"I'm not near sober enough to exchange quotations with you. I'm not sure I even get the point of that one, to be honest. It's not just that you died, Sherlock. It's not just that you stayed away, and didn't say a word, though believe me, that's plenty enough. When I look back on it now, I like to think that you were accomplishing something great that my presence would have made impossible to achieve. And I'm not entirely sure I wouldn't have gone through hell just to be right by your side. Because that's where I belong. But back then? You let me think that you had killed yourself. Had thrown it all away. That I wasn't worth stopping you, that any of it wasn't worth stopping you. But, in spite of all the nights I felt like joining you in death, after a visit to that slab during the day, I somehow managed to find someone to rescue me. A bit sudden, maybe, but I jumped at it. You... you probably knew Mary and I wouldn't last...but you still..."
"Odds of probability, John. I, truly did want you to have your best chance at happiness. Without Magnussen. Without me. That plane was meant to take me out of your life. I wasn't coming back."
"I don't know if I truly believed it. I think I always expected you to find a way. So, you were willing to desert me, for my wife. That is probably the only selfless action which I can recall in our... entire association. I bet you even had a selfish reason for wanting me to be your flatmate."
Sherlock's eyes travelled up and to the left as he grinned. "Not entirely boring. Tidy. The limp could be a singular challenge."
"Figures. Go to bed, Sherlock. I'll...join you...in the morning. May I?" He leaned in towards Sherlock, as Sherlock moved towards him. The kiss was soft, warm, and completely confident. "To be continued..." said John, as he turned toward the stairs.
Re: FILL 12b/? Plausible Deniability (TW: underage, child abuse, incest, dark!mycroft)
"I'm not near sober enough to exchange quotations with you. I'm not sure I even get the point of that one, to be honest. It's not just that you died, Sherlock. It's not just that you stayed away, and didn't say a word, though believe me, that's plenty enough. When I look back on it now, I like to think that you were accomplishing something great that my presence would have made impossible to achieve. And I'm not entirely sure I wouldn't have gone through hell just to be right by your side. Because that's where I belong. But back then? You let me think that you had killed yourself. Had thrown it all away. That I wasn't worth stopping you, that any of it wasn't worth stopping you. But, in spite of all the nights I felt like joining you in death, after a visit to that slab during the day, I somehow managed to find someone to rescue me. A bit sudden, maybe, but I jumped at it. You... you probably knew Mary and I wouldn't last...but you still..."
"Odds of probability, John. I, truly did want you to have your best chance at happiness. Without Magnussen. Without me. That plane was meant to take me out of your life. I wasn't coming back."
"I don't know if I truly believed it. I think I always expected you to find a way. So, you were willing to desert me, for my wife. That is probably the only selfless action which I can recall in our... entire association. I bet you even had a selfish reason for wanting me to be your flatmate."
Sherlock's eyes travelled up and to the left as he grinned. "Not entirely boring. Tidy. The limp could be a singular challenge."
"Figures. Go to bed, Sherlock. I'll...join you...in the morning. May I?" He leaned in towards Sherlock, as Sherlock moved towards him. The kiss was soft, warm, and completely confident. "To be continued..." said John, as he turned toward the stairs.