"I'm afraid you'll find this to be quite boring," Mary said, sheepishly handing John his Christmas gift. It was a decent sized rectangle wrapped in silver paper with an outlandish gold bow on top. John was no Sherlock Holmes but he could tell he was receiving clothes.
"I'm sure I'll love it," he replied with a slight smile and a kiss on her cheek. "You really didn't have to get me a thing."
She sighed and rolled her eyes. "I know, you told me a million times."
He tore the paper off and, sure enough, inside the box was a brown and yellow striped jumper. He took it from its box, letting it unfold so he could he could hold it to himself.
"Mary – thank you." He let it fall so he could lean in for a proper kiss. She dodged him with a cheeky grin.
"Try it on!"
"Now?"
"Well I have to know if it fits properly," she teased, "and I desperately enjoy watching you undress."
John laughed and, removing his shirt, remarked, "You know you only have to ask to -"
He stopped mid-sentence, mid-tugging at his shirt; Mary had put her hand on his shoulder. Her fingers were cool and her touch surprised him. "Mary?" He finished removing his shirt and looked down at his left shoulder. Her fingers traced over a fading scar.
Concern clouded over her face, "Is this from a bullet? God, is this from Moriarty?"
John took her hand and shook his head. "No, no, Sherlock never got me shot," he smiled slightly. "That's from the – war."
Mary stared at him, waiting, as she should have. In all their time together had he really not told her?
"War?"
He let out a deep breath. "Oh God, I just – I never thought to mention it."
"You were in the war?"
"Afghanistan."
Her mouth hung open and he waited for the barrage of insults, the questions, the accusations.
Instead, she scooted in close to him, tucking her head under his chin and wrapping her arms around his bare chest.
"I guess we have the rest of our lives to catch up on all things you did before Sherlock Holmes."
John smiled into her hair, "I guess you're right."