Chapter Text
John looked around the bedroom Sherlock occupied, or rather, used to occupy. He was not sure if the man was coming back anytime soon. Though his heart shattered into pieces whenever he thought so he knew it was better to be hit by the truth than a bunch of self-propagated lies. Ignorance was not always bliss.
After that call with Mary he had rushed back to Sherlock’s room only to find it empty. The bathroom was also empty. There were no signs of Sherlock anywhere. The detective had left the flat while John was on the call.
He had called Sherlock’s number instantly but the number was unreachable. He called the next alternative number, Mycroft’s private number, but the man texted back saying he was in an important meeting with the Queen and it would take him some time to return the call. John cursed himself for not keeping Jim Moriarty’s number before it occurred to him that maybe Sherlock was at Mrs. Hudson’s. So he had rushed over to her place, ignoring the late hour, and knocked on the door. To his surprise there was no response. Frustrated, John was about to turn back to his own flat when he saw a rather startled Mrs. Hudson walking out of the elevator, eyes on him.
“What’s the matter John?”
A bit cautiously he said, “Is Sherlock….I mean did you see him downstairs?”
“No. Isn’t he with you?”
“Of course not, why else would I be asking you this?’
His tone was more curt than he would have liked and her eyes widened slightly at that. But Mrs. Hudson being Mrs. Hudson, she paid scant attention to his tone and said in her usual affectionate, soft manner, “Oh don’t you worry. Probably you two had a little domestic…..again. He will come back home when he has blown off that steam. Or maybe you can call him or text him, just say sorry. Sorry works every time.”
No it doesn’t, not when the mistake is unpardonable.
“Yes sure,” John said and walked back into the flat. He spent an agonizing night, awake and wondering whatever the hell was going on, repeatedly trying Sherlock’s number and reaching his voice mail every single time. He thought about leaving a message but knowing Sherlock it would only annoy the detective more, so he held back. Whatever they had to discuss was best done face to face.
Eventually Mycroft called around 6 am.
“Mike? Oh thank God you called, I wanted to know…..”
Mycroft interrupted him quite uncharacteristically. He had always been a very good listener and his impeccable manners prevented him from cutting off someone/anyone in the middle of a sentence, unless it was some kind of an emergency of course. “John, what kind of medication, I mean over the counter meds can I buy and administer to someone who has an ear ache due to a cold?”
John was stunned into speechlessness. Here he was, out of his mind, anxious and desperate to find out where Sherlock was, and there was Mycroft, totally unconcerned by his tone and voice, his earlier call, and talking about some stupid ear ache……. Or that was what he thought until Mycroft added more to his unusual question. “I just came back home and found Jim writhing in pain. He had a flu which he threw off, but it was a very bad one and the cold was heavy and gave him a severe chest congestion and sinusitis. It seems he always had this ENT problem; heavy colds always turn into an ear infection for him. I…. I can’t…. I have never seen him in pain, can you please help?”
In a mere blink of an eyelid John changed his opinion. No, this was not Mycroft being cold and heartless. It was Mycroft being warm and caring. He was just like any husband concerned about their suffering partner and looking for the easiest and fastest way of relief for them. Jim’s condition was not life-threatening or even bordering on it, but ear aches could be nasty, even in adults. Mycroft was suffering because Jim was suffering.
This was love.
A love he could have shared with Sherlock and missed his boat. He blew it. Fuck, he felt so stupid, useless and like a total loser.
“John?”
“Yeah, I will text you the names of two sets of meds, one is an antibiotic to kill the infection. 500 MG tablets, three times a day for five days. The second one is a pain killer and also a mild sedative. Give that to him twice a day for two days. After that there should be no pain. Also, I’ll text the name of an ear drop solution. It’s a soothing disinfectant. Use it on both ears, even the one that is not aching. Just in case.”
“Thank you John, thank you. Is Sherlock asleep?”
Whatever John wanted to ask Mycroft afterwards got killed right there. Obviously Mycroft knew nothing about Sherlock at all.
The problem was he couldn’t really call Sherlock’s parents. If they hadn’t heard from Sherlock they’d end up freaking out. Not fair to do that to two people in their mid-sixties. He couldn’t call Lestrade either. No station took any action on a missing person unless 24 hours had lapsed.
Plus this was Sherlock. No one was going to take him seriously if he said Sherlock had left the flat and gone somewhere without informing him. The great detective was notorious for disappearing for days, sometimes weeks. After John had started living with him, those cases had become few and far between but even then, they did occur at times. If he called the DI he would be simply laughed off.
John sighed as he weighed his options. Now it was up to him to find Sherlock and bring him back home. He wasn’t going to get any help, at least not right away.
***
After two days John was at the end of his wits. He didn’t know what to do, who to go to (without making it awkward or being asked a thousand questions) and how to find Sherlock. He had barely eaten or slept during this time, he had not even taken a bath. He knew he was stinking, dirty and repulsive in his unwashed state but he just didn’t care. But after today, he had to care. The weekend was over and he had to resume work tomorrow, therefore he had to wash up, dress properly, eat something, be presentable. Oh no, he had to do his quota of surgeries therefore he had to sleep as well.
Sleeping on that bed without Sherlock? No!
He looked around. Sherlock’s clothes were scattered everywhere. A suitcase and a duffel were missing. He had clearly returned to the flat when John was not around, packed a few items and left again. Was that for good? There were still many, many items of Sherlock’s lying around. But if John knew his lover/friend, he was aware Sherlock could do without all those items or just buy them again. Thanks to John and his interventions on Sherlock’s finances, the detective had a neat sum tucked away in accounts and investments that Mycroft had no visibility to. He could rebuild his whole life and no one would be any wiser.
“John?”
John jumped. No, it couldn’t be! “Mary?” He croaked.
She stood there like an angel, looking horrified at his condition and the general condition of the flat. But at the same time she was sympathetic towards him and didn’t seem judgmental or disappointed. She was there as a friend, he could easily tell that.
Shame and remorse engulfed him. He had wronged her too. I am such a wretch! “Why didn’t you tell me?” She asked, “Just stay put there, I will get you some water. Your lips are dry and cracked. You are dehydrated and starving, for Christ’s sake.”
John tried to get up, tried to speak, but a groan escaped him and he fell back on the bed, everything spinning around him. “Please,” she rushed up to him, “I said, stay put, I’ll be back.”
John wanted to protest but he couldn’t. He was too weak, too saddened, too confused to do anything but just lie there disoriented and ashamed and hurting, guts cramping up, head spinning, throat so dry he felt sandpaper was stuffed in there. So he lay there until Mary returned. On a tray she had two tall glasses of water, a cup of tea with milk, a sugar dusted cookie and a banana.
His first instinct was to refuse but she was being kind, being caring, there was no way he could hurt her any more than he already had.
The first glass of water went down incredibly well. It felt like a burning fire in his stomach had cooled down. The second one was equally good and finally that parched throat problem seemed to be over. Mary pushed the sugar cookie, saying ‘You need a sugar rush in this state’, which John agreed to. As a doctor he knew she was doing the right things. Masochism had taken over and he was hesitant in eating anything after that cookie but it felt so Goddamn good with something finally getting into his stomach that he couldn’t refuse. By and by he finished the banana and finally drank the tea. All along, Mary just sat there, patient and watchful, not saying a word or asking anything.
Finally, when she got up to take the tray away, he grabbed her hand. She paused, still holding the tray, and gave him a curious look. There was a half-smile on her face but he could tell she was also holding back. She knew something, she was on to something. He had to apologize to her before the situation got as bad as it had with Sherlock.
“I am sorry…..”
“Yes?”
“Yeah. I bet you wanna know what for.”
“No, I already do.”
“….??....!!”
“We will talk. But first, use the washroom, at least brush your teeth and wash your hands and face, get out of these clothes. I will get you PJs and a clean set of underwear out.”
“Oh….kay.”
Five minutes later he emerged from the bathroom in a robe to find the bed made, the curtains open, the lights dimmed and most of the things on the floor picked up. There was a lavender scent in the room. Mary had done some customary clean-up and used an air-freshener. He felt very grateful towards her. He also felt terribly sleepy. He could barely keep his eyes open or his mouth shut. Several yawns popped up one after the other.
“What…..?” He asked, consciousness fading, “What did you g-givvmeee?” As a doctor he knew what it must feel like to be drugged, though he couldn’t say it was anything dangerous. He felt no pain or discomfiture, only extreme grogginess.
“Sleeping pill,” Mary said, pulling the covers up around him, “You need to sleep or you’ll collapse. If that happens there’s no way you’ll be able to look for Sherlock.”
***
John woke up feeling so refreshed it seemed like he had been reborn overnight. The sun was shining and the room was nice and warm, breezy and comfy. He was not sure exactly when he’d fallen asleep but it felt so amazingly good to have finally got some rest, whatever number of hours they were, that he knew he was ready to take on the world again. He sat up, rubbing his eyes and smiling, temporarily in the same happy head space he inhabited until a few days earlier. He reached out to the other side of the bed, “Sherl, wake up, I think we might have overslept….I have definitely overslept…..”
Then he realized the truth he was assuming was something he had destroyed with his own hands.
A sadness that was at once debilitating and heartbreaking enveloped him and he fell back on his pillow, his mouth curling downwards and his eyes fluttering shut. Sherlock! All he could remember was the way he had hit the man, struck him right across the face and made him fall sharply on the floor. How God awful he had been, what a butcher, a bloody abuser. He would have wallowed in that self-pity and self-loathing for hours but the sound of the door opening and someone entering the room thankfully brought him out of his aggrieved zone. At least for a few moments.
“You’ve slept fourteen hours,” said the very familiar and pleasant female voice, “I can see it did your body a world of good but you’re still sulking and brooding and stewing in your emotions like a scorned man on a pity-fest.”
He felt the need to acknowledge the support his girlfriend had provided. First that, then anything else. “Thank you Mary.”
“Hmmm, you’re awake.”
“I-I am….you know what happened?”
“No, but I do know you’ve been behaving like a madman. Mrs. Hudson called me. I did some probing around and figured out Sherlock is missing. Or at least you think he is.”
John’s eyes snapped open and he gave her a shocked look, “That means….that means he is not? Do you know where he is?”
“Not really but I know someone who might know,” Mary stated, startling John. “But how,” John asked, “How would you even know?”
She took a deep breath and served him some tea and sandwiches in bed. Her face didn’t betray any emotions she felt inside, but John could see the indifferent body language and knew she was here as a friend, only a friend. She no longer seemed interested in him as a partner. It felt liberating. At least she was taking the initiative of setting him, and herself, free. Had she clung on, he would have messed up again. He simply didn’t have the strength in him right now to fight anyone, to make them stay or ask them to go away. “John,” Mary began after a long moment of silence, “I don’t know for sure but I am quite certain we can find out. If he’s left in an emotionally distressed state, then the first person he’d have turned to would be a friend.”
John felt a lump in his throat. “He-he doesn’t have any friends.”
“Except you?”
“Y-Yeah.”
“Don’t be so sure. During these moments people reach out to childhood friends, friends from an earlier time, or even an ex they are still on friendly terms with. If we talk to his brother, we will figure out who such friends or an ex might be.” She paused and gave him a quizzical look, “But before we even get there, is there something you wish to share with me? I think you do, don’t you?”
John’s hands shook on the tea cup. No point in denying. But he couldn’t form the words.
“John, why didn’t you tell me?”
“T-Tell you what?”
“You know what I mean. You have always known. Initially you may not have been sure but maybe over the past six or seven months it’s become such an integral part of your life, you can’t do without it, without him. Cutting off that part would only reduce you to half.”
Her eyes were glassy with unshed tears. She didn’t seem spiteful but there was a sadness in her eyes and that stabbed at John’s heart. “I don’t want only half of a man. No John.”
John hung his head in shame. After screwing up with Sherlock, he didn’t want to do the same with Mary. He wanted to protect her. She had proved to be a good friend and support, the least he could do in return was give her the truth and his unconditional apology. “I was afraid to lose you,” he began sincerely, “I did love you and I still do….”