softened. The initial worry was absent, and now he just sounded as though he was concerned entirely because of the past, and nothing now of what troubles the future might hold.
"I wasn't trying to get you out of my head, Sherlock I was trying to adapt to you getting out of my reach. My heart was still calling for you, but you were in a place where you could never respond. I was lonely, and that night I thought that maybe I could see you again if i let you complete whatever delusion you were on about that night. When you said that I could live forever in your head, so long as I died here on earth." John insisted.
"That was a delusion." Sherlock agreed. "Don't ever try something so stupid again, John."
"I won't. My God I won't, why do I need to be in your head when I could live instead by your side?" John whispered with a bit of a smile. He heard Sherlock breathe, that small intake of breath he took when he was on the brink of smiling when he wasn't supposed to. A small, pitiful laugh that he tried to contain. It made John smile all the more. Yet then came the knock on the door.
"John honey, can I get in there? I need to brush my teeth!" Mary called, pounding on the door to which John panicked, getting to his feet rapidly and trying to keep his voice low enough so that the running water would shield his conversation.
"It's Mary, I've got to go. You know what I'd say if I could." John whispered. Sherlock laughed again, he could hear it on the other end, that beautiful noise of contentment. That beautiful chorus of delight.
"I love you too." Sherlock agreed, making John's heart soar just to hear those words so voluntarily announced.
"Bye." John whispered, and with that he shut off the phone, shut off the sink, and opened the door to admit his wife. She was all dressed and ready for bed, as she always was at this hour. As he should be at this hour as well, if he hadn't gotten so distracted.