John emerged from the bathroom in his striped dressing gown, moving his nose and mouth around, relishing the feeling of being clean-shaven for the first time in 6 months. It still rankled that it took Sherlock bloody Holmes to notice that even his own (soon-to-be, when he managed to ask without interruption) fiancée disliked it, but if he was honest he'd decided it looked a bit stupid on him anyway. As Mrs Hudson had said it aged him, and he certainly didn't need any help on that front.
As he walked out into the bedroom, he couldn't help but stop and stare at Mary. The room was incredibly bright due to the large windows (something she had insisted on) and he was struck by the warmth on his face. There was a time, a year and a half ago, when he would have been angry at the London weather for being sunny and light while he was grieving over the death of his best friend. How could London, the place at the heart of Sherlock's work, carry on, when Sherlock had jumped off the roof of Bart's and left John to muddle through the grey that was his life now? Now, however, he had learnt to appreciate his life again. He had Mary, who understood him like no-one had before (even Sherlock – he may have observed and deduced, but Mary really understood his heart), who he was going to marry. When he got the chance. John's mood fell slightly when he remembered the scene at the restaurant earlier.
Mary was still engrossed in the blog, reading it aloud to John. As if he didn't know what it said – he had written it. In fairness, she hadn't pried about John's past with Sherlock, realising that the best thing was for him to talk to her about it when he was ready. He had told her a lot about him, but she had tried not to be too curious, and so now he was alive he supposed she had earned the right to read some more about their adventures together.
'-erlock manhandled me into a cupboard with him as I heard the criminal approaching, pressing himself against me with his usual disregard for personal space. I was about to ask him…'
Mary faded out when she realised John was just standing at the foot of the bed. She looked up and immediately smiled that infectious grin of hers which lit up her whole face. Without saying a word, she crawled over to him and knelt in front of him on the bed, and ran her finger over his top lip, before leaning in for a chaste kiss. John smiled back at her, but she noticed it didn't quite reach his eyes. She grew sombre, and tugged him onto the bed with her, lying down on her side with him opposite. For a long moment, neither of them said a word.
John broke the silence.
'Mary, I need to-' He broke off, closed his eyes and swallowed. Mary rubbed soothing circles onto his hand with her thumb. If she had not known him so well, she might be afraid that he was trying to break it off with her, but she knew better. He felt confused, betrayed, confused… it was best to let him sort through his emotions in his own time.
John let out a breath and opened his eyes again.
'I don't know what to do, Mary. I feel as if I should hate him, and be angry at him-'
'You were, darling. You head-butted him, remember?' John gave a wry grin at that. God, when Sherlock had just walked into that restaurant and started joking about his moustache, John had literally seen red. All through his bumbling attempt at an apology and explanation, he had kept saying things which just made John want to throttle him. Seemed that being away for 2 years hadn't improved his social skills.
'Yeah, I know. It felt good too. I don't regret it.' It was Mary's turn to smile. 'I just can't help but think that… that if I really meant as much to him as he did to me, why did he do it in the first place? I wasn't let in on the trick, he didn't think to tell me for two whole years while I grieved, not even in those first few months when I was so lost and I just thought how much easier it would be to-'.
Mary interrupted him with a finger on his lips. She blinked rapidly, trying to clear away the tear that threatened to fall from the corner of her eye. Although she had only met John 9 months after Sherlock had died, when he had already struggled through the deepest part of his mourning, she still felt and shared his pain. Even now, every so often his eyes would cloud over as he remembered his absent friend. But no longer. Sherlock was back, and Mary had promised him that she would talk John out of his anger. In the past 15 months, she had clearly seen how much they had cared for each other, even though John had revealed only parts of their relationship.
'Shhh, it's ok, John. It's ok.' She moved her left arm over his shoulder to hold the back of his head, pulling him close as he started to shake with silent tears. In response, John tucked his head under Mary's chin as the tears he had been fighting to hold in since the taxi ride home refused to be contained any longer. It had been a long time since he had cried like this for Sherlock.
John tried to stutter out some words as he wept into Mary's chest.
'Oh God, he's ali- alive, Mary, I asked him for one more- one more miracle and for once in his life he ac-actually listened and he's back and I should still be- be furious at him and I think I am but-'. He paused and sniffed as the tears started to subside.
'There's no doubt I am angry, and I can't forgive him straight away, and it's going to take time for me to accept the fact that he lied to me, but honestly?' John lifted his head. He continued in a whisper. 'I missed him so much, and I thought I'd never see him again, but he's here, Mary! He came back.'
Mary wiped his cheeks with her thumb. 'I know – well, actually I don't really, but I'm being comforting and supportive,' John huffed out a laugh at her sense of humour. It was one of the things he loved most about her. 'When you were trying to get a cab earlier, I was looking at Sherlock's face and he seemed a bit… lost. Like a child who doesn't really know what to do but doesn't show it because he wants to act like a grown-up. And the way he was trying not to look at you, but couldn't help it… I told him I'd talk you round. But it seems you've done most of that yourself, haven't you?
John smirked. It was true. 'In the cab, you said you liked him!? You'd known him for all of an hour, and in that time I attacked him three times.'
'No, John. I'd met him for an hour – I've known him for about a year. On the occasions when you spoke to me about him, you described him so carefully that when I actually met him, I sort of knew what to expect. He wasn't afraid to say what he thought, but I think that was more out of not knowing what else to do. I liked it – he was confident, but underneath there was a… vulnerability about him. A fear that you would not accept him again.'
John leant forward and kissed Mary's forehead. She was right, as always. She was very intelligent, witty – almost like Sherlock in that respect. In fact, thinking about it, when he had been trying to be romantic earlier on by saying that she was the best thing that could have happened to him, her reply had been such a Sherlock thing to say – I think I am too. He could see why she liked him. John pulled back and smiled at Mary, who smiled back.
'I'm still going to kill him for interrupting my proposal, though, after I've finished being angry at him.'
Mary just laughed. It may take time, but it seemed that John and Sherlock's relationship was, underneath, just as strong as ever.