Far too many lies and obfuscations and avoidances for there to be intimacy. It wasn’t Sherlock’s fault, Mary chose her own path and he says so becuase it is necessary to tell Sherlock that. He tried and failed so badly, and the weight of self-loathing presses on his shoulders again as he leaves the warmth of the fire crackling softly in the grate. He regrets texting that girl, scrabbling to fill a horrible void where intimacy should have been. He hasn’t come to stop Sherlock from reaching for…the sweeties… he can’t say it but he has come to say ‘I trust you’ to his friend and leaving him right now will say that. There is a whole twenty minutes stretching ahead, preying on John’s mind, as he rises to leave. That it’s okay, that he was right, that John is next to him, in front of him, filling him up and spreading through him and they’re going to make it. John turns his head into Sherlock’s neck just enough, relaxing carefully into him, and in a second Sherlock knows. It’s take an infinite amount of time as Sherlock slides his arms around John, slipping tenderly into place and feeling John responding full body tremors as their bodies line up together. He moves in as gently as he can, because there’s always room for error, and not taking care with John would be the biggest mistake of Sherlock’s folly-ridden life. Shaking, he stands to close the gap and it feels like one or both of his legs might give way, but this is for John and it’s time to return at least a portion of the strength he’s given. It’s crystalline and the most incredible thing is that his fear of it doesn’t matter. It makes him want to scream because John is how Sherlock knows it’s going to be alright to get from one day to another, how Sherlock can face the web of darkness that’s constantly closing in on him, and how could there be anything small about that?įear is hard, metallic on the back of the tongue, but when something bursts inside of John and he begins to weep, Sherlock knows what to do more clearly and with more certainty than he’s ever experienced. Not just compact, but diminished, always sure of his shortcomings just by standing next to someone else. But today, with the fire crackling and warm in the background, and the light glowing and dancing on John’s skin, Sherlock can feel the smallness John feels for himself. It made Sherlock feel tethered to something solid and good, something - someone- who would keep him from floating away, either inside himself or out. John has always been compact, but it was a powerful, weighty thing that brought an anchoring heaviness to the room. They are, of course, just as terrifying, but somehow, when the outcome is disaster of one kind or another despite the choice you make, it’s seems like a time for boldness, even in fear. When it feels like you’ve come to the end of all things, risks don’t carry as much weight.

A Murmuring of Bees by Atlin Merrick