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It’s only when Mary leans in close and whispers, “He left,” that John realizes Sherlock is no longer in the room. He hesitates for a moment, and he hates himself for hesitating. Mary tugs firmly on his ear, her way of commanding his attention and also reminding him that sometimes he’s a dolt. He looks up just as Mary mouths, “Go after him you berk.”
He doesn’t have to be told twice. He slips out of the building and into the garden just in time to see Sherlock turn up the collar on his coat, looking all mysterious with his cheekbones. He shouts Sherlock’s name across the garden, and at first he thinks Sherlock didn’t hear him. Then he remembers that this is Sherlock bloody Holmes, and he could hear a pin drop at a Stones concert if needed.
He shouts again and this time Sherlock stops but doesn’t turn around. By the time he reaches Sherlock he realizes that he doesn’t know what to say so he says the only thing he can think of, “It’s all fine.”
Sherlock turns and looks at him and stares, his face the picture of neutrality.
“It’s all fine. You, me, Mary, it’s all fine. And when the baby is born, it will still be fine. It’s geometry, yeah? Perfectly logical.”
Sherlock opens his mouth and closes it like a goldfish. He has something to say but has thought better of it.
He continues, “Triangles have three sides, three angles. It’s possible to have an equilateral triangle where all sides are the same length and all the angles are 60 degrees. And then of course there’s a square, which has four equal sides and four equal angles. No angle or side is more important or greater than another.”
“John, are you comparing our relationship to geometry?”
“I’m trying to appeal to your sense of logic, Sherlock. I hardly wanted you to think this was all sentiment. I still need you.”
“You mean to tell me that you require my presence so you and Mary can form an equilateral polygon?”
“Yes, and no, because of course we’re not really talking about polygons. We’re talking about you and me and Mary and the baby. There’s room for all of us.”
Sherlock stares at him for what feels like eternity before murmuring “understood” so softly that John can barely hear it.
All John can say in reply is “good” before clapping Sherlock on the shoulder.
“Let’s go back in, shall we? I believe it’s possible to dance as a triangle.”
And John doesn’t have to look at Sherlock’s face to know that he’s smiling.