Chapter Text
January - cold, windy and boring month. At least for the average Britisher. Apart from the New Year and Epiphany, nothing special happens. Everyone lives their lives, some are disappointed with their - already - broken New Year's resolutions, others are going through a post-Christmas crisis because they realized how much money they lost on gifts, and still others are just enjoying life. With theirs family, friends, work.
But no they. No Sherlock Holmes and John Watson. There is a tense atmosphere at 221B Baker Street, although it is not visible at first eye-look. Everything seems to be as it should. In right place - just like in the old days. The same bathroom, kitchen, living room, which only differs in equipment, because the furniture has been changed. Now every table or cabinet has rounded corners and everything is adapted to the safe life of a small child.
People are also in the same set they were on January 29, 2010. Except that besides the two men and Mrs. Hudson, there's another woman there. A girl actually. Rosie Watson. John's daughter. A little creature, less than a year old.
But someone is missing. Someone who recently died. Died, gone forever. Irreversibly. Someone who could not be saved, protected. It just wasn't. Or maybe it was? - “Of course it was. But you didn't. You were supposed to die, but you're alive. You should be dead. Not her. Who will take care of Rosie now? - He heard whispers. "This child needs the mother who died because of you. She needs love." "But I love her." "It doesn't mater. You will never be able to take care of her. John won't let you. He. Don't. Trust. You. Anymore. YOU'VE FAILED HIM, SHERLOCK" - A terrible voice in the detective's head, gave him this and such similar thoughts.
It was the same with John. Althrought he understood something. He realized he couldn't blame his friend for Mary's death. Because it was her choice. It was she who decided to sacrifice her life for Sherlock's life. And John understood that she had a purpose. As Sherlock said: She gave him a new value, a currency that the detective himself couldn't spend properly. And neither does John.
Sherlock's life has always been precious to the doctor. After the first day of acquaintance, he killed for him. He saved him. Just like Sherlock saved John many times. And the doctor, as much as he denied it, realized he loved Sherlock. He loves him as much as he loved Mary. And not in a platonic way. - Oh no. It was something much stronger. Every time he remembered the moment of Sherlock's death it hurt the same - even though the detective had decided to stay alive. "Only love can hurts like this..." Often the verses of this song echoed in his head. And what was funny - John agreed with them, because if not love, then what? Nothing. Just the loss of someone he cherished love can hurt so much. And even though Sherlock wasn't really dead, John knew he had lost him. He loved Mary. He replaced the detective's emptiness with her. And while he truly loved her, he never stopped loving Holmes. And that's where the whole problem. Because is it possible to love two people at once? Theoretically, now that Mary left, the problem was somewhat solved, but John still felt as if he was cheating on his wife by loving Sherlock.
He often wondered what would happen if Sherlock returned his feelings. He had the feeling that something in the back of his mind would tell him over and over again that what he was doing was not fair to Mary. But on the other hand, he wanted a happy life with the detective. And despite the fear of rejection and even being thrown out of 221B Baker Street, John decided to confess his feelings to the detective. Just January 29. On the 7th anniversary of their first meeting.