"John, great to see you." Greg said with a grin, pulling away and sinking heavily into the booth across from where John had already set up his Diet Coke.
"Good to see you too." John agreed. "Been a while."
"Well, we both know there was good reason. Yet this meeting, you said you had news?" Greg wondered anxiously, rubbing his hands together and calling the waitress over to get him a coffee.
"Ya well, ya I've got news. But it can wait I guess." John shrugged, knowing that the moment he admitted what he had done that Greg might just get up and leave. For all John knew, Greg might think John's news to be nothing more than admitting to finally having broken up with Sherlock. There was no doubt in John's mind that Greg would find the idea of his finally tying the knot to be not only crazy, but dangerous as well. It had been this way back in high school as well, Greg had taken a knack to trying to talk John out of all the things he wanted most in life.
"Alright then, if you want to be all mysterious." Greg teased, looking over the menu without reading anything, for he went here enough to know what he wanted. John nodded, feeling a bit guilty to need to ruin Greg's mood so badly, however he felt that he had no choice but to break the news easier. It would be a lot worse if Greg had to hear it from Sherlock, God forbid they ran into each other at the grocery store or something, and he noticed Sherlock's new bedazzled finger.
"Unless you want to know, like now. Then I'd tell you." John admitted. "I just don't want to spoil your appetite."
"My God, John if I knew any better I'd say you're pregnant." Greg teased, to which John just shook his head in exasperation, grinning because he now recognized the good old friend he knew all those years ago. Greg still had the same sort of immature and uneducated humor that never failed to make him laugh.
"No I'm not pregnant. If I was, well you'd have seen it on the news first. No it's not that." John admitted quietly.
"Is it Mary? Did they find her?" Greg wondered worriedly.
"No word from Mary as of now, no." John sighed. "I do hope she's alright." He added reluctantly, knowing that Greg still assumed that Mary had walked out on them.
"Knowing her she'll be fine, she's a tough woman really. She'll take care of herself just fine." Greg assured. "But judging on that it's not about her, and it's not about you...well there's only one person left."
"Sherlock." John agreed quietly, stirring his Coke with his plastic straw and nodding his head guiltily.
"Ya, him. Is this exciting news about him?" Greg asked, his voice going a little bit grim as he thought once more of the man he had grown to despise. It really was not fair, for Greg had never given Sherlock much of a chance to redeem himself. Greg constantly saw Sherlock as a criminal, he had no idea that the man had changed for the better!
"Ya it's about him. Just don't...don't flip out on me alright?" John asked pleadingly, to which Greg's face hardened back into that expression of constant distrust.
"So long as what you're going to say doesn't require freaking out, I'll be calm." Greg muttered, yet he looked as if he was already ready to jump up on the table and begin pounding his chest like an angry gorilla. John took a deep breath, stilling his hand for a moment and looking at the table in quiet nervousness.
"We're getting married." John admitted finally, spitting out the words as if they seared through his tongue like poison. Greg's jaw dropped, and his face paled to a color that matched perfectly the white wall behind him.
"You're getting married?" he clarified in a breath, looking at John as if he honestly didn't recognize him.
"Yes, I just said that, didn't I?" John snapped, realizing now that telling Greg really wasn't a good idea. He was already gaping, gearing himself up to spout insults and warnings and finally the right to remain silent. Yet instead, Greg's face softened, and he tried to bring himself up to a reasonable posture, nodding his head stiffly as if finally understanding that he didn't have full control over John's life after all.
"Well then...congratulations." Greg managed, choking on the words all the same. John faltered for a moment, for he was already getting ready to argue. Such a statement had not been expected, and so he took some time to unclench his fists and get out of battle mode.
"Oh." He muttered finally. "That's not what I thought you'd say."
"Well ya, you know I don't approve. But I'm not your mother; I can't tell you what you can and cannot do. You're the most stubborn person I know, John, and you know what makes you happy even if the rest of the world has no idea how. If you love him, then you love him. And if you've decided that you want to spend the rest of your life with him, then who am I to impose?" Greg decided with a large sigh, poking around his coffee with a worried look in his eyes, as if he was now contemplating just how long it would take for John to end up going missing as well.
"Thank you." John managed finally, feeling as though he was the more surprised out of the both of them, for he had gone in here fully prepared to never talk to Greg again. Yet here he was, being supportive and being...rational. "That means a lot to me." John admitted.
"Yes well, I've done my thinking since we last met and decided that I was sort of stuck in the past. He's a good person I suspect, or at least you think." Greg admitted.
"He is a good person. A great person, actually." John admitted truthfully. "And I love him more than I had ever loved Mary, I love him more than I love anything else in the world."
"That's good." Greg agreed with a quiet nod. "That's very good. I'm happy that you've found happiness again."
"I'm almost waiting for you to say something else; this is almost going too easily." John admitted with a little laugh.
"Well, I was sort of waiting for you to ask me to be best man. I've got a snazzy tuxedo, after all." Greg admitted with a snarky little grin, pretending to tighten an invisible bowtie on his collar, to which John just laughed and rolled his eyes in annoyance.
"I hadn't even though of that stuff yet, I don't even know if we'll have a proper wedding. It really might just end up being in the courtroom." John admitted with a shrug.
"How come? Oh come on John, maybe you're already tired of getting married, but poor Sherlock, can't you imagine he wants a great big bash? With a limousine and white balloons, and confetti?" Greg teased, to which John laughed and shook his head doubtfully.
"No I don't think he wants all that at all! Besides, I couldn't afford something like that. And combined between the two of us I reckon we know just...five or six people. Certainly you need guests to justify such a big occasion?" John presumed. Greg shrugged his shoulders, watching as the waitress approached with a notebook in hand to take down their orders. Their conversation was paused as they listed off what they were having, and when finally the woman disappeared they went right back to wedding planning, or lack thereof.
"Well I don't know, I never specified how many balloons and confetti were necessary. You could have three balloons and a handful of confetti, and I'm sure it'll still be magical for him." Greg presumed.
"I don't know about that. Besides, I spent most all my savings on that bloody ring. I forgot how much those cost!" John whined, shaking his head in exasperation all while Greg chuckled.
"Did you get him a diamond?" Greg teased, as if he thought such a thing was really laughable.
"Actually I did. I thought he'd be dramatic enough to want one, and I was right. He's just like Mary was, looking at it in all angles and trying to catch it off the light so that everyone else notices. He's such a woman in some ways." John admitted with a laugh, his heart fluttering even now as he remembered what a beautiful partner he had waiting at home for him.
"That sounds about right." Greg agreed with a little laugh. "How's Rosie taken it all?"
"Oh well that's a different story entirely. She's throwing all these tantrums, she cried all night when I proposed to him. I guess she's not overly fond of replacing Mary so soon." John admitted with a regretful sigh. For he really did feel bad for his daughter, he never liked to see her unhappy, however he was in no way going to change his own behavior on her behalf. He was going to love Sherlock as he was meant to, there would be no time for him to take into account Rosie's opinion. She was upset, yes that was a shame, but it was nowhere near shameful enough for him to leave Sherlock behind.
"Yes well, surely she didn't take Mary's leaving very well? I remember the two of them were very close." Greg pointed out, leaning back in his chair only to poke at his coffee some more, prodding the saucer around the table just to give himself something to do during this awkward conversation.
"Ya well, in the end Mary was getting distant anyway. I knew that she'd leave us, I just didn't know when. She was...well she wasn't the woman you might have expected her to be." John admitted shamefully.
"That's too bad." Greg muttered, yet he still didn't seem all that convinced. In Greg's mind, everything was possible. It didn't matter how farfetched it might be, he was always somewhat convinced that Sherlock was responsible for Mary's disaperence. He may accept Sherlock as a part of his life now, but he would die before he trusted him. In Greg's mind Sherlock was responsible for everything, and something as convenient as Mary's disappearance would surely get him thinking of ways as to how Sherlock could possibly be the one responsible. Their conversation was halted by the arrival of their lunch, and John was thankful that with it came at least a shift in conversation. They talked instead of life beyond their own households, excluding of course Greg's recitation of how Molly and their dog Donut had been lately. Apparently Molly had taken up sewing, and Donut was still as overweight as ever. Nothing very interesting happened in Greg's life, for police work over in this small town really had a downturn in interesting cases now that Sherlock had gone docile and the rest of his family had died. The disappearance of Victor had really been the talk of the town for the year or so it had been unsolved, and afterwards when it was found that Sherlock was his killer it really was the only thing anyone could talk about. The police were hailed as heroes (even though all they did was make the arrest, it had been teenaged Greg who had gotten everything in place) and for a while they had all gotten to rest on their laurels and just ignore tax evasion and speeding tickets. Yet now they were lucky if they had anything as interesting as a carjacking, for this town had gone quiet once more. Nothing would ever be quite as interesting as the stir Sherlock had created, that is if Sherlock was going to stay silent for long. Who knew if the next great police victory would rest with Sherlock and his antics, or if another murderer would come around and make life a little bit more interesting? John and Greg parted ways simply, with that idiotic little handshake that had made up in middle school but had still been permanently imprinted into their brains. Greg was off to the station while John was back to the office, trying to get all of his window sales in order before he got the okay from the clock and was able to pack up and leave. Yet it was hard to concentrate, for now in his head all he could think about was marriage! What an exciting time, oh he had remembered it the last time, yet when he had married Mary it seemed almost superficial, a ploy almost, to merely blend in with the rest of the world and their common place values. John was marrying this time not just because he was expected to, but because he was instead in love. And he had been in love, now for what felt like an eternity, and this time the wedding plans seemed not to be a burden but instead to be a pleasure. He was happy to put the effort in, and even now as he sat back and waited for the ringing of the phone to turn into a voice he was already looking at the calendar, wondering when the best available weekend was to make his love for Sherlock as official as could be managed.
"Daddy are you really going to marry Mr. Sherlock?" Rosie asked quietly, this time as they sat alone in her room for story time. Sherlock had been upset the whole night, however when John attempted to console him it was all he could get out but a few grunts and shakes of his head, as if Sherlock didn't want to talk about whatever it was that had gotten him down.
"Yes I am." John agreed, setting aside the story about a little bear who couldn't reach the honey pot. Rosie nodded, squeezing her stuffed animal tighter in her arms and watching her father with fearful little eyes.
"I don't want you to." She managed. John sighed heavily, for he had known that such a conversation was bound to come up. After his daughter's outburst the night he had popped the question he had expected at least one or two grown up conversations before finally Rosie might give in to Sherlock's permanent imprint in their lives. The room was lit only by a small lamp in the corner, giving it a very sleepy orange glow. And of course the moonlight that was streaming through the curtains, such lighting that might have been taken for granted in any other household, was looking especially beautiful as well. What a perfect night, yet what a difficult conversation indeed. John had come up with plenty of scripts and explanations to why he wanted to marry Mr. Sherlock, and why Rosie had to come to accept him into the household, yet at the moment every single conversation he could think of just sounded artificial. They didn't fit into this setting, on a night so peaceful, well John had made half of his scripts into arguments! He didn't want to disrupt such a night with yelling, and so instead he smiled at his daughter and took her little hand lightly.
"Why don't you want me to?" John asked finally, a question that very obviously needed to be addressed.
"Because he scares me." Rosie admitted quietly. "He talks to himself when you're not here."
"Talks to himself?" John clarified, blinking in some surprise. For he knew that Sherlock wasn't the sort of crazy to talk to himself, instead he was the sort of crazy to talk to people who weren't really there. People that Sherlock had promised not too long ago were not there anymore.
"Yes, he yells, too. When he gets angry." Rosie muttered. John nodded, for he had known that part all too well. Sherlock was a very vocalized man, especially when someone had snapped his last nerve.
"Well everyone yells when they get mad." John suggested.
"He yells into the corners. He yells as if he's having a conversation, and today he was crying." Rosie whispered.
"That's...well I can talk to him if you'd like." John offered, knowing of course that there was nothing he could say that might rationalize Sherlock's strange behavior. The man had some issues, that much was for sure, yet John thought that therapy had helped him? John had been under the impression that Sherlock was still a sane man. Or had he just been pretending to be sane, all while his brain was as liquefied as ever when he was alone?
"Don't marry him, please Daddy don't do it. I want Mommy back, I don't want Mr. Sherlock." Rosie begged, squeezing John's hand with as much strength as her little hand could muster. John nodded, for all the while he was here to console her he also knew that leaving Sherlock was not an option. And so instead of making some sort of excuse, he looked up. He looked towards that peeling painting, still as beautiful as when he had first seen it, of himself in some sort of angelic lighting. A painting that Sherlock had created when he was most afraid, and a painting they both still cherished as a sign of their protection of each other, and of their everlasting love.
"You've seen that painting before, haven't you?" John presumed, lying on his back so that he could stare at the thing for a long while. Rosie laughed a little bit, for he laid down right over her knees, yet she too craned her neck up to the ceiling.
"It's you." She pointed out obviously, to which John nodded.
"Ya, it's me. Do you know why it's here?" John wondered, smiling as he tried to picture a teenaged Sherlock lying flat out on his back so as to get the scale right, paint dripping on his face all the while he pondered the perfect proportions.
"I don't know." Rosie admitted quietly, although she sounded as perplexed as might be expected.
"It's here because this used to be Sherlock's room, way back in high school when we first met. And when he lived here his brother left him, and suddenly he was left alone in this dark, creaking house. And he was afraid of it, because he's never lived alone. And so he painted this, because I was the only one he knew that would ever try to protect him. He painted me so that I would always be looking over him, even if I wasn't actually there." John admitted with a grin.
"Mr. Sherlock painted this?" Rosie muttered apprehensively.
"Yes he did. He's always been very artistic, and unfortunately very lonely. And that's why I'm marrying him, Rosie. I want to give him a family, I want him to be surrounded by people who love him, and will protect him from the shadows that creep up from time to time. This mural had always meant so much to us both; he painted it when we were first falling in love. Even then he wanted me to be in his life forever, and now here's my chance. I love him more than anyone I've ever met, and I want to make him my husband so that he stays with me for the rest of my life." John explained quietly. Rosie was quiet for a moment, yet the grip on John's hand never slackened, and for a moment he was almost expecting her to finally accept that there was nothing she could do to impose on her father's happiness. John was expecting Rosie to just nod and admit that maybe they could all be happier if John took Sherlock as his husband, and yet for a moment she just took a deep breath, staring up at the painting for another moment as if to clarify her thoughts on the piece.
"Only crazy people think paintings protect them from the dark." Rosie whispered finally, and with that she let her hand fall away. John was quiet himself, for as he looked at the painting he couldn't help but consider that Rosie was right. Such a mural was meant to immortalize their love, but in a way it also did make sure everyone remembered the bout of craziness that had overtaken Sherlock in those dark days. When he used to call frantically in the middle of the night because he thought Mycroft was still there, and when he finally convinced John that burning Mycroft's body would rid them all of the ghost. And after that...after that Mycroft's spirit seemingly took form in his head. This picture reminded John that their love was made from fear, and twisted so as to turn to dependency and protectiveness of the most abnormal kind. It made him wonder if Mycroft's rule had been the thing to try to deter their love, or if it had been the very thing that had brought them together in the first place. For John loved to feel like a hero, and Sherlock had been looking for someone to save him for his entire life.
"Just think it over, Rosie. And try to keep in mind what's best for us all." John suggested, getting a bit reluctantly to his feet and tearing his eyes away from the painting that almost called his eyes back, that stared at him from the ceiling in mockery.
"Goodnight Daddy." Rosie muttered, to which John smiled, kissing her on the forehead in agreement.
"Goodnight Rosie." John whispered, and with that he clicked off the lamp and allowed that ominous room to get plunged back into the darkness where he had first found it. John walked downstairs to find Sherlock stretched out over the couch, which his long legs sticking out one end and his head set uncomfortably on the armrest opposite. He looked mournful, despite that ring that was still shining beautifully on his finger. John sighed heavily, unsure whether or not he should bother Sherlock for some sort of explanation, and yet what Rosie had told him tonight had shaken him in a way that he really couldn't put into words. He loved Sherlock, and he knew that Sherlock loved him. Yet it was obvious that their perceptions of love were much different, and the way they handled it was too very strange. Sherlock's love never stopped him from doing anything that might seem counterproductive; in fact love had been his driving motivators for most all of his killings, and his attempts. He loved Victor, and he slit his throat. He loved his brother, and still he was the one who thrusted that knife into his stomach. He loved John...and he had left such a nasty scar. For Sherlock to begin acting strangely, talking to himself, crying without explanation, well it made John wonder just what was going on inside of that fragile little head. John had just settled on letting Sherlock have his privacy when finally the man turned his head, looking towards the corner in which John lingered as if expecting to see someone else there.