"People like me are gone forever when you say goodbye."
But he hadn’t been gone, had he?
John’s fingers lingered on the coat laid out on the bed, Sherlock’s words echoing through his mind. “Goodbye, John.”
No, John told himself, as he straightened out the collar. Sherlock had been back - had come back wearing this very coat. The tiny specks of blood were from where he had thumped him, repeatedly, for the pain he’d caused. And the crumpled shoulders were evidence that he had grabbed Sherlock to headbutt him. No other explanation, other than the fact the coat lay under his fingertips held all the proof he needed.
And Molly’s tears, when he’d asked for an explanation - that was guilt, through and through. Helping Sherlock hide. Making it look as if he’d never returned. He pitied Molly for being dragged into this once more. Almost pitied Tom for not seeing how much of a liar his pregnant wife could be.
As he sank down onto the bed, he started thumbing through the wedding photos. A clever manipulation, he thought, as he searched for Sherlock - dressed almost identical to himself. Sherlock had to be there. He’d been best man. Moved everyone to tears. He’d remembered Mrs Hudson’s tear-stained face, how everyone had been there. So why did this photo make his wedding look like a small, private affair? And when had Harry turned up?
He didn’t hear Mary enter the room, climbing onto the bed behind him, and barely noticed her arms wrapped around him. It was a kick from their unborn child that startled him back to reality, and he turned to look at her, his expression crumpled in pain.
“Why can’t I find him, Mary? He was here?” He jabbed a finger at the empty seat beside him on the wedding photo, refusing to acknowledge the concerned look on Mary’s face, the way her grip loosened.
“John, please,” came her desperate begging, one he’d heard so many times before. “Come on. You’re… You need to stop this, John.” Her hand moved to his arm, and John looked away, his jaw clenched. “Please. You’re supposed to be getting better. For us. For our baby.”
And that was what everyone expected from him, John told himself. He needed to learn to lie in the effortless manner in which everyone around him did. He needed to pretend Sherlock had never come back.
