CHAPTER FIVE

In These Arms ~ Bon Jovi

Pairing: Johnlock

Rating: T

Genre: Romance, angst, fluff.

2010

He grasps his lover's hand; it is cool to the touch, his long fingers gracefully wrapping around his own tanned ones. They are lying flat on the ground, staring at the sun above them, just being for once in their chaotic lives. Enjoying the feel of the soft grass beneath them, sharing body heat, quietly holding tightly to each other.

"It really is just us, against the world, isn't it?" he breathes. His companion chuckles lightly.

"So full of romantic clichés, John," he retorts, rolling his head to meet his gaze. The icy-grey stare meets deep blue, both full of an emotion that the doctor had never thought he would see in this great man's eyes. "But yes. I doubt anyone else would have me, do you?"

"More fool them," he snorts.

2011

That feeling, in the pit of his stomach. In his heart. In his throat. A constant, aching nausea, a crippling grief, a refusal to accept that, once again, he is alone. Sherlock has left him broken and shattered, a wreck, worse than he ever was before he met him.

"But he was worth it, John," Mrs Hudson soothes him, perched beside him on their sofa. Their sofa. Only he is not here to sit with him anymore, to sprawl across his lap, to rest his feet on him, to wrestle him for the TV remote. Now it is just John's sofa. A place for grief and despair.

"How could he leave me?" John mumbles, his head in his hands, vaguely aware of his landlady's comforting words. "How could he do this to me? I never thought he was a fraud. Surely he knew that."

She has no words, for she too cannot understand how that ridiculous man could leave John, force him to carry on without him. She can only offer him tea, biscuits, a friendly ear, the odd hug. She cannot give him the answers he so desperately needs.

2013

He rises up from the armchair, and it's as if nothing has changed.

Except everything, everything, has changed.

"You."

"Hi."

"What the-"

"John, please..."

"Get out. Get out now."

"John, let me explain-"

"GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY FLAT."

"This is my flat John, be reasonable!"

"Be reasonable?! You've turned up after two years of being DEAD, and you want ME to be reasonable? Get out, now."

"John, where will I go?"

"You didn't allow me to worry about that for the past two years, so why the hell should I start now?"

"He'll come round," Molly assures him, curled up in her ridiculously pink armchair with a ridiculously fat cat on her lap. "It'll be the shock."

Sherlock bites his lip, running back over the brief but volatile exchange. "He hates me."

"He could never understand how you left him, Sherlock. It killed me not to be able to tell him. You need to explain why."

"He won't listen to me."

Molly smiles sadly. "He'll struggle to avoid a text."

Snipers trained on you, Mrs Hudson and Lestrade. Moriarty was going to have you killed unless I jumped. SH.

Spent the last two years breaking down his criminal network and getting rid of anyone who irked me. Started with the idiots that were ready to blow your head off. SH.

I saved your life, John, you could at least say thank you. SH.

I know you've read these texts. Mycroft showed me how Read Reports work. SH.

Molly's flat smells weird. I think it's all the cats. SH.

Oh come on John, it's been two days, surely you're not still mad at me? SH.

Apparently that was a stupid thing to say. Evidently it takes longer than a few days to get over the shock of finding out that you're no longer a widower. SH.

Well, obviously we weren't married, but you know what I mean. SH.

Lestrade turns up at Molly's flat, looking an odd mixture of stern but delighted to see Sherlock.

"I know about the snipers," he begins, before Sherlock can say anything. "John told me. Thank you."

Sherlock shrugs, draped despondently over a chair. His hair hasn't been tamed since his return from lands unknown, and it gives him a nomadic look. Greg notes the dull sadness in his eyes, and feels a momentary jolt of pity for his friend.

"He'll come round, you know."

"Why does everyone say that?" Sherlock glances up at him. "What can I do, Graham? You know how emotionally backwards I can be. I just want things back the way they were with John. I thought he'd be delighted to see me, but he still hasn't contacted me and it's been two weeks," he complains.

Greg sighs, ignoring Sherlock's error, and seats himself on the rather comfortable couch. "He feels let down, Sherlock," he says, watching the consulting detective for any sign to stop talking, but none is forthcoming. "You should have got word to him much sooner than you were okay. He thinks the fact that you didn't means you don't care for him as much as he thought you did."

Sherlock leaps from his chair, suddenly agitated. "That is preposterous!" he exclaims. "I purposely avoided contacting him, knowing it would place him in greater danger. I knew he was being watched, any sign that John knew something about my 'death' that meant all was not as it seemed, and he would have been kidnapped and interrogated. If I didn't care about him, I'd have dragged him along with me to help, and risked endangering his life!"

Greg shrugs. "Not me you should be telling, mate," he says.

Sherlock throws his hands up in frustration and flops back onto the chair. "He won't listen to me. And apparently he's changed the locks on the doors, so I can't even get into the flat now. Unless I broke in, which probably wouldn't go down too well."

An idea pops into Greg's head. "Look, I'll think of a way to get you two together, get you talking," he promises. "I'll have to trick him, and he'll probably hate me, but hopefully it'll be worth it."

Utmost privacy has been guaranteed. Greg has locked them in his office and informed them that he's not letting them out until they've made up, or one of them is dead. John is angry, really angry, and Sherlock waits it out, knowing there is no point in saying anything until at least some of the ire has been expelled.

"I am going to kill you both," he growls, after several minutes of yelling obscenities through the door, pacing the floor. "I can't believe I fell for this."

"John, you need to listen to what I have to say," Sherlock attempts, but is met with a furious glare.

"Oh really? Why do I need to do anything, hmm? Why should I have anything to do with you ever again?" His eyes are blazing, and Sherlock feels temporarily nervous. "You broke my heart, Sherlock. You completely failed to take my feelings into account. You might have saved my life but you might as well have not done, given your actions afterwards. I was effectively dead from the moment you 'died'."

"You think I didn't care?" Sherlock rounds on him suddenly now, moving around the desk to face John directly. The tension is approaching unbearable levels, sparks flying between the pair of them - and not the good kind. John looks like he seriously wants to carry out his earlier threat, and Sherlock is frustrated at John's absolute refusal to pay him any heed. "I saved your life and then ensured that it continued to be saved by not telling you the truth. If you knew, then Moriarty's crew would have been able to tell. You'd have been taken in, interrogated, tortured, probably even killed for any information."

John says nothing, just staring at him. Sherlock takes the opportunity to continue, trying to remember Molly and Lestrade's advice.

"John, look at me. Look at me properly." John stares as Sherlock's eyes flicker dangerously, his lips parted slightly, breathing a little more heavily than normal. "You want to know that I care about you, that I love you, that I am committed to you and to us. Can you not see it? Can you not tell how much I want you, how much I need you, how much the last two years destroyed me?"

John continues to stare, clearly not expecting such an outburst from Sherlock. Sherlock sighs, dropping to his knees in front of John, desperate to try anything to convey how much he feels.

"Hey, you can't-"

"Don't be ridiculous, John," Sherlock snaps, banishing any sort of lewd idea John might have had. He grabs his hand and stares up at him, as earnestly as he can. "If you'll have me back, John, I'll spend the rest of whatever time we have left proving to you how much I love you. I literally did give my life for you - or so Moriarty thought - and I don't care what you say, I'd do it again. And I'd do it for real, too." John starts, about to interrupt, but Sherlock shakes his head. "I would. I would give anything at all for you." He smiles slightly. "If you'd let me come back today, let me hold you again, I would do anything."

He rests his head against John's stomach, closing his eyes and noting that John does not move away. This has to be a good sign, he thinks to himself. An even better sign is when he feels a tentative hand in his hair, fingers tugging gently at his wayward curls, and he instinctively nuzzles into the touch, desperate for more. He feels John's hand move down to cup his chin and lift it up towards him, but Sherlock stands, feeling suddenly rather self-conscious about the position he is in.

John is now looking up at him again, his face unreadable. Sherlock sighs, and waits for the onslaught.

It is a different onslaught to what he is expecting, as John's body is suddenly pressed against his, arms around him and hands pressed into his back, and John leans up to capture Sherlock's mouth in a gentle but somehow still passionate kiss. Their lips bump haphazardly together, and Sherlock can taste that familiar John flavour - tea, and a residual mint from his toothpaste. He clutches John closer to him, desperate to prolong the embrace, wanting to catalogue every little movement, terrified it'll be their last, worried that John will still want nothing more to do with him. John's lips part slightly and Sherlock takes the opportunity to slowly move his tongue along the opening, enjoying the feeling of John's moan against his mouth at the touch.

This is what he's missed, this is what he's been living for, for the past two years - knowing that he had this to come home too. And now he's so scared that it's going to be taken away from him, and he doesn't want to ever let go of the best thing that's ever happened to him, the one and only person who ever made him feel like maybe he was actually a human being, and not some unemotional robot.

"Sherlock," John breathes against him, touching his nose against his. "I... that was amazing."

Sherlock quirks an eyebrow, surprised. "It was?"

John shakes his head slightly, in wonder as opposed to denial. "I never... I couldn't expect you to be so open with me, I guess," he says, trying to explain. "I spent two years believing you were dead, and now I've just spent two weeks thinking you cared nothing for me and never did, and now..." He stares at him in amazement, the two of them locked in a moment, unable to break away.

"The only thing that kept me going for the last two years was knowing that I was coming back to you, to our lives together," Sherlock whispers, then can't stop the little grin appearing on his face. "Us against the world, remember?"

John snorts and punches Sherlock lightly on the arm. "You git."

"Romantic."

"Tosser."

"Brilliant."

"Sociopath."

"Hey." Sherlock feigns a hurt look, and John smirks, moving back into his arms, allowing Sherlock to rest his chin on top of his head, wrapping his arms around him.

"Can I come back?" Sherlock asks, a little timidly. "I really, really don't like cats."

Out in the main office, Greg grins at Sally, who can't help smiling back, as peals of laughter ring out from his locked room.

Hello! Finally updated this with an idea that had been swimming around after listening to this song on repeat (my two year old has decided that he is now a Bon Jovi fan, so I thought it could at least contribute to this drabble series). Anyway, please review, and please, please, send me any requests.