Once the doors of the hall shut and the floors were quiet, John took a deep breath, taking a seat next to Sherlock and studying his face, as if wondering what he could possibly say next.
"Did you kill him?" John muttered.
"Of course I didn't kill him, you heard the story, he attacked me." Sherlock pointed out. John nodded, but he didn't seem convinced.
"Did you do everything you could?" he wondered.
"Yes, of course I did, I don't like death, even if it is to take one of the most deserving people." Sherlock admitted.
"We need to shut down the exhibit, just for now. Sherlock, you can't let anyone know what happened here, we don't want the general public thinking my merman is a murderer." John insisted.
"Your merman." Sherlock muttered. It was supposed to sound like a joke, or a tease, or at least a little bit sarcastic, but instead his voice was no more than a satisfied breath, as if he was quoting John's words back at him just to be sure John said them in the first place.
"Yes, and I don't want mothers to be scared, I don't want my father executing you for a crime you didn't commit, I don't want that servant's family to start riots." John admitted.
"He had a family?" Sherlock wondered.
"I don't know. I can only assume." John sighed, looking very ashamed, as if he felt personally responsible for the man's death.
"I'm sorry." Sherlock muttered, as if that was all he was able to say. "I don't want this to mess anything up between us."
"I still trust that you didn't kill him. You're innocent Sherlock, you're peaceful." John decided. Sherlock stared at him for a moment, as if wondering what he might want to say next.
"But...?" Sherlock muttered, knowing it was coming eventually.
"But this little incident doesn't make me keen on drinking some potion, especially if I don't know what it does." John muttered.
"Do you have it?" Sherlock whispered, trying to ignore John's words, trying to tell himself that nothing had changed.
"In my dresser drawer." John agreed.
"If I told you what it was, you wouldn't believe me." Sherlock insisted.
"You said I would figure a lot of things out. What would I know if I drank the whole thing?" John asked. Sherlock could only try not to look too hopeful, too upset.
"You'll know things that I think you already know, even if you insist on keeping them buried." Sherlock muttered. John didn't seem too satisfied with that answer. "John, the thoughts you have, that I know you have, that you think are crazy, they're not. Trust me John, just, just go with your gut feeling, because chances are those thoughts aren't as crazy as you might think."
"What thoughts are you talking about?" John wondered, leaning forward ever so slightly, his hazel eyes gleaming in anticipation.
"You already know what I'm talking about." Sherlock insisted. John leaned back again, as if he had been doing nothing more than rocking back and forth, as if trying to play it off as if he wasn't too excited to hear what Sherlock had to say. Sherlock wondered whether or not John knew what thoughts, what emotions Sherlock was getting at. He wondered if the first crazy thoughts that came to John's mind was the love he insisted he didn't have for his merman.
"You should probably go to sleep." He decided, hastily changing the topic.
"I want to go back into the water." Sherlock muttered, starting to scoot away from the deck the best he could, wincing with the effort. John reached out a hand quickly, like an automatic response, like a scared mother.
"Are you sure that's a good idea?" he asked with fear in his voice.
"Are you worried I'll drown?" Sherlock asked with a little laugh, very aware of John's hand still on his arm.
"No, not really, I'm just, I don't know. I'm worried." John admitted, cracking a small smile as if trying to hide his true emotions, whatever those might be. He removed his hand as if just noticing it was still laying on Sherlock's arm, scratching his nose a little bit as if trying to make it seem like he had needed his hand, when in reality he just didn't want to make this anymore awkward than it already was. Maybe he wanted to tell himself that he didn't want to touch Sherlock's arm, that he didn't want to be closer than necessary to his merman. Maybe he thought Sherlock couldn't figure any of this out.
"Don't worry about me, I can swim, I have gills, I'll be fine." Sherlock insisted, starting to inch away once more.
"Who's Victor?" John asked abruptly, right before Sherlock could plummet into the tank below.
"Victor? He's no one, I just met him, he saved my life." Sherlock said quickly.
"I don't know much about you Sherlock, but I know when you're lying. Who is he, how do you know him?" John asked. Sherlock took a deep breath, looking at John's face with a confused expression.
"I have no idea who he is." Sherlock insisted.
"He seemed really worried about you, really caring, as if the two of you have a connection, a past, that he wanted to protect." John muttered.
"What are you suggesting?" Sherlock asked. John looked down at the dock as if very uncomfortable, and very regretful that he had brought up this particular conversation.
"I don't know." John admitted, the safe way out.
"We're not together, if that's what you're wondering. I've never met him before, you can trust me on that, and even if I had, I would never love him." Sherlock assured. John seemed to breathe a little bit easier now. "If I had, would that bother you?" Sherlock wondered, slanting his eyes in confusion and watching for any sign he knew of to tell if John was getting uncomfortable. He looked for John's red cheeks, which were now glowing, for his fidgeting hands buttoning and unbuttoning the button on his shirt sleeve, his eyes darting around the docks as if trying to think of something to change the topic with, but couldn't figure out how.
"It wouldn't bother me at all." He said very quickly, all in one breath, as if forcing the words out was troubling enough.
"I don't know much about you John, but I know when you're lying." Sherlock said, repeating John's own words from before, as if trying to make some sort of point.
"I just...I don't like the idea of you with anyone, especially some traveler, some stranger, who would touch your face and stare at you with such love, as if you were his for the taking. I wouldn't want you to be with someone who would disrespect your heart like that." John decided.
"Who do you suggest then?" Sherlock wondered. "Who would respect my heart, my choices?" John shrugged, looking anywhere except Sherlock's eyes, looking like a cornered deer. He knew what he was going to say, or at least what he was thinking, as did Sherlock. They both knew that he should say that he would be the one to love Sherlock, but at the moment, his mouth was shut.
"I don't know." He said after a long, anticipating pause. "I don't know." He repeated, more to himself than to Sherlock. Sherlock just stared at him with a soft look in his eyes, a look of understanding, of pity. John was struggling with what his heart was telling him, and Sherlock understood that struggle.
"I think I do." He decided, and with that he pushed himself off of the dock and into the chilly water, sinking under the waves and thrashing his injured tail, feeling the water slip through the wound on his fin, feeling himself go much slower and with a lot more aches and pains, but soon enough he landed on his coral and collapsed in the multicolored branches, scattering little fish that had been collecting around it. Sherlock stared up at the surface and knew that John was staring back, from the dock, where he thought Sherlock couldn't see him. Well, he was right; Sherlock couldn't see him and he didn't want to try. He didn't want to see the prince being this defeated, this upset. The poor boy was in love with Sherlock, or at least, that was all that Sherlock could assume, his little heart was telling him things and he was silencing it with his pure stubbornness. But if he was going to listen, now would be the time, the wedding was now only three days away, and when he slid that ring over Mary's finger, it was game over. no matter how much his heart yelled and screamed at him to listen to it, it didn't matter. No matter how much he loved Sherlock, he would have to pretend that he loved Mary for the rest of his life.                                                                        

         When Sherlock woke up, he expected the hall to be filled with visitors. Quite the contrary, actually, and it took him a moment to remember that the paparazzi had been kicked out, the whole operation shutdown at least for now, when they could get to the bottom of this murder investigation. Sherlock regretted letting the man die, of course, even if it wasn't his fault. But he didn't care that the man had lost his life, or that those idiot servants lost their friend or even that the exhibit was shut down.No, the thing Sherlock regretted most was losing John's trust, at least some of it. Now that a man had died in Sherlock's presence, now that they had reasonable suspicion to connect Sherlock to even the most petty, accidental of deaths, John couldn't trust him 100%. And that made him doubt the potion, it made him doubt Sherlock's good nature, it made him doubt Sherlock as a creature, as a human, as a merman, and everything that Sherlock had tried to build up with him might have come crashing down. Just because John might be starting to feel the same feelings Sherlock had, it wasn't enough, it wasn't enough for him to down a mysterious bubbling potion that had been hanging around Sherlock's neck since they met. He had no idea what it might be,anything from poison to something that blows your stomach apart from the inside, how could he know? Sherlock had to somehow tell him the truth, but there seemed to be no reasonable way to do that, no proper way to drop such a bomb on John's life. To tell him that he was once a human, that John was once in love with him, it all sounded too fake, like a fairytale that Sherlock had made up on the spot just to make John drink the potion and die. And with only three days, Sherlock had to think quickly. He did his best to swim to the surface, his beaten tail feeling almost useless as he struggled to pull himself to the docks, finally emerging and pulling himself with all the strength he could muster onto the dry wood. John was asleep on the docks, curled into a peaceful little ball, snoring quietly. Sherlock debated whether or not he should wake him or not, whether he should just take this moment to stare at John's lovely face, stare when he knew there was no way John could be staring back. Sherlock edged ever closer, cautiously placing a hand on John's arm,running his hand back and forth across the thin cotton sleeve, tracing the outline of John's muscular arm beneath. Alright, maybe it was creepy, but when else could he fully appreciate John Watson? Sherlock brought his face very close to John's, so close he could feel the breath coming in and out of his nose, ever so softly, he could make out every line and every imprint on John's beautiful lips, he could see every eyelash. And for a moment Sherlock debated whether or not he should just go for it, to wake John up with a surprise kiss,to lock their lips and see John's eyes open in surprise. To see whether John would push him away and scurry off or if he would pull Sherlock closer to him,deepening the kiss and run his hands through Sherlock's soggy curls. Sherlock really preferred the latter. For a moment he imagined what it would be like to kiss John again, the memories of before just felt so long ago that it was tough to recall all that had happened, all the emotions, all the small little things that made kissing John Watson so special. It wasn't just his lips or his hands,no; it was so much more than that. It was his heart, beating so loud that Sherlock could hear it; it was his small, quick breaths, struggling to provide his weakening muscles with oxygen while still trying to give Sherlock every ounce of his love, of his attention. Sherlock forgot how it felt in his heart to be kissing John Watson, something beautiful, but something he could never recreate through memory. He would have to kiss John again to know just how it felt to have his heart sing it's beautiful song, to have John's heart pulling at his, to have them intertwine in a beautiful melody. And John would be his once again. Sherlock's hand pulled away as soon as he heard John's breathing increase, for a moment he thought he was starting to stir, but it really caught  him off guard when John's eyes opened abruptly, sending Sherlock scrambling away in fear, as if John would know exactly what he was doing even though he was asleep through the whole thing.
"Good morning." Sherlock managed. John blinked a moment, trying to process the whole thing, but Sherlock was relieved to see the smallest of smiles appear on his face.
"Good morning." he agreed. John sat up with a groan, running his fingers through his hair and yawning loudly. Sherlock watched him curiously, as if wondering what he might say.
"So, how'd you sleep?" John asked, which was definitely not the first question that might come to Sherlock's mind. Maybe John was too sleepy to process the whole lack of personal space thing.
"I slept...fine, yes. Fine." Sherlock muttered quickly.
"That's good." John agreed. "I slept rather horribly, well, I had a good night until Greg woke me up."
"I'm sorry about that, I didn't mean to be..." Sherlock started, and John just shushed him with a very amused look on his face.
"You think it's your fault that those idiots beat you up? God no Sherlock, it'snot your fault." John assured, and Sherlock forced a little smile.
"Good, I didn't want you to, well, that's good." Sherlock muttered, not knowing what to say. He didn't want to think he was needy? That he couldn't handle himself? John already knew that was true, so what else was there to say?
"Why'd I wake up to you so close?" John wondered, rubbing his arm with a small,accusing smile on his face.
"Me? Oh, you know, I was trying to see if you were awake or not. Evidently you were." Sherlock muttered.
"Are you sure you weren't just checking me out up close?" John wondered.Sherlock turned an embarrassing shade of scarlet, and that just seemed to amuse John even more.
"No of course not. I can check you out from up here, it's...that didn't sound right at all." Sherlock decided, taping his fingers against the dock in annoyance. What an idiot he was. But John just laughed, as if his awkwardness was hilarious, and shook his head slightly.
"You're just so adorable when you're uncomfortable. I should do this more often." John decided.
"How far are you willing to go?" Sherlock wondered, looking at John out of the corner of his eye to see if there was any reaction. John was looking just a little but flustered, but there was still that big smile on his face, as if he thought Sherlock's poor attempts at flirting were cute. Their conversation was cut off, however, when the doors opened and Sherlock heard rather clumsy footsteps come through the door. He looked up to see none other than Greg walk through, and he breathed a breath of relief. At first he had thought it was Victor, and that would be very inconvenient indeed.