Chapter Text
Sorry boys, I’m so changeable! It is a weakness with me, but to be fair to myself, it is only weakness!
John Watson may have been discharged from the army—but he’s still a soldier. When Jim Moriarty decides not to leave him and Sherlock alone the strength which fled his legs when Sherlock ripped the bomb vest off him instantly returns. This time that strength, which is more like his body running on autopilot, remains with him as the confrontation with the consulting criminal gets more and more bizarre. It isn’t until John and Sherlock are back at 221B Baker Street that John’s strength vanishes and he stops moving on autopilot as the events to the night catch up with him.
Sherlock is in the living room, looking through the piles of books and papers for something. John is in the kitchen, preparing a cup of tea when his legs suddenly go weak and he has to scramble to sit down before he falls down.
I was wearing a bomb! John’s mind screams as he shivers violently. He rests his head in his hands, closes his eyes and struggles to take a few deep breaths… John hears Sherlock move into the kitchen and struggles to compose himself as he listens to the world’s only consulting detective move something around near the kettle.
John opens his eyes as his coat—the black one with the shiny patches on the elbows and the right shoulder is placed on his shoulders and finds a cup of tea sitting in front of him. His hands are still shaking slightly but he manages to pick up the cup and take a small sip… it’s just the way he likes it, with just the right amount of milk and sugar.
The “high functioning sociopath” is sitting across from John, looking down at his cup of tea as if he can deduce some deep dark secret from the liquid. John opens his mouth, intending to say something, but decides not to. He turns his attention back to his tea, allowing the silence and the strangely simple comfort of Sherlock’s presence.
Two weeks later John calls Sarah to cancel a date— he’s at a crime scene, standing next to Detective Inspector Lestrade as Sherlock almost crawls around on his hands and knees, using his magnifying glass to peer at something as he mutters under his breath. John intends to cancel their planned dinner date and reschedule at some later time… but before he can even say hello Sarah starts talking.
“Look John…” Sarah sighs. “I think—I think we should see other people.”
“Okay.” He replies. “That’s fine with me.”
John hangs up before Sarah can say anything else but, strangely enough, finds that he isn’t angry —in fact he’s mostly just surprised that Sarah managed to put up with him (… to be honest that should be “with him and Sherlock”) for so long.
As John shoves his phone back into a pocket Greg shifts slightly. “Sarah all right?” The DI asks.
“We just broke up.” John replies with a shrug as Sherlock abandons his inspection of the body and races over to the two of them, a satisfied smirk on his face as he starts explaining his deductions.
Over the next week Sarah calls him twice. The first time her call goes to voicemail because John is busy pulling him and Sherlock out of the Thames and forgets to check his phone until several hours later, when the case is solved and the two men are sitting in their kitchen at Baker Street eating (well in Sherlock’s case picking at) Chinese food. In her message Sarah politely informs John that he doesn’t need to quit working at the clinic just because they’ve broken up. After she says this there is a moment of strained silence, but before she can say anything more the message ends.
Part of John thought that he should quit—Sarah might say that their breakup wont’ effect their working relationship, but common sense (and experience) told him otherwise. The problem is that it was hard enough to find the clinic job in the first place since, for some reason, prospective employers tended to be intimidated by John’s CV, especially when they realized the man sitting in front of them had been in the army. There’s also the issue of finding a job that won’t interfere too much with Sherlock’s cases which, although infrequent, could probably support the two of them… but John doesn’t know how to broach that possibility with the world’s only consulting detective. To be perfectly honest John is still trying to figure out why Sherlock was looking for a flatmate in the first place, since he never seems to be short on cash.
The day after Sarah calls for the first time John is walking to work, unsure if he’s going to quit, when he sees a familiar black car with “Anthea” standing next to the rear door, looking down at her phone.
“So who are you today?” John asks.
She glances up at him for a second before she continues texting with one hand and opens the door of the car with the other. “It’s Thalia today.”
As usual John wonders why not-Anthea changes her name so often as he climbs into Mycroft’s car, wondering why the older Holmes brother has decided to abduct him again. Not-Anthea sits down across from him, still completely focused on her cell phone and the car starts to drive away.
Mycroft doesn’t abduct John all that often, all things considered—in fact ever since the Pool the “minor government official” has instead just shown up at Baker Street. If Mycroft wants to talk to John then he will and both of them will ignore Sherlock, who always pouts an bangs things around in the kitchen while occasionally insulting Mycroft. If he wants to talk to his brother then Mycroft and Sherlock will sit in the armchairs and verbally spar while John watches from the couch and tries not to laugh. When Mycroft either needs or wants Sherlock to take a case then he gives John the files as Sherlock tortures his violin.
But for some reason Mycroft is reverting back to his old habits, at least for today. The empty darkened factory isn’t the same one where John originally met the elder Holmes, but it is remarkably similar, although Mycroft hasn’t bothered to drag out a chair this time.
“I understand you’ve broken up with Miss Sawyer.” Mycroft remarks, casually leaning on his umbrella as John emerges from the car and moves to stand in front of him.
“How? —no, never mind.” John sighs, resisting the urge to run a hand through his hair. “So why am I here Mycroft?”
“Well John, I was rather hoping you would reconsider my offer.” Mycroft replied.
“Your offer?” John blinks.
“Sherlock’s schedule—or rather his lack of one—makes a ‘normal’ job rather difficult, doesn’t it?” Mycroft remarks as he reaches into the inner pocket of his suit jacket and pulls out a piece of paper that John quickly identifies as a check. “I understand that you are uncomfortable with anything resembling spying, so I am very simply proposing that you become Sherlock’s blogger and doctor full time.”
“You know I’ll tell Sherlock.”
“And if I’m not mistaken Sherlock did berate you for turning me down last time.” Mycroft smirks slightly, shifting his weight off the umbrella as he holds the check out to John.
“Well this time I’ll just have to split the fee with him.” John replies, taking one step forward and taking the check from Mycroft.
As John tucks the check safely in a pocket Mycroft absentmindedly swings his umbrella around in a lazy circle and glances over at not-Anthea for a second. “If you prefer I can arrange your… departure from the clinic to Miss Sawyer.”
“You know I’ve got a phone.” John replies, looking back over his shoulder at the black car. “But I’ll take a ride back to Baker Street.”
When John returns to 221B Sherlock, who is still wearing his pajamas and dressing gown is slouched in his armchair, his violin sitting in his lap while he fiddles with the bow in his hands. He doesn’t look up as John steps inside and removes his coat.
“What did Mycroft want?” Sherlock asks, picking up the violin and positioning it as if he’s about to play.
Instead of answering John pulls out the check.
“So I’m thinking we use this to pay rent and then buy something completely ridiculous… any suggestions?”
Sherlock blinks, his eyes narrow as he looks at the check and then he laughs and the smile on his face is nothing less than radiant.
Two days later, after Sherlock and John have paid their rent, bought groceries and started narrowing down the very long list of ridiculous things they can buy with what remains of Mycroft’s check, Sarah calls John for the second—and the last—time.
When his phone rings John is walking between the kettle in the kitchen and the couch, where Sherlock is in a sort of controlled sprawl with John’s computer on his lap and his feet up on the coffee table. John sits down on the small part of the couch that Sherlock isn’t taking up and sets his tea on the table in front of him before he pulls out his phone.
“Hello?”
“John.” He recognizes her voice almost instantly. “Do you really want to do this?”
John pauses, unsure of what exactly he should say. Apparently Sarah doesn’t expect an answer, because she keeps talking.
“You’re a talented doctor and a great guy and I like you, I really do… but not when you’re around him.”
“When I’m around him?” It takes all of John’s willpower not to growl those words.
“It’s like you’re a soldier again, like bloody Sherlock Holmes is leading you into battle.” John can hear Sarah’s footsteps, she’s pacing as she speaks and getting dangerously close to screaming at him. “He’s a nutcase John! One of these days he is going to get you—and a lot of people killed… and you just follow him without question!”
“Goodbye Sarah.” John doesn’t even try to stop himself from growling. He ends the call and all but slams his phone down on the coffee table, glaring at it and seriously considering chucking the damn thing across the room if Sarah calls back.
It’s at that moment that he remembers that Sherlock is sitting next to him. Dreading what the least tactful person in the world will say, John turns towards his flatmate… only to find that Sherlock is still typing away at the computer, as if he hadn’t just heard John all but scream at his ex-girlfriend.
“Oh look John, we could get Anderson an adult sized dinosaur costume.” Sherlock suggests, moving the computer so that John can see the costumes which he’s found online.
“You do realize that we’d technically be getting Anderson a present?” John asks, taking the computer away from Sherlock so he can check the latest comments on his blog.
“Good point…” Sherlock replies, leaning back and steepling his fingers. “Although the Loch Ness one would match his police scrubs.”
John coughs and almost spits out his tea as he laughs at the mental image of Anderson wearing a Loch Ness Monster costume instead of his blue protective suit. For a second Sherlock just smirks, but then the two are laughing together, giggling like a pair of schoolgirls.
They eventually decided to go to Angelo’s for dinner. The waitress puts them at the same table they’d sat during their first case together and even pulls out another candle and sets it in the center of the table. Instead of protesting that they’re not a couple John just sighs, rolls his eyes and asks Sherlock what he recommends off the menu.