Chapter Text
It would be midnight when the ‘League of Friendship’ arrived back at Baker Street. Sherlock hoped that Mary and Molly would have told John and Lestrade about this entire ordeal by that time--the story of his grief over Victor, his feelings of hopelessness, and the ache of regret when he found out that he had lost him forever. He remembered the feeling of Molly’s soft touch on his hand and the warmth of the comforter that Mary covered his back with; it would be easier for him if they shared with the others for him what he had told them then. He suspected, though, that they wouldn’t speak a word of it without his consent.
“Shall we walk?” Victor asked, extending his right arm towards Sherlock in invitation. Sherlock was still hesitant; half of him felt like punching Victor while the other half of him, the other half wanted nothing more than to fall at his feet and pray that this wasn’t a dream.
Sherlock took Victor’s slightly larger and broader hand in his, instead.
Victor gave him a sad smile, and Sherlock was suddenly reminded of his own return: hesitant, yet hopeful to be welcomed back. To be wanted back. “I had no other choice, you understand. Of course you understand.” Victor touched Sherlock’s sharper-than-usual cheek, then gently caressed it with his thumb. “I’m so sorry, love.”
And, oh, did that hurt. ‘Sorry’ didn’t even begin to make up for what Victor had done. Sherlock wanted to shout, to hit, he wanted to push Victor away, him and that stupid dog that wouldn’t. Stop. Staring at him. Sherlock wanted to do many things to convey his anger and much his deceit had hurt him.
Then he remembered John and how he had felt when his own reunion didn’t turn out the way he had wanted it to. About how much it hurt to feel rejected by his best friend.
Sherlock squeezed his eyes shut, then stepped toward Victor, just to wrap his arms around his thicker frame, all muscle and strength. “I understand.” Sherlock took a deep breath to try and calm himself. The last thing he wanted was another breakdown, and he didn’t want to add to the exhaustion he felt from spilling his soul out to Molly and Mary earlier that evening. Who knew that being that vulnerable was the most exhausting thing in the world?
“I just, I never realized it could hurt this badly. I--” Sherlock gasped again. The deep breaths weren’t working. “I think I owe John a proper apology.”
Victor’s brow lifted at the non-sequitur but chose to ignore it. He pulled Sherlock close and began stroking his back to alleviate the shaking. “I’m sorry,” he whispered into Sherlock’s ear. “It’s okay, I’m here. I’m here.”
Once the threat of a panic attack seemed to have passed, Victor held onto Sherlock’s arms and moved the younger man away, just enough to get a proper look. Victor hummed disapprovingly at the unkempt curls, the dark circles, and at how much thinner the younger man had gotten since the last time he had seen him. “I truly am sorry.”
Sherlock took one last deep breath to ground himself further. He was so tired that he was sure he would fall asleep as soon as he arrived at his flat. But first things first. “I’ll forgive you once I’ve forgiven myself. I still feel guilty over faking my own death, you know.”
Victor chuckled, “Seems fair.”
“And we have a lot of missed walks in the park to make up for.”
“That won't be a problem.” Victor’s smile spread widely, and he pulled Sherlock closer to lean against his chest before resting his head on that curly mop.
“We revealed your identity to the others. Your boss and my brothers are going to be furious.”
“Again, that won't be a problem.”
Sherlock took a few minutes and enjoyed the feeling of Victor’s strong arms around him, the feeling of being surrounded and protected and Christ, he finally believed it. Victor was alive. “So you’re telling me that you’re staying for good, now?”
“Yes, for good. That last mission was a close call,” Victor confessed. “I can’t reveal any crucial details, though I’m sure you’ll deduce the shite out of me once the shock has worn off. I will say that I never hated myself more than when I thought I was never going to see you again. So I’ve quit, and I told Mycroft to shove a rattlesnake up his arse, all for you.”
“You were always the romantic one.” Sherlock finally let go and stepped back to give Victor a good once over this time. And then remembered the dog.
“Oh, yes.” Victor pulled the leash lightly, and the dog obediently stepped forward, then sat in front of Sherlock, looking at him expectantly. “Her name is Rosie,”
Sherlock took off one glove to pet Rosie gently on the head. Rosie’s tail wagged a little faster. “Who was crazy enough to let you borrow her at this time of night?”
Victor gave sherlock a big, happy smile, the one that always made Sherlock’s heart skip a bit. “No one. She’s ours, now.”