Halfway Across the World
Pairing: Johnxreader
Warnings: Its cliché as all crap (it was a request I had from another forum, so I thought, 'why not?'), unrequitted love, some angst, and a twist ending. I love my twists.
A/N: Like I said- cliché. It was in the request to be cliché, but I couldn't help myself. I just- couldn't. I hate cliché, and well... it shows.
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Sometimes life throws things out way that we never expected. Sometimes these things throw our lives in a whole new direction, and take us down a new course. Sometimes, we fall in love.
John Hamish Watson, a man who, time and time again, showed how selfless, sweet, and brave be truly was... but also broke your heart. It wasn't fair to truly blame John, it wasn't like he knew that his frequent, boisterous talks with Mary made your smile faint. And then Sherlock came back, and things landslided. Getting John to take back his best friend, helping him plan the wedding- finding out about Rosie. There simply wasn't time to feel the way you felt, and yet... you couldn't stop. So, you pushed it to the very far reaches of your mind, and attempted to ignore it for as long as you could.
Then things got even worse. John lost Mary, and had closed himself off to Sherlock, once again, and then there was Rosie. Between helping him care for the girl as he swirled in and out of bouts of grief and depression, and work, there simply wasn't the hours in the day. But eventually, things went back to the way they were meant to be. Of course, Sherlock almost died... twice. And so did John (once), but they were friends, again. And they were back where they belonged in 221B Baker Street, and if things had gone differently, this would've been the perfect time to confess your feelings to John.
Then again, the perfect time doesn't exist. Because in actuality, he was helping you pack up the last of your things before you left for a cultural excavation trip, to learn about a dying tribe in the far reaches of the Sahara desert.
"That seems to be the last of things..." You sighed, not sure if you were ready for this change. You'd volunteered to go as an attempt to save yourself from the constant heartache of being in love with someone so close to you, and hopefully get over him, but he wasn't making things any easier. He kept telling you to write, and call, and text... that he'd see you when you got back. But you weren't planning on coming back, and you simply couldn't tell that to him to his face.
"Yeah... thanks, John." He smiled at you, eyes twinkling in a way that made your heart flutter.
"No problem..." He said, moving towards you to say one last good-bye, "I'm going to miss you." He stated earnestly, opening his arms for another hug. You granted him one, knowing this might be the last time you ever hugged him...
"Don't worry, though, I'll make sure Rosie knows exactly who her 'Auntie-Y/n' is for when you get back." The thought tore at your heart in more ways than one, tears prickling your eyes as you offered him a smile.
"Thanks... I'll miss you guys." You pecked his cheek, and he could hear his heartbeat thrum in his ears. Every part of him had said that, feeling things like he did for you, was wrong, but he couldn't help himself...
"We'll see you when we get back." And that was the last thing he managed out as he left, already counting down the days until the two year excursion would be over, and he'd see you, again, as he headed back to his flat.
He tossed and turned that night, this utter feeling of dread over him. Something simply wasn't right...
You couldn't tell John face to face, but that night, you'd decided it was only fair to tell him. So, you did what any sane person would do, and wrote a letter. Explaining why you were actually leaving, and informing him that Rosie wouldn't be needing to remember your name... because you wouldn't be coming back. You simply slid it under the flat door, then rushed out to your cab, the three a.m. chill running through across your skin, hoping John wouldn't hate you.
John, I'm sorry, but... I can't do this anymore. I see you, and it's like everything I've ever wanted is right there in front of me, and I can't do it anymore. I've tried to hide it, deny it, move past it, but- nothing helps. Every morning, I wake up, and I still love you, and it's killing me. I'll miss Rosie and Sherlock and you, but... I can't come back. I just can't. Love, Y/n L/n
7:52, he remembered from your boarding pass. That's when your flight was boarding, and if it was currently 6:30, you wouldn't have made it past security. He could make it, he decided. He barely had time to scribble out a note to Sherlock and Rosie before he was flying out the door in yesterday's jeans and a probably-not-washed jumper...
The airport held an ominous feel to it. The kind of feeling that a grandfather clock holds, it's second hand ticking away with sharp clicks to tell you your time is running out. His steps were just as fast and just as sharp as he we've his way through the wide area, looking all over for you. He'd called three times on his way over, but each one went to voicemail. She's really going to be gone... The thoughts haunted him, phantoms surrounding him as he looked for you.
All because you couldn't see it. That's what hurt the most. He'd been ignorant, and that's why you were leaving. One of, if not, the most important people in his life was leaving, because he had been blind. Luck seemed to be on his side, because he could see your hair whistling out behind you as you headed for the security gates.
His heavy lungs and sore muscles didn't stop him from sprinting. He needed to get to you. Apologize, and tell you everything he felt. His hand caught your wrist, a small gasp flying from your lips as you spun around to meet his eyes.
"John?" The surprise was evident in your voice, but he couldn't deal with that now. His heavy breaths kept him from saying anything, so he did one thing he'd been longing to do for far too long, now.
His warm lips caught yours, his eyes snapping shut while you relaxed into the sudden sensation. As you pulled apart, you were both gasping gently for air.
"Come back with me." Your hands bound with his, he thought it was certain you'd agree to. But slowly, your head began to shake, eyes saddening.
"John... I can't." Your voice was as frail as silence, and the tone matched. His jaw fell a little, as if he was about to say something, but couldn't find the words. You pressed one last kiss to his lips, before pulling your hands from his, and rushing to catch the plane. And he stood there, watching as the greatest thing, that he hadn't realized was there, in his life, boarded your plane to halfway across the globe.
You'd waited seven years for him to realize your heart was his... and you'd taken his with you.
Two years.
