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“Piss off Jace!” She laughs trying to rid her boyfriend’s lips from her neck as she continued to slice the cucumber.
“But you love me too much.” He defends now nibbling on her earlobe. She shrugs out of his grasp holding the knife to his chest softly.
“Go away. I’m trying to make dinner.” He makes a face before kissing her forehead once more before trotting to the dining room with a beer in hand.
She tosses the salad between the tongs adding the cucumber last. Happy with her work she returns to the oven to retrieve the roast chicken. She leaves it to rest before taking her salad to the table set for two. Small memories jump at her from the time she had lived in a cottage at the edge of a forest. The times she had made dinner with another man and set their table by the light of a fire.
“Baby, you okay?” Jace asks as he walks into the room looking at her spaced out glare curiously.
“Sorry, yeah.” She smiles blushing a little under his green eyes, “Can you carve the chicken for me?”
“Anything for you darl.” He whispers winking at her as he left. She smiles to herself and wipes her hands on her skirt. It wasn’t anything flashy, only a long sleaved lacy shirt over a white tank-top. It was tucked into a floral skirt that stoped above her knees. She kept her hair down and wore a silver necklace. Very beautiful, Jace had told her when he walked in that afternoon. It was a Sunday and they were having dinner.
The doorbell sounded and Jace called over from the kitchen. “Baby can you get that?”
“Sure.” She replies walking through the lounge room to the door. She didn’t check the peep hole, it’s not like it wasn’t obvious she was home. The door squeaks from age and reveals the back of a black trench coat walking away towards a sympathetic man in a jumper whispering condolences and shuffling into a stance long worn into him by years in the army.
“Can I help you?” She calls loudly to the pair. They both freeze. One seemed to ask clarification from the woollen clad man who looked at the girl politely and nodded. They seemed familiar. Just a little like she’d run into them on the street or something.
“Uh, you don’t happen to be (y/n), do you?” The shorter one asked. “I’m John, just looking for a relative of mine.”
“…John Watson?” She asked. He nodded. “I know you, you went off to war. How long have you been back? How’s Harriet?” She asks feeling a grin pull at her cheeks. John hurries over and answers her questions briefly and politely till she had no more.
“(y/n) we were looking for you.” John nods to his companion who stood in the shadows hiding in his collar. “I’m sure you know this man.”
“I don’t think I do.” She replies folding her arms and watching intently.
John growled at his friend, “Don’t be rude Holmes.”
“Holmes?” She repeated before the other stood into the light of her porch.
“Hello (y/n)”
Her lungs rejected oxygen. “Sherlock?”
***
“You aren’t talking.” John mutters as they glance at the houses of Boundary Rd.
“And?”
“That’s never good.”
“That’s because I’m scared John.” Sherlock grumbled placing his hands in his pockets.
“You’re what sorry?” John smirked before glancing back down at the address scrawled on his hand.
Sherlock stopped and glared down at the second man. “I said I’m scared that the girl I seem not able to replace might not want to ever see me or talk to me again. Happy?”
“Do you want me to knock?”
“No.”
They continue walking.
“Sherlock, wait. This is it.”
They look at it silently. Old house, two story, small, backyard, a dog, and two residents, Sherlock listed. He watched the window of the dining room. It was laid out for two with chrysanthemums sitting in a vase on the table. A girl walked in carrying a bowl of salad. She looked exquisite. Perfect. Everything Sherlock could’ve hoped for. But then it seemed as it was everything the man could’ve wanted as well, as he winked at his girlfriend and left for the kitchen.
With what little nerve he had left he hurried over and rang the doorbell. He counted to five. It didn’t open. She must have seen him through the peep hole. He turned and walked away battering the tears in his eyes. Stopping his emotions just before he reached John.
“Can I help you?”
“John, is it her?”
He nods in reply.
“Uh, you don’t happen to be (y/n), do you?” John asks politely. “I’m John, just looking for a relative of mine.”
“…John Watson?” She asked. He nodded. “I know you, you went off to war. How long have you been back? How’s Harriet?” John smiles, glad she remembers him. He hurried to her and politely answered her questions. Sherlock was still stunned. Years he had waited for this moment. Years he had dreamed of having a chance to redo what he had done and tell her he loved her again… and to hear it back.
“(y/n) we were looking for you.” John nods to his companion who stood in the shadows hiding in his collar. “I’m sure you know this man.”
“I don’t think I do.” She replies folding her arms and watching intently.
John growled at Sherlock, “Don’t be rude Holmes.”
“Holmes?” She asked as Sherlock turned around. He was shocked. She was so beautiful still. She still had that glow and that attractive confidence. He struggled with words.
“Hello (y/n)”
Her lungs rejected oxygen. “Sherlock?”
“Yes.” He nods walking closer.
They stood in silence. Glancing each other up and down. She still thought he was dead.
He thought she hated him.
“I’m so glad to see you.” She sighs running over and hugging him. Making sure he was real.
“(y/n)… (y/n)” He whispers repeatedly hugging her like they were the last ones on Earth. She cried, she soaked his collar in tears of rage and happiness and grief. He laughed, Sherlock Holmes laughed. John had never heard such sound that was so happy and joyful. They were still connected, Sherlock pulled back just enough to kiss her forehead. (y/n) leaned into it, it was so familiar and intimate that she never wanted it to end. He held her head in both his hands and looked down on her. She was like the light after a storm, the eyesight of a blind man, water to the parched, the love of Sherlock Holmes.
He sniffed and smiled. He lent closer, she let him. How bad could one kiss be? Just one, for old times sake.
No.
“Sherlock.” She whispered and he nodded. He can’t just appear into her life and think she was still his.
“I’m sorry.” He whispered.
“Don’t be.” She replies kissing his cheek. “Jeez Sherly, I thought you were dead. You jumped and I cried, and put flowers on your grave and how did… how could you do that?” she rambled until he met her big eyes with a sad smile.
“It’s a long story.” He shrugs. (y/n) looks at John for reaffirmation. He gave her a knowing smile.
“Babe?” A voice calls. Instinct required Sherlock to fluff up, his girl was targeted by another male. He had to look intimidating, ruffle up his feathers and puff out his chest. Jace walks in bearing a soft but confused smile.
“Jace, this is John and Sherlock. I’ve told you about these guys.” She explains accepting the loop around her waist that Jace provided. He was taller than John but not high enough to match Sherlock. Unlike his rival, Jace had a stocky build and tight sleaves from the muscles in his arms. His hair was blonde and it danced in front of his eyes like an old school surfer dudes hair style. He was hot, no doubt. His intelligence lacked in some cases and he was clumsy but that adorable dude adored (y/n) more than any sport invented. He was the kind of guy that your mum would love, and the kind of guy (y/n)’s mum thought she should marry.
But seeing Sherlock again…
It’s hard to just drop every life time plan you made for yourself. It’s very difficult indeed. But as soon as the blue eyes of that sociopath came back to her she was already reconsidering, debating, wanting to explore other options now.
Her reasoning felt sound to her, if she was having doubts about her relationship with Jace just because her ex showed up at the door then yes, she needed to rethink her decisions.
“But you said he was dead…” Jace mumbles barely moving his lips as takes a long look over Sherlock.
“Clearly I am not.” Sherlock replied.
“Yes, clearly.” Jace replies.
“Please, come in. Would you stay for dinner? I’d love to catch up.” (y/n) asks with a tilt of her head that always seemed to convince Sherlock before. But now… he seemed like it was a harder thing to phase and convince him. John noticed her pleading look and accepted for them.
“If it’s not too much trouble.”
“No of course not.” She grinned ushering them into her home.
Sherlock was a little disappointed.
So long he had been searching for the love of his life and to find her in the arms of another. It was like a kick in the gut while he writhed on the floor in pain.
But he knew that it was absurd to just believe that he would turn up at the door and she would open it and cry. Rush into his arms like a soldier from war, a man missing returned home. And she would drag him inside and tell him to stay, tell him she can’t do that again, can’t live through the pain of his lie again. Can’t hear him talk about leaving, can’t face a moment of loneliness without her love again, just her Sherlock.
But as he was guided into the lounge room he realized, he had changed.
He wasn’t the same Sherlock.
He was different.
She wouldn’t want him.
His face paled over.
“Sherlock?” John asked as (y/n) went to dish up and Jace collected drinks, “Are you coping?”
“No John, I’m not.” He shakes his head and breathes deeply.
“Do you want to leave?”
“No, don’t be ridiculous.” Sherlock huffs.
“Well then suck it up, you look like your dead.” He replies folding his arms over his coat.
“Oh please,” Sherlock rolls his eyes, “I came back from the dead.”
Jace returned with a forced smile dealing out bottles of beer covered in the droplets of condensation. John thanks him, Sherlock merely accepts it and returns to studying the room. Pictures of family and pets stand on the unlit fireplace alongside wooden carved figures of Egyptian gods, gaudy touristy things. Clearly Jace’s, Sherlock thinks. There were a lot of the couple together and a lot of them with others. Close nit friend groups. Obviously.
He sighs looking away from what he wished he had, it was entirely his fault. God, how many times he wished he never said those things. That they never left that house on the moor edge. How perfect it was, their own paradise. Jace coughs and tries to pick up a conversation.
“So did you guys see the thrashing West-ham united got on the weekend?” His eyes light up. A subject he was obviously passionate about.
“No. I’m not fond of sport.” Sherlock deadpans placing the still full bottle of beer on the side table. John quietly sips on his own bottle.
“You sure Sherly? You were really into soccer when I was coaching.” Y/n chuckles walking in from the kitchen.
“Sherly?” John smirks, “You call him Sherly?” Y/n shrugs.
“I thought it was funny.”
“You did it purely to annoy me.” Sherlock huffs.
“Of course, that’s what friends are for.” She grins pulling at Jace’s hand. “Come on, dinner is served.”
“Friend?” John asked quietly as the other pair walked off, “From the way you talked about her I was sure you guys were a little more than that.”
“We were. Undoubtedly.” Sherlock didn’t even look at his companion. “Something’s wrong.”
“Sherlock, promise me you aren’t going to do anything stupid.” John growled shuffling around his companion trying to get his attention as they made their way to the dining room.
“Since when do I do anything stupid?”
***
*smack*
*crack*
*thud*
*snap*
*twang*

“I’ll call Molly.”
“Who?”
“Are you okay babe?”
“I’m fine! Get off me.”
“Look what you’ve done!”
“Don’t look at me like that Sherlock, you deserved it.”
“mmmhhhggrrr”
“Come on. Sorry about this Y/n”
“Me too.”
*slip*
*plod*
*creak*
*bang*
*thud*
Sherlock groaned as John dropped him on the porch front. His face bloody and stomach bruised.
“You had to do that didn’t you?”
“Experiment.” He replies nasally holding his head back and clumsily toppling to his feet.
“You just can’t get it through your thick head that things you do, won’t have repercussions.” John chided grabbing Sherlock’s unsteady arm and pulling him away from the house.
“I know perfectly well that it has repercussions, John, that’s the reason I do things.” He sighs, “Just because it doesn’t sit right with you morally doesn’t mean that what I did was wrong.” Sherlock walked two paces behind the pissed army doctor, just in case he decides to snap and hit him.
“I’ve had enough of this. The secret researching, the cute photos, the way she absolutely pummelled you not five seconds ago. She isn’t just another of your odd friends. Who is she and why are you so adamant to screw her life up?” John turns, Sherlock gives a glance that is a small fraction of terror. “She’s a beautiful young girl. She has a life here, one you’ve not been a part of for years. One you are trying so hard to muck up and it’s working. Do you think there is a likely chance they’ll stay together now?”
“No.”
“Exactly. And you think that is okay. Just so you can have another go at your nonsense fairytale of long lost love. It doesn’t work that way.” John was furious. He knew the fragility of a relationship where one was more in love with the other. Where one would give anything for the other. But the other keeps slipping through their fingers. And add in another that she was interested in and bye bye, baby. Sherlock didn’t seem to understand the way a person felt and the way he could hurt someone by acting the way he did.
“I’m taking your violin and your laptop away.”
“I’m sorry?” Sherlock smiles, “I’m not a kid John.”
“No, but you’re acting like one. So I’m treating you like one.”
“Just because I kissed a girl your distantly related to, there is-“
“He was going to propose!” John explains.
“And?”
“You just messed up her chance at getting married.”
“I don’t see why I would care.” Sherlock replies truthfully. He holds his arm out and calls in the taxi.
“Of course not, because you’re Sherlock Holmes, the great sociopath.”
The cab ride to Barton’s was silent.