The night that followed was a sleepless night, spent curled in bed with Mary wrapping her tendril like arms around his chest. It was the first night in a while that he was actually able to lay and stare into the darkness, stare and think about what he was doing right and what he was doing wrong. Morally he knew that everything he was doing was wrong, but selfishly he was doing everything perfectly. It was a terrible trade off, but for now it was working. John was sure that over time Sherlock would lose interest, as he seemed to do with all his men, and so like it or not, John's passionate affair would come to an end, and he would be left crawling back to Mary without her ever knowing where he had been. That was until another man came along, man or woman really, who treated him with the same rude dominance that Sherlock had shown, and maybe John would be swept away once more. However it seemed virtually impossible for any other human being to be as romantic and seductive as Sherlock managed to be, just his very presence was enough for John to be willing to leave everything he knew and supposedly loved behind him. When the sun rose John discovered that he had gotten no sleep, other than constantly weaving in and out of alertness, he had not really closed his eyes at all. He knew that he was being a little bit unreasonable, but the lack of Sherlock in his life was really starting to weigh on him, the shadows of his house were creeping farther and farther, they were getting darker, denser, and soon they would swallow him whole. John ate his oatmeal with a small silver spoon, glaring into it for a long while before taking his first bite. Everyone else was asleep, and they had every right to be of course, since it was only five o'clock. The world was still sleeping, the sun was just starting to wake, and John was sitting here, staring miserably into his oatmeal. So he sat back and played his favorite game, what would Sherlock do if he were here? Well, to be honest, he seemed like the type to stay in bed until ten or eleven in the morning, so if he were up this early he would probably be miserable and crabby. But, for the sake of the game, he'll just be Sherlock, regular old beautiful Sherlock. He would saunter in to the kitchen with his hair in a mess, tangled and knotted from being smashed into the pillow all night, and he would walk in yawning, stretching his arms up to his head to rub his eyes with a bare, beautiful chest. And he would walk slowly over the linoleum; look through the cabinets for a while before settling with a simple cup of coffee. And he would stand there in silence, leaning against the counter, sipping at his bitter beverage and watching as John ate his oatmeal. And they wouldn't talk, they would just watch each other with tired eyes, and then Sherlock would set down his coffee and walk over behind John, wrap his bare arms around John's neck and chest, and press sleepy kisses into his hair while he talked about today's schedule. And he would be silent, and elegant, and beautiful in his own distant way, drifting this way and that on every little whim, and the house would be illuminated with pure, beautiful light and the shadows wouldn't dare touch him, even in the darkness hour of the night.
"Daddy?" asked a voice from the doorway. John blinked, looking over to see not Sherlock, but Rosie, standing next to the door and looking up at him expectantly, as if he owed her something.
"Rosie honey what are you doing up?" John wondered with a forced laugh, as if his child's appearance was adorable, not inopportune. How was he supposed to fantasize about his boyfriend when his five year old daughter was bugging him at this hour of the morning?
"I don't know." She admitted with a small shrug, her pigtails dangling off her head and her pony pajamas looking very matted and old.
"Do you want to go back to bed?" John wondered hopefully, wanting to shake her off as politely as possible.
"No." she said simply, shaking her head in a silent protest sort of way. John sighed heavily, suspecting that in her own annoying way, Rosie was trying to spend time with him. So what could he do? Just get rid of her, ignore her and lead her down a life of seclusion?
"Alright, come here." John decided finally, shrugging and holding open his arms once more. He was really going to have to have a lot of Sherlock time to make up for this constant family embracing rubbish. Rosie happily jumped into his arms, jumping onto his lap and crushing him very uncomfortably.
"What are you eating?" she wondered with a squeak, twisting without warning and stepping all over John's stomach. He winced, but forced a smile.
"It's oatmeal, want some?" he wondered. Rosie looked at it very suspiciously, as if she expected it to crawl out of John's bowl and devour her instead.
"No, that looks yucky." She decided finally. John just laughed; at least she had some common sense at this age.
"It is yucky, but when you get to be my age, it's one of the only breakfast options." He said with a regretful sigh.
"Why can't you eat Fruit Loops?" Rosie wondered, looking upon her father as if he had just confessed to her a great tragedy.
"Well, adults just don't eat that stuff. I don't know why, but they don't." he admitted with a sigh. He had never really asked himself why adults aren't allowed to enjoy nice things from their childhood, like sugary cereals or pointless video games. It was like an unspoken rule really, all fun was exhausted as soon as you get to college, then it was academics, drinking, and love with rebellious partners. It was a bit of a shameful life, wasn't it?
"That's stupid." she decided flatly, as if her own opinion would change anything.
"Yes it is Rosie, yes it is." John agreed with a sigh, staring at his oatmeal. Yes it was. John made sure to be prompt at work again, and even though he didn't quite beat Mrs. Turner to the door, he was very close. Other than her, he was the first one there, and he made sure to swing by her desk and flaunt his presence around very proudly, asking her for more Q-tips or thermometer caps, just to make sure she noticed him. Mrs. Turner never smiled, but she wasn't exactly scowling to her fullest extent, so John took that as a win. So he swiveled around in his chair a bit more, not feeling overly excited about the day to come, because he couldn't see how on earth he could manage a visit to Sherlock tonight. Just when he had made peace with his family, he should wait another day, shouldn't he? Certainly Sherlock wouldn't mind, he would find some man to take John's place for now, and he could go see him again tomorrow. That would make two days without seeing him, however, and that sounded like quite a chore to be honest. John's misery might catch him by then. If only he had a cell phone, something to contact Sherlock on to let him know when he was planning on arriving, just so he didn't catch Sherlock in an awkward time. John clenched his fists, rolling a bit agressivley away from the door as he thought about how unfaithful Sherlock most definitely was. He didn't seem like the type of guy to sleep lonely for a night, and certainly he wouldn't wait two whole days for his latest romance to show up at his door. He probably wasn't even thinking about John, probably passed out in his apartment with a cigarette hanging from his lips and a man lying on his chest. Because that was just the type of man he was. John was sure that if he was ever lucky enough to make Sherlock his husband that he would be shown the same sort of disrespect he was showing Mary right now. Sherlock would go out at night, get with some stranger, and then crawl back home, half drunk, half insane, rambling on and trying to keep it a secret. Of course that would make John feel awful, probably the same way Mary felt right now, that sort of hopelessness you get when you realize that everything you do and more will never be enough. But what could he do? He wanted to keep Sherlock in his possession for the rest of his life, he wanted to be with him, to love him, for as long as he could possibly live, a maybe longer than that still. But how? How will Sherlock ever love him so long if he wasn't even able to love him for more than a night? John sighed heavily, letting his head swing back in defeat while he pedaled himself around the office, the wheels on his swivel chair squeaking violently underneath him as he went to and fro on the tiles. His day crept ever so slowly by, and with every door that open and shut he wished beyond wishes that Sherlock would saunter in, tease him a little bit, kiss him a little bit, and then disappear in the same confident manner that he had arrived in. But that wouldn't happen, and the more hopeful John got the more upset he got when someone other than the love of his life walked through that miserable white door. 

    Dinner was solemn, it was quiet, and it was miserable. John was staring at that empty chair in front of him, almost begging the universe to grant him just one wish, just one favor, and make Sherlock appear. He needed that man more than ever, now that his wife had finally gotten onto good terms with him, now that she finally trusted him, well he was back to the old abyss, staring blankly forward while she rambled on and on about her latest craze and the hilarious accounts of her otherwise boring day. John had to smile, because smiling was what he did best. He was safe, at least for now, because a smile told her that he was happy, that he was entertained, while the pulsing lump over his heart swelled and swelled until he almost couldn't breathe. It almost felt as though with every word Mary was shoving black goop down his throat, choking him with every little laugh, until finally his lungs were filled, and he was left there gasping for air, for sanity, for quietness, all while she rambled on and on without really talking about anything. When dinner was over John sat outside, and despite the ever changing seasons and the brisk wind playing across the patio he sat there, he just had to have some alone time. If John sat inside he knew that Mary would ambush him with more stories about her horrible life, but when he went out here he knew there was no chance of interruption, since she thought it was simply too cold to step outside without a jacket when the temperature dropped below sixty. So he sat in this damp little plastic chair, looking out over the above ground pool staked out with a large blue tent over top, prepared for the winter that was sure to come. John wondered what was going to become of his life when Sherlock finally discovered that he felt more than simply lust for John. He wondered if Sherlock would ignore his feelings and try to move on, or if he would finally crack, settle down, and let his future intertwine itself with John's. A marriage with Sherlock would be very odd, John was quite sure that no one would show up. Certainly his own family would be against the marriage, and Mary and Rosie certainly wouldn't dare show up, however Sherlock's family couldn't be accounted for. John never really got the family vibe from Sherlock, and after seeing that family photo with the two other scowling siblings, he was quite sure that they would be alone. Would they make it public, or would it be private? Would John still be married to Mary when they whispered their vows, would they do it in secret, with none but a minister to witness their union? Or would they simply pledge themselves to each other, without any sort of official documents or religious ceremonies? Certainly John couldn't be married to more than one person, at least in the eyes of the government, so would Sherlock take a vow that he wouldn't stray from John while they settled the divorce, or whatever other means John had in mind to get rid of her? Ideally Mary and Rosie would just vanish, and John could stand up on an altar of a huge church, or possibly a cute wooden platform next to the ocean, and he could watch Sherlock stroll down the aisle, his smug expression replaced of one with pure joy, with modesty, with excitement, and he could look into his eyes and hold his hands tight, slipping a ring over his long white finger and whispering how he would never ever stray again. And John knew that he wouldn't, he knew that, unlike with Mary, John knew what he was getting into with Sherlock. He knew the labor of love that came along with a husband or wife, he knew that it wasn't just a contract but a bond, and he would happily slap on the shackles that came with Sherlock's ring. And he wouldn't waver in his loyalty, not like he did with Mary, he would never dare. Because who else was there in this world? Who on this earth, on any planet that is, matched Sherlock's beauty, his radiance? John couldn't think of one, not even a celebrity could match Sherlock's natural, mindless beauty. So where do you go once you've reached the top? Surely you wouldn't crawl down, so John would stay there, with him, with his love, for the rest of his life. He sat back and let his thoughts wander, to what Sherlock would be doing right now. He'd probably stay inside, he wouldn't like the moisture out here, worried about his hair most likely, and he would be leaning on the sliding glass door, watching John as he watched nothing, with that little smile on his face that he wore when he knew that someone else was thinking about him. When he knew that someone else wanted him. And John would look back now and then, smiling and beckoning him, and Sherlock would just shake his head stubbornly, insisting that John come back inside. And John would stay there, just to be annoying, until finally Sherlock broke down and came outside, standing with his arms crossed stubbornly in the misty air, and John would tease him for a while before the two of them went inside, hand in hand, wrapping each other with blankets on the couch to watch the nightly news. Life would be so simple yet so perfect with Sherlock, nothing would change in John's life except his company, but he was sure that if Sherlock was that company then he would never have a reason to frown again. He felt like this loneliness was eating him up inside, he felt as if Sherlock's absence in his life was like a hole inside of him, and the wider it got the more Mary's black ooze seeped in, drowning him, killing him, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. John finally decided that there was no harm in trying to see if he could get Sherlock's attention for another night, after all it had been at least two days, and he was starting to get a little bit impatient. He wouldn't make it public, of course, he would sneak out in the darkest hour, like he had had done the first night, and Mary would never know. He just had to see him, his heart was weak without his touch, and his scowl just deepened with every second of solitude. Surely Sherlock would be there, waiting for him, he would know he was coming, he would expect his visit. Sherlock seemed to know exactly what John was thinking, as if he had seen it all a thousand times before. He knew when he was arriving the first time, and he knew where to be for the second time. That terrace, that beautiful red couch, with the tense, cold cushions, and Sherlock's warm kisses upon his neck...
"John honey, what are you doing out there?" Mary wondered, sliding open the glass door and commenting on how cold it was. John sighed heavily; well there goes his peaceful solitude. He turned his head at a rather awkward angle, forcing a smile that probably became more of a flash of teeth, and he caught a glimpse of Mary, hugging herself for warmth, dressed in her night gown with a fluffy robe pulled over top.
"Just admiring the pool." He said with a little laugh.
"Come inside dear, it's cold out here." Mary insisted, pulling the door open wider. It wasn't a suggestion, it was a demand, and John knew that if he insisted on sitting out for a little longer Mary would get distant and irritable, and they'd have another fight that would require another nauseating make up, full of hugging, tears, and lies. So John pulled himself to his feet, smiling at her as he passed into the warm, dreadful house, and sat himself on the couch instead. The night crept by, Mary insisted that they watch a family movie together, so she curled up next to him with her blonde head on his shoulder, Rosie shrieking with laughter as they watched the latest Disney film. It was subpar at best, and John would've fallen asleep if it weren't for the very threatening presence of Mary so close. He felt as if when he closed his eyes she would begin to dissect his brain, and she would fine everything he's done and everything he intended to do, and needless to say, that wouldn't be good. So he kept his eyes open, nearly forcing them to stay alert while the cartoon people ran around chasing each other with whatever violence Disney thought appropriate for children of all ages. When finally the movie ended (it wasn't all that long, since children have short attention spans) Mary put Rosie to bed and he was able to have a bit more time to himself, staring at the blank screen and planning his escape. Obviously Mary couldn't be awoken, and what little noise he simply had to make was the garage door and the car. So he went over to the garage, opening it with the intent of leaving it open until he was ready to make his escape. Mary never checked the garage anyway, and as long as the door was padlocked he didn't see that much of a security hazard. It was a safe neighborhood, and unless thieves wanted to rob him of his lawn chairs and Christmas decorations, well, his garage really wasn't that attractive. He returned to his seat on the couch quickly, before Mary finally made her decent, and pretended to be reading some sort of gossip magazine that had been left on the coffee table.
"Didn't know you were one for drama." Mary said with a teasing little laugh, sitting down very close to him and peering over his shoulder at the article he was reading.
"Well, you know that the um...the...divorce of whoever these people are is simply fascinating." John said very quickly, trying to keep Mary happy until it was his time to leave.
"I know, it's a shame really. I thought they were going to last." Mary admitted with a sigh. John closed the magazine and threw it aside, replacing printed entertainment for the remote, and turned on the news. Mary sat next to him and watched along in silence, pictures of bank robbers and scenes of house fires plaguing their screen with the most depressing facts of the day. Mary eventually fell asleep, and by the flickering light of the TV John had to wake her and insist that she go off to bed without him. She nodded sleepily, and with a quick goodnight kiss (yuck) she shuffled up to bed. John couldn't believe his luck, he was sure he could invite Sherlock over here and she wouldn't hear a sound, but nevertheless he waited a good two hours before finally deciding it was safe.