milliways_bar | (no subject)

Jim is on a sofa by the Observation Window, reading a thesis he dug out of the library that seems to be comprised entirely of symbols and odd squiggles. Still, he looks relaxed enough to be enjoying it...until he glances up and sees Sherlock by the door. The paper is placed down on the table, and he stands up.

'I do hope that blood isn't yours, darling.'

Sherlock getting shot once was quite enough, thank you.

Sherlock wilts with relief at the sound of his voice, and immediately curls himself against Jim, arms around him, head tucked against his chest.

"Mary's. Mary's dead. Mary--"

He pushes his face harder into Jim's chest.

Hmm.

Jim's initial thought, as he puts his arms around Sherlock and kisses his head, is good.

'Oh. I'm sorry, love. How did that happen? Are you hurt?'

"She was shot. She threw herself in front of the bullet to save me. Jim, she sacrificed herself for me." Sherlock looks up at him. "Why would she do that?"

Equalling things up because she tried to kill him once? Knowing he was more important, and better than she? Subconscious brainwashing from the patriarchy meaning some part of her thought he was the more important? Ingrained self-loathing due to once killing people for a living? Wanting to keep her husband happy? Selflessness?

He says, 'she loved you, Sherlock,' and smooths his hair back off his forehead. 'And people protect what they love on instinct.'

Sherlock squeezes his eyes shut and shakes his head -- in denial, in refusal -- and says, "Hold me. Please hold me. I can't bear this. It's too much."

Jim draws them down to the sofa and pulls Sherlock in close. He's dying of curiousity but of course Sherlock, even in this state, will notice his lack of care if he asks too many callous questions.

'How long ago did this happen? Have you just come straight from...?'

Wherever the death occurred.

Sherlock curls himself into Jim's lap as if he'd make himself into the smallest form possible.

"Just now. Minutes ago. She died in John's arms. Jim, the sounds he made. Like--like--"

Like he wasn't human anymore.

That's a lovely image. He can't think of a person who deserves it more than Watson. Jim absentmindedly strokes Sherlock's hair, finding a pacifying murmur to go with it.
So, Mary jumped in front of a bullet to save Sherlock, and her husband was there to watch it? Lovely.

'Understandable. From what you told me, it did sound like they were happy together.'

"They are. They were. Oh, God, Rosie."

He can't stop trembling.

'Ssh darling, don't think about that now. Not now.'

He waves a rat over and orders a very sweet tea, and a small glass of brandy.

'Why don't you tell me what happened, if you're able.'

Sherlock sits up slowly, still clinging to Jim, still curled into himself. He speaks in a lower, rapid voice as he relates it--amo, the AGRA team, the receptionist, the six Thatcher busts.

It's convoluted and mad, much like the journey Mary took and that Sherlock followed.

Jim doesn't let go of him, keeps stroking him gently as he recounts his tale. It's mad, yes, but so are most of Sherlock's cases in one way or another. His mind is slightly preoccupied with how long Bar must've kept his husband away this time - rude - but of course is not going to bring that up just now.

'Only you could go to a crime scene and notice a missing bust, and have that be the one interesting thing about it.'

Sherlock's so clever. But Vivian Norbury? Heh.

'And I know you won't want to hear this, and may never believe it, but it needs to be said anyway...darling, you didn't do anything wrong, by the sound of it. It's not your fault.'

"But she's dead." Stubbornly. "She shouldn't be dead."

He's not saying that he should be... but he's also not not saying that.

He wants to point out that everyone dies, but again, not the time. He congratulates himself on holding it back, and instead says, 'you have to understand that if it had been you instead, I would be extremely pissed off.'

He's now just pissed off that he never got to kill mary himself for the time she shot Sherlock. But eh, he'll take it. One less thing to do.

'And so would she have been. You dying for her old career, and the mistakes she made? She would've been furious with you. This was her choice and it's not up to anyone to take that away from her.'

Sherlock squeezes his eyes shut again, shaking his head against Jim's shoulder.

"I don't want to die. I never want to leave you." He swallows hard. "But I have to live with her choice now. I have to live with the consequences she's forced upon me. Every part of me hurts because my friend is grieving and my goddaughter is without her mother.

"How am I supposed to live with this, Jim?"

'You will find a way, because you have to. It's as simple as that, really.'

Jim tilt's Sherlock's face up gently, and kisses his mouth.

'And you've got me. I'll help.'

Sherlock kisses him, arms around his neck. "Help me. Please. Make it go away."

'I'll do anything you want, you know that.'

He kisses him again, nice and soft. The rat has delivered the drinks, so he picks up the brandy and pushes it into Sherlock's hand.

'Start with drinking that. It'll help with the shakes.'

Sherlock takes it with a trembling hand and knocks the drink back. He winces and exhales with an, "Oof."

"Thank you." He leans against Jim's side and interlaces their fingers.

Jim kisses his cheek - poor baby, big shock - and swaps the empty glass for the sweet tea.

'This one next.'

Sherlock takes it and drinks obediently. He exhales a shaking breath.

"I want to stay here a while."

'Here on this sofa, or here in the bar?'

Jim is fine with either! Whatever Sherlock needs. He doesn't blame him for not wanting to head back into that shitshow for a while.

"Sofa. Bar. Both. Wherever you are." He pulls Jim's arm over his chest. "Don't ever die again. I couldn't bear it."

Jim happily scoots in closer, and he was already pretty close. Sherlock gets another kiss on the cheek, and a little nose-rub on the temple.

'I'm not planning to. If you're this upset over her, I like to think you'd be worse over me, and I wouldn't like to put you through that.'

He thinks Sherlock has assumed he'd be alright without him. Hopefully this puts paid to that idea.