~~A/N: Well, here’s part 2, far earlier than I was expecting. Once again, thank you to @*~Starble~* for all your lovely comments (and penguins!!) She is evidence that comments do spur me on, as do penguins. Things like that make quite the difference at the moment. It may be obvious by the argument you’re about to read (unless you get bored reading this note and run away) but I’m not in the best frame of mind at the moment. My mam and I have been deep in a pretty nasty argument for the past 24 hours, and it’s been horrible, tbh. And when I was at my lowest, penguin gifs started appearing in my comments and notifications. It genuinely made a massive difference. Thank you.
Now, enough about me, and onwards, cheeseballs!!
John’s arrival at the Yard was quiet, as police station appearances go- he made a bit of a fuss about being forced to sign in- “I come here all the time- well, I did, before Sherlock became a bastard- don’t you remember me? John Watson, the one who solves crimes and blogs about it? Sherlock Holmes and Doctor Watson?” And on he went, his voice getting louder and louder as the officer on the desk calmly repeated that a new policy meant that everyone had to sign in, no matter who they solved crimes with, until John finally gave in. With a huff worthy of one of Sherlock’s tantrums, he brought the pen down with more force than was required, denting the page until it reached ripping point.
Greg took a while to steel himself before John reached his office. He had heard the argument from his office, and for the first time, he realised just how bad John’s anger had become. Of course, there had been arguments and fist fights after Sherlock had fallen- none too fierce to leave visible scars, but the emotional ones had been another matter entirely- but Greg had just assumed that it was John’s way of coping. That it wouldn’t last much longer.
Then Sherlock returned, and proved him wrong.
The door to Greg’s office crashed open as John Watson barged in unannounced. “What the hell was that Greg?!”
“It’s a new safety policy; government enforced an’ all that.”
“Why did I have to sign it, though?! They all know me!!”
“They did two years ago, John, but not any longer. People come, people go, and not everyone carries on listening to stories of “that detective bloke with the hat who jumped off a building” and “his little friend who writes the blog.” The world has changed, John- it always does, and I don’t see why we need a temper tantrum about it.”
John huffed, and glowered at a cobweb above the office window.
“I didn’t believe him when he told me.”
“WHO told you WHAT, Greg? Were you in on it too?”
“For fuck’s sake, John, stop making yourself the victim of every situation!! I knew even less than you, and trust me when I say this- I lost a lot more than you. Everything I had was on the line- my job, my flat, my hope of ever being employed again, my friends’ trust in me; my life. And yet when Sherlock Holmes walks back into my life, I actually had the decent human instinct to welcome him back, give him a hug, and make sure he knew that jumping off that roof and being tortured with being on the run for two years was actually worth it. I know you suffered PTSD when you came back from Afghanistan, and anything could’ve set you off. Am I right in saying that, John?”
“That’s not fair, Greg-”
“Am I right, John?”
“Yes, I suppose you are.”
“So suppose I was a comrade of yours out in the war, one whose life you’d saved, and I didn’t listen to why you were invalided out. I just assumed you’d deserted, and run home like a coward, before beating the crap out of you. How would that sit with you?”
“That is the most irrelevant analogy I have ever heard. It’s ridiculous.”
“Is it? Because I can tell you now, John, it’s precisely what you’ve done to Sherlock. What will Mary think of that?”
“Don’t bring my fiancé into this- she’s nothing to do with it!!”
“So I’m supposed to sit back and watch you become an abusive bastard who beats their wife whenever they step out of line? I know you shot that cabbie, John, and I know you have an unlicensed weapon. Just like the lunatic that was my daughter’s biological father, just like half the murder cases I work on day by day, people like you get angrier and angrier, and even worse when it’s suggested that they get help, for God forbid, how dare they insult you by suggesting you have anger issues, and then, before you know it, bang-” Greg smacked his fist down on his desk “- Your gun’s smoking, your wife’s lying, her blood staining the carpet. Now the only ones breathing in the house are your two kids, who’ve just seen their mother murdered before their own eyes. Maybe they’ll escape. Maybe one’ll save the other. Maybe you quite like this murder game, and they’re next. And don’t you give me that “It won’t happen to me” bullshit, because that’s what everyone says, and yet one of the main causes of death in women worldwide is men, just like you and I. If it’s this bad now, John, then what of the future?”
John’s silent stare led Greg to continue, yet his voice dropped in volume as his anger began to ebb away. “All I’m saying, John, is that you can’t carry on like this. You and I both know people who can help, and who won’t judge you for it.”
“And if I don’t?”
“Then you’re talking to the wrong man, mate.”
“Ooh, I’m scared. What are you gonna do, Greg? Send me to the head teacher’s office?”
“John, I’m sorry, but you leave me no choice. I’m arresting you on suspicion of abuse, disorderly behaviour and insolence to an officer. You do not have to say anything but it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court.”
Bang on cue, Sally and some of the new PC’s appeared on the scene, and escorted John down to the holding cells. When she reappeared, Sally took Greg aside and asked “What was that for?”
“There’s nothing like silence to reflect in. He needs to get his head straight on his shoulders and get help, whether he likes it or not.” Sally said nothing, yet her face told Greg that she agreed entirely. They chatted for a few more moments, before Sally turned to leave, but Greg stopped her for a short moment.
“Oh yes. Have you heard? Your friend’s back on the scene.”
“Odd bloke. Big coat, big hair, big ego. Goes by the name of Sherlock Holmes…”
The next morning, everything seemed to be seen under a new light. After a night in the holding cell, John was a different man, who was finally ready to try and make a change, knowing that he would have the support of not only Mary, but that of Greg, Molly, Mrs Hudson- everyone. Even Sherlock muttered some tips for surviving rehab, earning him a glower from Greg. As for Sherlock himself; well, he was moving back into Baker Street. Back on the job before you could say jack rabbit. Sass was sad to see him go, but nonetheless, she helped him move any belongings not already in 221B over there, and made Sherlock promise to come to her birthday party, promising him a pirate theme, and even a hat. He would forever deny it, but the gleam that shone in his eyes told many tales of childhood within, quite literally, the blink of an eye. Greg simply went on as he always did, taking life as it came, and doing what lay straight in front of him. And for the first time he could remember, Greg was completely content. And nothing could take that away from him.