Summary:

"No, Harry," John said more firmly. He needed her to shut the hell up before he lost the nerve to tell her. He gave her a stern look. "This isn't a crush, I–"

God, this was so bloody difficult. To say it out loud for the first time after feeling this for years, after denying and then accepting it and then losing everything... To say it out loud after living through the best and the worst and even then to feel so deeply, so completely. It was embarrassing, it was ridiculous.

But most of all, it was the truth. He owed himself that."

CHAPTER 23

John had no idea of what he was doing there.

He rubbed his thumb on the glass of water and sighed.

It wasn't as if he was completely avoiding Sherlock.

They had even had dinner the previous night, opting to ignore the elephant in the room that sat between them both since the previous morning. John had sat in his armchair holding the plate in his hand and willing it not to shake. Sherlock had seemed more relaxed than he had in a long time, and John tried to convince himself that it didn't make any difference if he was the reason or not.

So it wasn't as if they were completely running from what had happened the day before, with him almost spelling out for Sherlock that he wished to come back home...

It wasn't like that.

But John couldn't deny he had gladly accepted Harry's invitation for lunch. It gave him something to do in the hours before he had to pick Mary up at the airport other than pine after Sherlock.

Never mind it had been years since he last saw her in person – at least since Sherlock had come back from the dead. John could try to persuade himself that the two weren't correlated, but he knew it would be useless. He could just imagine Harry's face when she learned that the detective had faked the whole thing. He had been to afraid to actually face her after everything.

Even if they weren't the most loving siblings, Harry had always been a bit overprotective. Maybe something that came with being the older one. Mycroft definitely showed the same characteristics.

He looked around the restaurant. There were a few people scattered around, most of them engrossed in their phones. His sister had suggested it and John hadn't put much thought into it, but right now he felt a bit gloomy waiting for her.

John sipped his water lazily, trying not to fidget in his seat. His sister was ten minutes late, but then that was nothing. He tried to give her some credit, even though it was difficult after the many times John had waited uselessly for her.

He stretched his back and neck to dissipate the cloud of thoughts. Harriet was better now. She had apparently put her life together after decades of alcohol abuse and heartbreak, if Facebook could be trusted.

John snorted to himself. What a pathetic excuse for a brother was he that he had to rely on Facebook to know about his sister? And why?

Because he was afraid of the talk. Harry was terribly fond of talks about feelings – things that John chose to ignore most of the time.

Right now, however, even that dreadful talk with sister seemed better than awkwardly tiptoeing around Sherlock while torn between kissing him and punching him in the face.

Yes, there were still those random moments in which John wanted to punch Sherlock in the face. For leaving, for coming back... Hell, for asking for Mike's mobile phone in the first place!

John squeezed his eyes shut and tried not to groan too loudly. He could already feel the headache he would nurture the whole day.

"Well, you look like shit," Harry said, throwing herself on the chair across from John and dumping at least half a dozen shopping bags on the one next to her.

Years without seeing each other and this was how she chose to announce herself. Delightful.

John scowled at her. "Nice to see you too, Harry."

"Yes, yes, nice to see me," she dismissed while rearranging herself in her seat. "Wish I could say the same. It's been years, John!" She tutted at him.

Honest to god, she tutted. It was adolescence all over again. The thought was irksome.

"I know," he said sincerely. "I've been busy...?" He tried.

Harry snorted and raised an eyebrow at him. She was insufferable like this.

He rolled his eyes. "I'm sorry, alright?"

She looked so smug; John had the irrational feeling he should complain to their mother.

Harriet looked well rested; her skin looked smooth, no trace of the sickly colour she used to have. He could smell her perfume from across the table, nothing like the smell of alcohol that he had come to expect of her after years of being around her worst.

John smiled despite himself. It was a great look on her. "You look good," he said. And it wasn't exactly fond, but it was a near thing.

She smiled back, eye crinkles and all. She seemed happy. "Flattery will get you places, Johnny, you keep that up," she giggled and squeezed his hand. "It is good to see you again. But you do look like shit." And she didn't sound apologetic at all. Damn her.

John sighed. Here they go. He considered what he could say.

"Yes, well," he cleared his throat. "Bad night."

"How is Mary?" She asked distractedly while choosing her order.

John wasn't fooled for a second. She might be hiding behind the menu, but he knew she was fishing for something. He wasn't too bothered, though, he knew he had no escape. He didn't know if he wanted one to begin with. It might be good to talk to someone. Not that anything could help John in any way. He was in love with someone who didn't love him back and a wedding just around the corner. Wedding which he had to cancel as soon as possible.

His life was great.

"She's been in Ireland for the past couple of weeks," he answered vaguely. "I'm picking her at Heathrow tonight, in fact."

They both placed their orders; John feeling too exposed without the menu between him and Harry's soft eyes. She had beautiful blue eyes, a bit lighter than his own. He couldn't stop another smile from shaping his lips. Harry had been through so much and here she was, beautiful and centred. In the depths of his brain John could admit that he felt a bit proud of her. Not that he had any right to.

"Travelling about while planning your wedding? Talk about multitasking." She raised an eyebrow.

John could feel the smile melting off his lips. The mention of the wedding reaffirmed that it would be impossible not to say anything about it. John couldn't sit here across from his sister and lie through his teeth about a ceremony he didn't even want.

Well, he could. But he found that he didn't want to. Not exactly.

Harry looked at him knowingly. Maybe she didn't know exactly how fucked John was, but she surely knew something was up.

"I'm waiting," she said, sipping the water the waiter had just put in front of her. Patience had never been her strong suit.

John let his own shoulders slump down and rubbed his face. God.

"I'm so fucked, Harry," he sighed. It was as good a summary as any.

"Oh, John," she said, patting his hand. "That is an understatement," and now she did sound apologetic at least. But not surprised, which, okay.

"You have to talk to her as soon as possible, it's not fair," she said, looking at him intently. John had absolutely no idea how the fuck she was already giving him advice before he had even told her anything.

"What?" He asked mostly to give himself some time. Yes, he knew, he had to talk to Mary.

Fuck, now that would be a nice conversation.

Harry rolled his eyes at him. "You were never going to marry her, John. We both know that."

John sputtered at her words. That wasn't true.

"I was going to marry her, of course I was, I loved her!" He defended himself, realising only after catching the movement on the corner of Harry's mouth that he the past tense had sneaked up on him. Great.

"Maybe," Harry hummed. And that was just outrageous, really. How could she possibly…?

"You can't know anything about this, you mainly followed everything via Facebook, it's not a reliable source. You don't know anything about Mary," he argued.

"No," she agreed. "I know about you, though," she said while fixing him with a paralysing stare.

She was fierce. It was good to see her so bright and clear headed. But it was also a bit maddening.

"We're fine!" He insisted. "We were fine, we were," and now John didn't know whom he was trying to convince. "But then–"

"Then he came back," she interjected.

John was speechless. Maybe he looked like a pathetic lovesick puppy to those people who were around Sherlock and him all the time, but Harry had never met the detective. She couldn't know that, for god's sake.

They hadn't seen each other in years, was he really that obvious?

"C'mon, John," she smiled. "I know you. All that talk about what-was-his-name after your first tour in the army, are you kidding me?" She laughed. "I'm not the only queer kid in this family."

John frowned at her. "You remember Sholto?" He was surprised, to say the least. He had never known Harry paid that much attention to him.

"Sholto, that was his name," she mused. "Of course I do! You sounded like a kid with his first crush," she shook her head. "Embarrassing. What happened to him?"

God, it was so long ago. "He died in combat, Harriet."

"Oh," she clasped a hand over her mouth. "John, I'm so sorry. I didn't remember that."

"It's alright," he told her, clearing his throat. "It was long ago."

"I can't believe you had to go through that again, I'm so sorry," she whispered. She seemed so moved, it was almost too much for John to handle. "I can't believe that lunatic made you go through that again."

Ah, and there it was. And the worst part was that she had every right to feel outraged on John's behalf.

John himself felt outraged. He had felt so angry for so long. But now he was mollified by the warmth Baker Street that had settled back under his skin.

"Yeah, well," he said awkwardly, drinking his water to push down the lump in his throat. He had mostly been okay about Sherlock's non-death for the last few days, but talking to Harry made everything feel raw. "Sometimes I can't believe it either."

Harry widened her eyes in surprise. Maybe she had not expected John to be so sincere. Well, he was too tired to pretend.

"And here you are, with another embarrassing crush," she said. Soft, so soft. John didn't know if it made things easier or not.

"No," John pushed the denial out of his throat. God, it wasn't a crush. He wished it was.

"Oh, come on, John," she rolled her eyes, misunderstanding him completely. "Are we back on denial?"

"No, Harry," John said more firmly. He needed her to shut the hell up before he lost the nerve to tell her. He gave her a stern look. "This isn't a crush, I–"

God, this was so bloody difficult. To say it out loud for the first time after feeling this for years, after denying and then accepting it and then losing everything... To say it out loud after living through the best and the worst and even then to feel so deeply, so completely. It was embarrassing, it was ridiculous.

But most of all, it was the truth. He owed himself that. He owed Mary that. God, he owed Mary so much.

"I can say it if you think it's going to make it easier. You can just nod along, you know," Harry tried to joke. She had a sympathetic expression on her face, and John felt so fragile. He wasn't used to that. He was too old to get used to that now.

He squared his shoulders and breathed deeply letting the air out through his mouth. It was no use pretending that it wasn't there anymore. That ship had sailed.

"I'm calling the wedding off. I can't," he trailed off. "I can't marry someone else."

Harry was tense in her seat. She laughed breathlessly. "Fuck me! Are you taking him as your spouse, then?"

What.

"What? I–No," he shook his head. She was smiling at him with a knowing look. Oh god, she thought she knew, she thought his love was requited. She didn't know the extent of John's stupidity. "I'm not marrying anyone! I'm spending the rest of my days picking up after a grown man who faked his death and came waltzing back into my life as if nothing had happened, Harry!" The words rushed out of his mouth leaving a sour taste on his tongue. Her smile slipped off her face completely. Well, he could relate. "A man who doesn't feel the same way about me, maybe doesn't feel like that at all. Or maybe he has a boyfriend. It's a possibility now, who knows?"

John rubbed his face and snorted at himself. Yes, he did sound more stupid out loud. He should have kept all that in his head. Some things just didn't belong on the other side of his vocal chords. Some phrases should be kept behind his tonsils.

God, he didn't even have tonsils anymore.

Harry was still gaping at him.

"Stop doing that, you look like a fish," he said.

"Well, fuck me," she said again, as unhelpful as Harry ever was.

He rolled his eyes. "Yes, well, there you go. Thought you'd like to know the whole drama." He was getting restless and snippy and he knew it. It didn't make any sense to close off right now, though. He had accepted to meet, he had wanted it. Maybe it had been a mistake, but it wasn't her fault.

Fortunately the waiter chose that moment to bring their food. John didn't really know how he would swallow it around the lump in his throat, but he was glad for the distraction.

Harry kept stealing glances at him through the whole meal. It should have made him feel worse but it served as a source of comfort. It was all out in the open now, there was no taking it back or laughing it off, there was no counting on Harry's lack of sobriety to forget about it.

"I'm so proud of you, John," she said kindly. "I know how hard it is for you to talk about this. Also, you know, there's the whole penis situation thing. I'm sure you have thought about it," she joked.

John rolled his eyes again, washing down the chicken with a sip of water. "There isn't a closet to come out of, Harry."

"Aw," she pouted. "You're already raining on the parade I was going to throw you. Spoilsport!"

"The penis situation," he quoted. He couldn't believe his sister was almost fifty years old. Who the hell talked like that? "doesn't matter. It never did, I guess." He shrugged. "It is what it is."

She nodded. She understood.

That had never been a problem to John, contrary to the belief of some people around him. He was always shouting about how he wasn't gay – and he wasn't – when people assumed things about Sherlock and him because it was easier, but it just served as an emotional barrier.

"Well, I'm proud of you for the other stuff too," she smiled at him, stabbing a baby carrot with her fork and munching it thoughtfully. "What happens now? Do you know?"

"No," he admitted quietly. He didn't. He'd stick to Mary until Magnussen had been stopped, but then what? John wasn't even sure about what to do. Would distance himself from Mary completely be better for her safety?

Did Sherlock even want him back at Baker Street? He had never said so.

Well, fuck him, John was as entitled to a place under that roof as Sherlock himself.

"I'm hoping to go back home after I sort things out with Mary," John continued after a long moment, choosing to ignore how the word had come out of his mouth so naturally, as if it had been sleeping between his teeth for the past few months.

Also, to sort things out was a nice way of putting it. Nice euphemism for 'break the heart of the person who gave herself completely to me, who agreed to be my partner'. He would do that and then go back home as if nothing had happened.

He felt so guilty. John wasn't used to that either. As much as it embarrassed him to admit, he was used to saving people, not being the reason they fell apart. God, Mary didn't deserve what John was about to do. How would he meet her and pretend that he was still on board for the wedding?

"Hey," Harry offered her hand to him. He took it gladly. "It's terrible and I know you're feeling guilty, John, but it's the right thing to do. She doesn't deserve to be with a person who doesn't love her as much as she loves them, I'm sure you know that."

"It's not that I don't love her," he rushed to say it. And he didn't know why he did it. In some way, he was still trying to save at least something of the memory of what they had. "She is lovely, she is an amazing woman, Harry."

Harry sighed. "I know, Johnny, but that isn't reason enough to marry someone."

"I know."

"I'm glad you finally admitted it to yourself," she said and her tone was much more serious than it had been until now. "It was bloody time."

John just raised an eyebrow.

"Yes, I might not like him," she admitted. "But it doesn't really make any difference for you, does it?" She eyed him purposefully. "You have this glint in your eyes when you think about him, John, I have seen it. Sometimes it's visible even through your blog, that's how strong it is," she gave him a small smile. "I don't know about other people, but I met young John, I know how he looks. I know happy, careless John, and he was never with Mary."

Her words hit John straight in the chest. Breathing became difficult. He didn't know what to say to her. She was right, he knew that now.

It was too much. To think about how John had lost all this years ago and how he had won everything back again. And he didn't want to think that Mary had never stood a chance, it wasn't fair, but at the same time–

"I'm not saying you wouldn't have been happy with her if things were different. If Sherlock had really, you know–" she stopped herself. "But from the moment he came back, I was waiting for you to realise this. I couldn't even help Mary with the preparations. And I wish I could say I'm sorry, but I'm not."

"I didn't even know you talked to her," John said. But then again Mary was planning his wedding with Sherlock's help and he hadn't known that either. Jesus...

"Well, Facebook is helpful sometimes," Harry said vaguely. "She tried to involve me in the wedding preparations, thought I might be of some help, and that she could bring us together." She snorted a bit sadly. "I couldn't do it."

John sat there for a moment picking at the remainder of his food dejectedly. He asked himself if Mary had ever considered it, if she had ever suspected anything. He didn't know what would be worse, to take her completely by surprise or to be told that she knew she was going to lose him all along. His head was heavy while this thoughts banged at the insides of his skull. God, he needed to sleep for a week.

"Do you need a place to stay while you put your head together?" Harry asked.

He smiled at her gratefully. He found he was actually really glad he had agreed to meet his sister after so long. It was still weird being this close to someone who had been distant for a good part of his life, but maybe blood simply couldn't be denied.

"I don't know," he sighed. Maybe it could have been a great idea, but on the top of it all, they still had to deal with the death threats. He couldn't simply dump Mary and run away from their flat.

God, their flat. Their furniture, their cups and teaspoons. Their bathroom, their bed! John was metaphorically setting it all on fire. How could he have been so stupid? They were just a couple of months away of their wedding and here he was, ready to send it all to hell.

"You can stay at my place for as long as you like, Johnny," Harry continued, setting her plate aside. "It's empty anyway. You'd have all the space to yourself."

"Oh?" John frowned. "Have you moved in with..." He cringed. He didn't even know Harry's girlfriend's name.

Harry watched him struggle for a moment. John would swear she took some pleasure in it. "Kat," she finally said, smiling a little.

"Right, Kat. So, have you?"

"Not exactly. We are moving, though," she said, vaguely, smirking a little. She was insufferable sometimes.

"Come off it, what are you hiding?" He laughed. "I know you, you have that mischievous air about you!"

She giggled, fidgeting with her hair that was held high in a bun. "We are moving to Australia!"

"What?" He asked, surprised. "Right now?!"

Harry laughed and John could tell she was giddy to tell him about it. She seemed happy with their plans, so he chose not to dwell on the fact that he had just reconnected with his sister and she was already fucking off to god knew where in Australia.

"Well, Kat received a great job offer in a fashion magazine in Sydney. It's her dream job, she was so happy about it, John," she smiled sweetly. "It wasn't even a matter of if I would join her, it was mostly a matter of when can we leave, you know?"

He nodded. "She tells you to jump, you ask how high," he said. It would be a bit hypocritical of him to say he didn't understand. The last few years of his life had been nothing but following Sherlock.

"Yeah," she sighed. "What we have–" she stopped herself, contemplating what to say. "I never had the chance of this kind of relationship with anyone. I have it now, I am living it now," she smiled. "I'm not fucking this up."

John was a bit entranced by how happy Harry was. She had a glow about her that made John yearn for that kind of happiness, that kind of partnership.

Harry's words resonated in his head, filling his chest with a bittersweet sense of security. It was never Mary.

"Oi, you bloody tit, are you listening to me?" Harry asked, swatting his hand playfully. "Can you stop having a moment cause it's my time to shine here?"

John grinned at her. "You sure are shining."

"I am," she nodded, proudly. "Stupidly in love and all that jazz, Johnny. It's amazing!"

"I'm happy for you, Harry," he smiled at her sincerely. "You deserve this. When will I meet this person who is stealing you away from England?"

She giggled. "Oh, I'm sure our Queen understands," she said, taking her phone out of her purse. "Here," she said, turning the screen towards John. "This is her. Unfortunately, this is the only way you can meet her for now, she is already in Sydney," she handed the phone to John and gestured him to keep scrolling through the pictures. "That is our place there. See, she is unpacking."

John looked down at the screen and thumbed it to pass to the next pictures. In all of them the same red-haired woman smiled at the camera showing off rooms, boxes, the window view and–

"You've got a cat now?" John said, amused, watching the video he had accidentally started to play. Harry had a disastrous history with cats.

"Oh, the things we do for love, John," she sighed dramatically, her face changing quickly into mirth again. "The little shit loves me, I'll have you know. We are a nice family," she said.

Even though her eyes were soft, John could feel the power of that sentence. Harry really had got her life together. It was such a great thing to see, it filled his heart with love for his sister – a love he had overlooked for most of the last few years.

He smiled, squeezing her hand affectionately.

Choosing to meet up with Harry had been the right thing to do.

John held himself tensely against the cab window. In the back of his mind the thought of jumping through the glass didn't seem too crazy. Seemed like a good way to solve his problems.

Sighing, he rubbed his forehead and looked down at the screen of his phone. John tried to convince himself that he was checking the time, but the truth was that Sherlock hadn't contacted him the whole day and it bothered him.

Apparently, after just a few days being back at Baker Street, John was already used to having the detective around most of the time.

It wasn't as if he didn't have reasons to be worried. They were all in danger as far as John was concerned. Just the possibility of not being around when Sherlock could need him –

God, he couldn't even think about that.

He closed his eyes and shook his head. He was too old to grow hysterical right now, he told himself, gloomily. Mycroft would contact him if they needed him.

He looked at his phone again, just to make sure it had service.

The closer the cab got to the airport, the smaller John's heart felt in his chest. He wasn't ready to see Mary again, he wasn't ready to – oh god – kiss her again.

He wasn't ready to break her heart. Or maybe he was and that was exactly the problem.

John had managed to spend the whole day ignoring the fact that he had no idea of how to go about having this conversation with her. He couldn't just blurt out that he didn't want to marry her anymore, it didn't work like that. He was an adult, for God's sake. And what could he say? He couldn't simply tell her the truth.

And would he be able to face her again after all this time and pretend things were the same?

He wouldn't. He knew that much. John was able to keep national secrets while being tortured, but he couldn't lie to save his own arse in a situation like this.

And Mary wasn't stupid. Maybe she would take one look at John and know that something was wrong. He could already see himself trying to make up shitty excuses to justify his behaviour and looking more and more like a complete twat.

Was there any reasonable way to tell her hey we aren't going to get married anymore and hey I'll still live here with you so you aren't killed by a random guy you know nothing about?

"Hey, mate!" The cabbie raised his voice.

John frowned at him.

"We're here," the guy said, sounding annoyed. Maybe it hadn't been the first time he tried to get John to listen to him.

John paid the driver and hopped out of the car. London had become grey and sad, or maybe it was just him.

He sped up his pace until he found the right entrance. He was still a few minutes early, and it was better this way. It gave him some time to prepare himself.

As if he would ever be prepared to this.

"There you are!"

The sweetness of the tone made John cringe instinctively. He thanked God his back was turned.

Fuck, he had thought he had more time.

He took a deep breath and squared his shoulders. This was his life, his happiness. He had to do what he had to do.

"Hi, Mary."

GUESS WHAT.

I'm so embarrassed. I have to thank this person who let this comment down here on my last chapter on ao3:
"Omgosh! Please don't leave it like this! We need a happy ending for our boys! It doesn't matter how long you've been gone. Just come back!"

And they are right. I had this chapter ready but I was embarrassed and so afraid to post it because you know how it goes... So long has passed and I kept getting more and more embarrassed. But then a few weeks ago I felt up for writing and wrote a fanfic in another universe... And writing, it just catches up to me sometimes. So anyway.

John and Sherlock, they deserve that I finish this. The only promise I can make is I WILL MAKE THE EFFORT. I'm a shit. But these two characters, they deserve it.

Thank you, lovely person who was lovely.