The Sign of Three: A Reader's Journey

Not Without Saying Goodbye

He shifted his gaze to stare to the reception party behind you through the glass panels.

"There cannot be a version better than what we already had."

His face had softened now and his voice was low and thick with emotion as his eyes glazed over. He looked heartbroken as the shadows of the happy couples and the happy groups singing and dancing along to the roaring music and the flashing disco lights danced over his vision.

Your chest ached seeing him like this; seeing him without his usual façade, seeing him let down the walls that he had built around himself. But it was also cathartic to see him acknowledge not to you, but to himself, that he was miserable. That he was frightened. It was only human to be wary at the uncertainty of the future ahead.

"Maybe... or maybe not. You'll never know if you don't try." Your chest was beginning to feel tighter as you spoke, so you took a deep breath in. "Nobody likes change. Not you, not John... nobody. But whatever happens, or doesn't happen... they will still be here... I will still be here."

His finally tore his gaze from the reception and back to you, eyes boring into yours intently. Confidently, without any hesitation, he said, "I never doubted that."

You tried to give him a genuine smile. A smile that said, 'you can count on me'. But your cheeks felt warm, and your vision got blurry, so you could only look away in an attempt to mask your reaction.

Soft footsteps echoed against the pavement, accompanied by a small flutter of movement which stopped right in front of you. You couldn't force yourself to look at him, afraid that doing so would further weaken your still somewhat of a firm grip on your composure.

A pair of hands reached out and gently cupped your cheeks, tilting your face to look at his. Now that he was much closer, the dim lights illuminated the sharp contours of his cheekbones, but your eyes were drawn to the rest of his features which were softer, his eyes gleaming in gratitude.

A lone tear escaped your eye much to your chagrin. You closed your eyes as a long, delicate finger wiped it away as it ran down your cheek.

You felt him shift, felt him encircle his arms around your shoulders in an embrace, eventually resting his head over yours. You reached out to wrap your arms around his form, finding comfort in his touch and savouring the warmth.

"Thank you, for being honest," he whispered. "And I'm not drunk this time, so you know I really mean it."

You blinked in surprise. Snippets of the conversation with Sherlock from John's stag night echoed in your mind:

'You made it so much easier to lose John.'

'I don't want to be alone.'

Of course he'd remember. Even alcohol did not stand a chance against the mind of Sherlock Holmes.

You tightened your grip in response, scrunching up his coat in your fists, and nodded mutely to let him know you understood, to let him know you appreciated his gratitude.

"You're not going to be alone, Sherlock. I will be here," your soft whispers against his chest were muffled into his coat but you were certain he heard it because he squeezed your shoulders ever so slightly.

It felt like neither of you wanted to let go, both of you finding comfort and solace in the embrace. Protecting each other from the real world and its real problems. Eventually you loosened your grip around him and he reluctantly disentangled his arms from around you. But not completely, as his hands encircled back around to cup your face again and this time, he leaned in and gently pressed his lips on your temple.

"You don't have to stay," you whispered. A part of you really wished he'd stay. Wished he'd stay and dance the night away with you. But a bigger part of you also understood what he could be feeling; if he was to come into terms with everything he needed to be on his own for a bit. He was probably sick of all the wedding talk and the sentiment. Sick of only talking about matrimony and celebration and love for the past couple of months.

"I am glad you understand," he gave you a small, genuine smile.

You smiled in return and noticed him eyeing the boutonniere on your wrist. He reached out and toyed with it for a while, before tightening it and adjusting it to sit better around your wrist.

"It looks nicer on you."

You stared at the arrangement of white carnations tied around your wrist, appreciating its beauty. Sherlock gulped and stood a bit taller, eyes flickering over to the reception party which was now in full swing.

He cleared his throat. "You should go back inside."

You shifted your gaze back at him and a heavy pit dropped in your stomach.

But I don't want to go back! I want to be here with you!

Instead, you pathetically muttered, "Right... yeah."

He glanced over at the reception one last time and then back at you with a lingering stare. Finally, he gave you a small smile and a quick nod goodbye.

As you watched his retreating back slowly disappearing into the darkness, the muted music started to sound louder and louder in the deserted garden. It was then when you realised how chilly the night was. You wrapped your arms around yourself, not only from the cold but also because suddenly, you felt alone.