John hadn't expected Sherlock to be prompt, and so it wasn't too big of a surprise when the boy showed up in forty five minutes instead of thirty. He looked to be in some sort of panic, for he had a scarf draped around his neck yet not tied, and his hair seemed to be in something of a mess. His eyes were tired, and his face pale, as if he had been up the whole night previous. Many possibilities flashed through John's mind, yet he could rest assured since the most probable option was that Sherlock had been doing work the whole night through.
"Sherlock, over here!" John called; waving his hand a bit sloppily (the beers were starting to get to him). Sherlock gave a great big smile, walking over to the booth and sliding into the seat opposite. For a moment he situated himself, taking his coat and scarf and folding them nicely in the seat next to him. The waiter came over and Sherlock ordered a coffee, which was probably a poor choice at a bar, however anyone who saw how exhausted he looked would know that it was probably necessary.
"You look terrible." Sherlock commented.
"You look worse." John argued, to which Sherlock nodded his head in annoyance before sitting back and shrugging.
"I found out the hard way that it's not a good idea to take a random vacation in the middle of the school week. I've been up to my neck in makeup work, that on top of the things that have been scheduled for today. I'm dying. Slowly." Sherlock admitted miserably.
"You should put a shot in your coffee then." John suggested.
"Ya, of expresso." Sherlock grumbled. "Oh it doesn't matter anyway, I had it coming."
"Well, I think we're both in the same boat with that. I definitely had this coming...yet I hadn't expected things to get so drastic so quickly." John admitted with a groan. Sherlock's face fell, and his cheeks began to glow a very apprehensive shade of red.
"Oh...oh well, I'm sorry if you think it was too drastic. Really I don't know what came over me..."
"Not that!" John interrupted, not allowing Sherlock to finish his defensive little speech, one that was certainly unnecessary. Sherlock blinked, allowing himself to regain his composure, and nodded a bit thankfully.
"Not that? Oh...good." He muttered nervously. "Good, because I didn't know if, you know, if it was all...well I wasn't entirely sure if it was too abrupt."
"I don't think it was very abrupt. I mean yes, in terms of hopefulness it certainly was, considering as soon as Victor arrived I thought my chances had fallen to zero, but in terms of timeline it wasn't abrupt at all. Like you said, it was overdue." John admitted.
"Your chances were never zero. I mean, I liked Victor, of course I did. But I liked you too." Sherlock assured. "I still like you, obviously." He added nervously.
"Well that's good." John said with something of an uncomfortable little chuckle. Thankfully they were interrupted with the waiter bringing Sherlock's coffee, and he busied himself adding his sugar and stirring it around for a moment before blowing carefully on the steam and taking his first sip. With a wince he set it back down in its saucer, as if he was legitimately surprised to find that it was hot.
"That's not what I called you here for." John admitted heavily, taking a swig of his beer and letting his head fall miserably towards the table. He looked at Sherlock now and wondered just how long he would have of seeing that boy in front of him. He wondered how much longer he would have the honor. Mary gave him three days...
"So what's it for then?" Sherlock wondered. John sighed heavily, shaking his head yet knowing that it would be too difficult to try to tiptoe around the problem.
"Mary found out. Well, more accurately, I told her, but that's only because I thought it was the right thing to do. I told her before that...before the office event happened, because I thought I had lost you to Victor and decided that it would be best just to come clean so that my consciousness didn't eat me alive. So I told her." John began.
"My God, that is like rule number one of an affair. Well, it's breaking rule number one at least." Sherlock admitted quietly.
"But I thought she'd understand, I thought that I could defend my position by telling her about the house, and how even though I had feelings for you they were merely inherited, and to tell her not to be suspicious. Because I knew she was, this whole time I knew she was watching me carefully." John admitted.
"So what did she say?" Sherlock asked, his voice slowing now, as if he really didn't want to hear this answer. He cautiously took another sip of his coffee, and stared at John in anticipation.
"She said she wouldn't have it. I told her about the house, she wouldn't believe me, she thinks I'm raving mad. She said that I could either move away and never see you both again, never see the house again, and forget about all of this, or she'll file for divorce." John muttered, his lips trembling with drunken emotion as he sunk his head into his hands miserably. He didn't want to see Sherlock's reaction, he didn't want to watch as the boy's eyes softened into worry, he didn't want to see his hands trembling around his white mug. And so John buried his eyes, waiting for the initial shock to pass, before finally lifting his head up to his companion once more. Sherlock looked just about as concerned as John might have expected, his jaw was dropped and his face was pale, and his eyes seemed not to be blinking for an unusual amount of time. The shock had settled now, and the reality was setting in like a grievous understanding. Surely Sherlock saw what was coming, some sort of gruesome end.
"Oh my goodness." He muttered finally, blinking finally before letting his eyes fall down to his coffee, and staring nervously into the black depths. John nodded miserably, beginning to feel quite defeated as even Sherlock looked beaten. Even Sherlock, the genius masters student, didn't seem to have an answer that would make everyone happy.
"What are you going to do then?" Sherlock asked finally. John shook his head, allowing a slight groan to escape his lips before he drained the last of his beer, sliding the empty glass to the edge of the table so as to signal for another one.
"I don't know. God, I don't know. I have so many commitments on either side! I mean I've got a child now, a wife...but in the end they're just tiny pieces of my whole existence, aren't they? You, the house, Victor, all of that is my destiny, my past and my future! Mary's just my present." John grumbled. Sherlock sighed, nodding as if finally he saw the underlying issue.
"So it's not just us versus her, it's also responsibility versus destiny." Sherlock decided.
"Exactly." John grumbled. "And I don't know which one is priority, and she won't even let me compromise because she's...she's unreasonable!" John growled, substituting a more pleasant word for his first choice so as to spare Sherlock's ears the vulgarity. Sherlock sat and thought for a moment, yet he seemed to be at a loss.
"And you're sure? I mean, perhaps she was just in some sort of fit of anger, perhaps she wasn't being rational." Sherlock suggested.
"No, no she seemed to have thought it over. This isn't the first time we've had this argument." John admitted with a grumble. Sherlock sighed heavily, bringing his eyes to meet John's a bit mournfully.
"You don't think this is my fault? You don't...you don't think I'm to blame?" Sherlock asked nervously.
"No of course not! No, if anything it's my fault. Yet I'm not laying blame on either of us, since all of this seems to be wildly out of our control. I'm going to go ahead and blame it all on Mary." John decided.
"I'm a homewrecker." Sherlock whispered fearfully.
"You're not." John assured him, reaching over and offering the boy his hand. Sherlock sighed heavily, looking tempted yet apprehensive. Finally he set down his coffee mug and took John's hand, knowing of course that it may be one of his last chances to hold his hand. Now that Mary was involving herself in things that were not supposed to be her issue, this may be the last chance for a great many things between them.
"Sherlock, you know I love you. And that's not just because I'm destined to, it's not because of any of that. I would choose you even if we hadn't shared a thousand lifetimes together, you know that." John muttered. Sherlock nodded, looking uncomfortable as if he knew there was more to that sentence. "But I want to watch my child grow, I love Rosie, and I know that I simply have to be there for her. The things that fathers do with their children, I want to be the one to do that. I don't want her to have a stepfather; I don't want some other man interrupting the moments that should've been mine."
"So what are you saying?" Sherlock asked apprehensively. "You're picking them?"
"I don't know yet." John grumbled. "I'm half considering kidnapping Rosie." He added with a nervous little laugh.
"Oh you know how well that'd work out." Sherlock grumbled, shaking his head as if he really had to remind John about the seriousness of amber alerts.
"If we got a divorce, I mean I'd have Rosie on the weekends perhaps. I mean, at best I'd have her for a couple of days. I know enough to know that the father always gets the least amount of time." John grumbled.
"Don't let me get in the way of your daughter. You've got priorities; I know that I can't be all of them. Really there's no issue in it." Sherlock assured quietly. John shook his head, squeezing onto Sherlock's hand tighter and closing his eyes for a moment. He felt a tear coming on, a pesky little thing that was heating up John's eyelids, pressing to be released.
"I just wish this would all go away." He admitted quietly. "I wish I could just...start over."
"Perhaps you can." Sherlock suggested. "Us of all people, well if we're caught in a loop, we'll get to the beginning eventually. Perhaps this is just one lifetime, if you leave us this time you can come back the next."
"No, no that wouldn't work at all." John grumbled. "We don't know enough about this loop to know where it starts...but I think I might know where it ends." He added in a horrified whisper. He looked towards his bag, which he had brought out of force of habit, knowing that inside of it lay the journal that documented their original occurrences. The first run, the one which sent this circling about each other for centuries to come. Sherlock was right, wasn't he? John of all people...he had the power to start over. He wouldn't feel guilty about his daughter if he forgot she existed, right? And he wouldn't feel bad about anything because he knew that it would just happen again? Oh what a terrible thought...a last case scenario at best! In fact, the idea of starting the loop over was so grotesque that John pushed it to the back of his mind, unable to face it at the moment. No, he couldn't think of such things while Sherlock's hand was still in his own.
"Let's just forget about it tonight." John decided finally. "Let's go back to the house, and sit by the fire. Let's enjoy the moments we have together, while we still can."
"John I wish I could, I really wish I could. But I've got a paper due tomorrow at noon, and I've only got a page written." Sherlock grumbled.
"Then I'll come help you." John suggested with some effort.
"It's chemistry." Sherlock admitted with a frown. John sighed, knowing of course that he wouldn't be a help in that department, in fact he'd be more of a distraction than an asset.
"Alright then, well I suppose I'll just sit here and think it all over again. Perhaps it's better anyway, thinking about it without you being here to bias me." John said with a little grin.
"What on earth does that mean?" Sherlock wondered.
"It means so long as I'm staring at you, it's impossible to give you up." John admitted with a chuckle. Sherlock squeezed John's hand in appreciation, and he flashed a flattered little smile as his cheeks began to glow red.
"You're too kind, John." he debated.
"And you're too beautiful." John admitted. He leaned over the table, pulling on Sherlock's hand so as to make him do the same, and met the boy half way. He kissed him for a moment, nothing too passionate considering they were in a public setting, but just enough so that he could feel the warmth that this true love brought to himself. It warmed his heart to the point where his entire body was glowing, all with the touch, the feel of Sherlock Holmes. It was Sherlock who pulled away, looking a little bit guilty as he did so.
"I need to go, I really need to go." He mumbled apprehensively.
"Of course." John agreed, nodding his head and letting go of Sherlock's hand. He sank back into his booth and watched as Sherlock clambered to his feet, pulling on his coat and scarf.
"I'll see you tomorrow, ya?" Sherlock asked.
"Of course." John agreed. Sherlock smiled, blushing a little bit before leaning over and giving John a quick peck of goodbye.
"I like kissing you." He admitted with a cute little squeak, as if he felt that should've been some sort of secret.
"Oh get out of here, Sherlock, before I never let you leave." John insisted, giving him a great big smile yet shooing him away all the same. Sherlock nodded, and with a final goodbye he turned away and scampered out the door. John sank even deeper into the booth, giving a great sigh of annoyance. He felt more defeated than ever, and he couldn't think what his options even were. He couldn't think of a single thing to do, not if he wanted to lose it all. Well, there was one possibility...John very apprehensively rolled up one of his sleeves, running his finger down the long white scar that had been there since he was born. Was that really self-inflicted? Was it a scar to remind him of what he was going to do, what he had to do? To restart the loop, to fix his foolish mistakes...was he going to have to get blood on his hands? 

 If there was ever a convenient moment for his past self to show up, now would certainly be the time. For a moment John stood in the hallway, staring intently into the large mirror that had been hung alongside many of the old oil paintings which decorated the halls of the old house. Yet his reflection, no matter how hard he tried, remained the same. It never wavered, never depicted someone much older than himself, or anyone who seemed to be more knowledgeable about the subject of their constant loop. No, the reflection remained the same, and in his own reflection John was just afraid to see what he seemed to have become. There was a hopelessness in his eyes, something which warned him that he might do something soon, something which he might later come to regret. And yet what choice did he have, oh how lucky he was to have been given a reset button, the ability to start fresh, knowing full well that he would come into this house again. It would draw him back, bring him Sherlock and Victor...none of their meetings happened by chance! All of this was orchestrated, as it had been in the past. The only thing John would lose forever would be Mary, and Rosie. Of course the latter was more important, yet the more he pondered his connection to Mary the more he found himself missing her. There had been a time when he genuinely loved that woman; there had been a time when he couldn't imagine his life without her. And now, now look at the position she was putting him in! Look at the state she had degraded him into, forcing him to choose between his two worlds, forcing him to decide which one of the lives to keep. John only had to assume that Sherlock didn't know of John's possibilities, in fact Sherlock probably didn't know how to restart their loop at all. Victor had been blessed with memory, and John blessed with the journal, yet Sherlock was as much in the dark as he could ever be. Sherlock was the only part which made John hesitate, he was the only person he couldn't find it within himself to harm. Of course killing Victor would be easy; in fact it would be almost effortless to take a knife to that man's throat. Yet Sherlock...well John didn't think he could do it. He didn't think he could will his body to go against his heart, even if killing Sherlock did mean keeping him in the long run. It was worth it, it had to be worth it! There seemed to be no other way! John couldn't abandon his family, not without good reason. And when he is born in the next world he'll have forgotten them, there would be no guilt involved! When he was dead he could give all of his money to his wife, there was a life insurance check involved, Rosie would be well taken care of. Yes, he might miss his child's critical moments, but the more he thought about it the more it seemed impossible to be there for them anyway. Unless Rosie miraculously learned to talk, walk, and write in the next two days John was going to miss her milestones either way. And if he was there for them, if he moved off with his wife and abandoned this house and everyone in it, well there would be doubt! He couldn't appreciate any moment which would happen inside of his small family, not when he knew that somewhere Sherlock was asking himself what he had done wrong. John knew that if he hadn't been presented with an alternative, he might just have to choose the house. Yet the guilt that came along with that would be far too much to handle, and so was necessary the third option. He had to...well he had to fulfill his destiny. When it's put like that, it's not entirely too difficult to stomach. It wasn't terribly difficult to plan the procedure; in fact the only part which was difficult was trying to look everyone in the eyes while he did. He was staying at the house, in his own room, and in doing so was finding himself more and more willing. The longer he stayed trapped in those walls the easier it was for him to stomach the whole ordeal, the easier it was to give into the madness. He knew that he only had a day and a half to plan, as Mary's three day deal was narrowing quickly. And yet it really wasn't too much of an effort to orchestrate the ordeal, all he had to do was write a couple of notes, say a couple of goodbyes, and collect his little pistol from under his dresser. The last two on that list required him to revisit his wife, which of course was going to be a lot easier said than done. He knew that the woman would be expecting an answer, or at least a partial one, when she greeted him at the door. And yet he had to say goodbye to Rosie, and to leave his own copy of his will at the house with Mary, the only one he trusted who would survive this whole ordeal. John had written it up the day before, leaving all that he had in this life (aside from the house, which was going to be passed down to John Watson) to his daughter when she turned old enough to inherit it. He left their family home to Mary, despite their still having to finish off the mortgage payments, and decided that would be enough. She didn't deserve any sort of gifts from him, considering that she was the one pushing him to go to extreme levels. Balancing the present and the past had been going perfectly well before, yet now she was putting him in an impossible situation, one which could only be solved by going to the more extreme levels. John arrived in his driveway just after he had been released from the college, sitting in his car for a little moment and turning the envelope over in his hands. Of course he didn't want it to be terribly obvious, what it was, for obviously Mary would understand what he was attempting to do, at least in part. To make it so obviously a will would mean that he was planning to die, and Mary would do whatever was within her power to prevent that. And so John had to put special instructions with it, that was why he wasn't sneaking about the house so as to avoid that witch. And so he got out of the car, climbing up the stairs and letting himself in with the key he kept hanging on his car keys. He wasn't sure if he was welcome in this house, partially because Mary still considered him a horrible, cheating man. She was undoubtedly holding a grudge, for she may have expected this decision making process to be a lot easier for him. Perhaps she misjudged him, and his dedication not just to his family, but to his destiny as well.