Raw
part tenThey started dating in the late spring when there was finally enough to do that Sherlock felt no compulsion to travel north. John had asked earlier but Sherlock had declined on the basis of a double homicide and a generally booked itinerary. John persisted none the less. For that first date John got tickets to Tchaikovsky and a sitter for Analise as they met in London after Sherlock's last case of the season for a night of romantic engagement. They both fell asleep during the first half of the symphony, John drooling slightly on the arm of Sherlock's jacket, and left at intermission to get a Chinese.
Their dates since then had been to much greater success. They fertilized and mulched the front garden and mowed the grass along their property. They repainted the trim on Fair Hill Cottage and cut back the evergreens till the garden looked fresh and ready once more. They cleaned and sterilized mason jars and strained the honey from the combs. They took turns being Analise's pony or being the arm she swung from. And at the end of the day they sat on the back patio and talked or played cards until one last good night kiss. The purpose of dating had always been to make one's partner feel special and appreciated. For them, nothing said it better than time spent on the things that mattered to each other. Symphonies and fancy restaurants were nice in thought and a pleasant escape from the stresses of life. But what had they to escape from?
Laying out on the blanket under the big umbrella, John relaxed in the shade with his ankles crossed and arms pillowing his head. He'd finished the edging long before Sherlock's own simple task of watering, though Sherlock's helper probably had carried more than her fair share of the blame. From the blanket John had a perfect view of Sherlock and Analise, him in his yellow hat and Analise in one of white with a big yellow sunflower on the side. Though Sherlock still did the gardening in his pressed trousers and button down, Analise had her own pair of purple overalls with enough pockets to bring inside entire troves of treasures from rocks to bugs and buds picked too soon. Watching Sherlock and Analise interact was a secret treat John never grew tired of viewing. She adored him and idolized him, never seeming to be too worried about the lack of hugs or kisses when he was so often kneeling beside her with all of his time and knowledge shared with her. Sometimes he stroked her hair. Most of the time he gave her head a few gentle pats. She was his Little Bee and no vacancy of words or physical expression could ever cast so much as a shadow over the vibrancy of their bond.
Even if Sherlock would not approve, what was best for Analise still featured prominently in John's mind when thinking of his future, even in concerns of love. He could not ask for a better partner to raise his daughter with than the man with his hand overlapping Analise's own as he demonstrated how to water the plants, knees soaking through from the runoff in the grass. They'd been partners since the day they'd met, working with each other's faults to be a better team than they were individuals. It made sense that it should come to this. They'd come full circle back to each other through harder times than John thought they would. And for all the nights of sleeplessness that had been endured before, John wouldn't change a thing to be laying there now, watching them, knowing perfection existed.
"Daddy!"
John smiled as Analise ran towards him with one dirty hand held out in front, fingers closed around something as she slowed down and kneeled beside him.
"Daddy, look!" she commanded, uncurling her grip to show a long wriggling worm dancing on her palm.
John peered at it with his brows raised high, nodding slowly as he sat up on his elbows. "That sure is a big one. Are you going to eat it or is it for me?"
Analise giggled, pulling the worm away. "No, Daddy! Don't eat worms!"
"Are you sure?" John tried to get another peak at it. "Looks pretty tasty to me."
She giggled again, shaking her head and wrinkling her nose as she stood to keep the worm safe. "You silly, Daddy," she said before running back to the muddy soil to put the worm away.
Sherlock had already rolled the hose back up and was pacing towards the umbrella with large wet patches on the legs of his trousers. He sat down on the blanket, hands wiped off on his thighs.
"I should have made lunch," John said, leaning up to brush a leaf from Sherlock's back. His shoulders were warm from the sun and far too tempting not to linger on long after the debris had been removed.
Sherlock took his hat off and set it down beside him, fluffing his flattened curls with the long rake of his fingers through them. "Need to go to the shops anyway. We can pick something up while we're out. Your treat," he added, looking over his shoulder at him with a smirk.
John flicked his nose but said nothing to the contrary. "Better get the lot of us cleaned up, then. At least a change of clothes, though Analise..." John looked back to the muddy soil just in time to watch his daughter slip a few mysterious handfuls of something into her pockets. He pursed his lips. "Yeah, she's getting a bath."
Sherlock chuckled, rolling his head back as he ended with a sigh and sank lower on his elbows till he was laying down beside him. "It can wait."
"Not that hungry, hm?"
Sherlock nodded, eyes closed, a sweet smelling breeze flirting over them as it blew through the trees and flowers. John happened to agree. He checked one last time to see that Analise was still happily digging through the mud then flattened himself to the blanket, letting his hand stray till his fingers laid gently over the back of Sherlock's. There was nothing but the umbrella to see above but with his eyes closed he could see the headlands again with the waving grass and wildflowers off the channel's white rock faces.
John was always going to love Mary. She was an important part of his life. But Sherlock, the world's most brilliant madman, was a part of his soul. He'd be worse than lost without him--he wouldn't even be himself. He was in love with him. He wanted him. Now and forever. Or for as long as he'd have him.
Straight ahead, running fast, one last big jump and then...
And in the moment between earth and sky, that perpetual state of never knowing, of trust and faith and breathlessness, there would always be his Sherlock and his everlasting love for him.