A/N: This story was originally part of "Domestic Enemies" but wound up on the cutting room floor. I found it while I was re-editing that story and decided to post it. As always, I don't own these characters, Moffat/Gatiss and Conan Doyle do. Story named after the Dirty Vegas song "Days Go By."

Sun shone through the windows of the upper bedroom of 221B Baker Street. John still slept there, despite the fact that no one had used the downstairs bedroom for months. Someday he should clean it out, but today he had something – or rather, someone – else on his mind. That someone was currently dozing next to him with a delicate flush on her cheeks. (I've been on three continents and never seen any woman as gorgeous as her.)

The doctor stretched and lazily rolled over in bed, picked up his phone and then blinked in horror at what he saw.

Calendar Alert: Work in 10 min

(How in the bleeding fuck did I sleep through my alarm?) The doctor jumped out of bed and snatched the nearest clean scrubs. As he stumbled into them, he shook his girlfriend awake.

"Oi, Mary, get up! I'm late for work!"

Reluctantly, she pulled herself out of bed, got dressed, and the two of them dashed down the stairs. After seeing Mary into a cab, the blond man raced down the street and caught the Tube. When he arrived at the hospital, it seemed that all of his colleagues were staring at him with accusing eyes as he walked in. (I deserve it for being this late.) The patients were giving him odd looks too, but he figured they were simply annoyed at having to wait.

During a lull in the activity, two of the nurses and a secretary were glancing at John and not-so-surreptitiously snickering. (Right. Time to end this.) Captain Watson straightened his spine, marched over to them and said coolly, "Ladies, would you care to share the joke with the rest of us?

The short nurse cleared her throat and gently said, "Er… Dr. Watson… perhaps you should look in a mirror."

(What the hell does that mean?) John gave the trio a quizzical look. Grinning, the secretary fished a makeup mirror out of her desk and handed it to the doctor.

When the doctor saw the mark on his neck, his jaw dropped and he immediately turned a deep crimson.

"Fun evening, was it?" The short nurse said, and the women erupted in mirth.

Sunday mornings were usually quiet at the cemetery – most mourners didn't come by until the afternoon. And so it was that a blond ex-soldier had no fear of anyone eavesdropping while he finished telling the story of his date to his best friend's headstone.

"…and then one of the nurses told me to look in the mirror." John shook his head, chuckling. "Mary left an enormous love bite on my neck! The nurse and I tried covering it with makeup but the damned thing was so dark nothing would cover it. I wound up spending the whole day with my white coat collar turned up to hide it. You'd have given me no end of ribbing if you'd been there. I'm afraid I don't look cool with my coat collar turned up like you do - did. I look rather foolish, actually."

John raised his eyes as if expecting to see Sherlock hovering in the clouds. "God, I can't believe I actually admitted that you looked cool with your coat collar up."

The blond man smiled wanly as he continued. "Anyway, that's why I'm wearing a scarf and why I'm here a little earlier than usual this week. I'm meeting Mary for brunch. And why I brought flowers – for Mary! I know you don't care for them. I feel bad about dashing out on her like that yesterday, and I want her to know that I'm a gentleman."

Rolling his eyes, he said, "All right, yes, it's not just a scarf; it's your scarf. And I think it looks good on me, thank you." (And it still smells of you and when I wear it, I can almost pretend that you're here.)

"I really think you might like her. Or at least, not hate her like you did the others. She's smart, she's funny, she's beautiful, she's kind... I'm making you sick, aren't I?"

John's face sagged and he tried to fight off the sadness rising in his chest. "I still wish you were here to chase her off."

Blinking back tears, he sat silently for a moment as he always did when he'd finished telling Sherlock everything that happened each week. After all these months, he still wondered if one day he'd finish speaking and then Sherlock would appear with a pithy observation.

Greeted only by the wind, John stood up and touched the headstone. "See you next week."