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The real strain between him and Harry isn't just because of the booze. Nor is it from the lifetime of petty grievances that usually accumulate between siblings.
Well, it is those things, but it's not just those things.
Mainly, though John would never tell her this, his main grievance with Harry is the blatant way she parades around, happy within her own skin, flaunting her sexuality.
And part of him hates her for it.
For finding it so easy to accept it as fact and move on. For not worrying about the complications and problems inherently attached. For not giving a damn.
When she was 17, they'd come home from school, and while eating dinner she'd just set down her knife and fork, looked over at their mum and dad and said "I like girls."
And that was that.
Easy as you please.
And life went on. Because outrageous statements are to be expected from people like Harry. Sure, their parents were upset, and their dad and Harry had screamed at one another for almost a fortnight before things calmed down. But they did calm down. Eventually.
He wishes things were that simple for him. He envies Harry's ability to just jump up and say what she thinks and for it to be accepted as fact.
Harry's always been the extrovert.
John isn't.
And he just can't.
Throughout his entire life, John has played many roles. The dutiful son, the responsible brother, the loyal friend, the successful doctor, the grim soldier.
All of them come with a certain preset of expectation.
It's neat, precise, orderly.
And devastating.
Separately, these roles are fairly easy to maintain. It's easy to slip in from one to the other with little fuss and no one's the wiser. Everyone's happy when their expectations are met. It's a burden, yes. But you become used to it. You learn how to live within the parameters. Learn when to switch from one mode to another, adding another layer here, and discarding another there. You learn where and when you can push and you learn when to fall back.
However, it's when you start to place these roles, one on top of another, that the weight becomes suddenly excruciating.
Sometimes he wonders if he didn't always have a limp, and it's just this new role - the slightly disturbed ex-soldier turned civilian - that is the final straw that brakes the figurative camel's back.
- And his therapist wonders why he has trouble writing. Ha. As if the knowledge that other people, mainly the key players in his life, are going to be reading his day to day activities and examining his actions and comparing them with those expectations wasn't terrifying enough! -
It's all a careful balancing act. He likes to think he manages it quite well. Up there on the high-wire, carefully walking along, heel to toe, arms out-stretched.
But then, he meets Sherlock.
And Sherlock... hmm.
Well, if he's the tight-rope walker, then Sherlock is like an elephant act gone wrong; uncontrollable, dangerous, slightly deranged, and intensely overwhelming.
One hour after meeting him at St. Barts, and John can feel his balance start to slip.
He wonders why he agrees to meet him again. He shouldn't go. If he doesn't turn up at the address he might recover his balance, and the act will be saved. The applause will ring out loud and clear.
But there is something there, that compels him.
Maybe he wants to fall. Maybe he's just been waiting to all this time.
There is no safety net if he decides to jump.
Abandon ship?
Sitting at the cheap desk in the unadorned room, he opens his computer and decides to test the waters. Will this new proposal be accepted or rejected?
Three words. The most telling amongst all two hundred and thirty three of the post:
"He was charming."
He tries to end on them. Can't. Frantically tries to divert the attention away onto a more mundane sentence.
He presses the "Share" button before he can double think it. Before he can chicken out and delete the whole damn thing.
And then, the computer finishes loading it's new page, and it's out there. For all the world to see.
And he waits. Waits to see how it'll be received. Waits to see what people will say to this new idea. Is it too out there? Is it an acceptable facet, or must it be discarded immediately, obliterated?
He doesn't have to wait long.
Harry is first, of course. And as soon as he reads the simple comment, he feels his heart give a painful squeeze, and his stomach turns to lead. His hand begins to tremor.
"What the...?!?!"
Harry Watson 29 January 19:37
He gets up, walks angrily away, tries to distract himself. Ends up pacing the room, brain frantically churning, looking for an escape plan, trying to figure out what to say.
Damage control.
Bill's comment arrives an hour later, with a happy blip from the computer:
"Mate, have you gone gay?"
Bill Murray 29 January 20:31
He feels his knees go weak. He want's to cry, to scream and to celebrate.
He doesn't know what he want's to do.
He sinks into the chair, relief and panic bundled up so tightly he is unable to stand a moment longer. He can feel his palms grow sweaty, and his heart rate go up.
This didn't happen in Afghanistan.
He's got his hands poised over the keyboard, a semi-thought out response ready to be dispatched when Harry's new comment pops up:
"Hahahahaha!! He can't be! The way he used to look at Clara!"
Harry Watson 29 January 20:34
And just like that.
Gone.
He sits back in his chair, breath coming tremulously, heart rate slowing. And a feeling of failure lodged tight in his chest.
It's not that he's gay. At least, he doesn't think so. He's not sure what he is. What he feels and has felt in the past is such a confused jumble of thoughts and emotions that it's hard to dissect and categorise. He's not sure what he is. Apart from abnormal. Beyond the norm. Outside the norm. Whatever.
If Ella could hear his thoughts right now she'd be ecstatic. 'Ahhh, so this is the result of your trust issues, John. What a goldmine of self-recrimination and loathing you have!'' he snorts angrily, ruthlessly repressing her metaphorical presence. She has no right to be here anyway.
He watches Harry and Bill reply to one another with half-hearted interest. Feels a steady surge of irritation rise as his space is invaded and transformed and made to serve another purpose. He's written out a reply before he's even thought it through, acting on instinct. "Can't you two email each other or something? This is meant to be for me to record my thoughts."
Damn his temper!
"Not denying it then?"
Bill Murray 29 January 21:32
Bill has always been too sharp for his own good.
Or for John's, for that matter. And for a moment, he wishes he were back in Afghanistan, working on some poor sod who's insides have made an unexpected appearance with Bill working steadily and reliably by his side. He wishes he'd followed up on any number of occasions when he could've just slipped it into a conversation.
But then he isn't sure he knows how to articulate a half-formed self-theory.
His hand is spasming.
He wonder's what Ella would have to say about that.
Then he realises he really doesn't care.
"I'm not gay." He types, with more force than is probably necessary. 'He might be. I don't know. It doesn't matter.'
It does matter.
It does.
"LOL!!"
Harry Watson 29 January 22:00
He's suddenly, inexplicably furious with his sister. He can't pin down why or where it came from. Maybe it's not even her that he's angry with, maybe it's someone else, maybe its him, he doesn't know. Doesn't care.
He's just hurt.
And angry.
He writes a brief testy reply "LOL? You're 36, Harry. Thirty-six.."- knows Harry will be pissed off when she reads it and will pester him incessantly for the next month because of it, - before slamming the laptop shut.
He hobbles his way across the room, flopping back onto the rickety bed. Lets the impact take the air from his lungs, and presses his trembling palms over his eyes.
And he breathes...