Okay, I decided to delete my old story Reasons, and do a revamp of sorts. This is going to be a series of one-shots that all focus on Watson's grief during The Hiatus. I'm hoping that these one-shots can work both as stand alones and as one big story. Very special thanks to everyone who had left kind reviews for Reasons and The Fog. Now, on with the show...
"John?" Mary asked hesitantly. She stood outside the door to the study, a tray of food in her hands. There was no reply. She tried again, "I brought you some food; may I please come in?" Still-no reply.
Mary sighed and opened the door. Her husband had obviously been smoking for some time; the room was filled with the noxious fumes. Through the gloom, Mary could just make out the flicker of the candle that sat on the desk and John's form as he leaned forward, scribbling away. It broke her heart, seeing him like that.
Sometimes, she wondered if there had been three casualties at the Reichenbach Falls: Professor James Moriarty, Sherlock Holmes, and Doctor John H. Watson.
The man whom she had married had always been so warm and friendly, his eyes sparkling with mischief. His emotions, no matter what they were, would always be right on the surface where you could see them. But now that man was gone and in his place was a total stranger who was an exact opposite of the man he had been before. His whole demeanor was now cold and distant, and his once sparkling eyes had gone dim.
Mary longed to have her husband back more than anything else in the world, but she had a sickening fear that he was gone forever. After all, it had been nearly a year and a half since Holmes had died. Not that she would ever make light out of what was obviously a devestating loss, but surely after a year, a person would begin to heal, right? Except it seemed as though John was actually getting worse-and Mary had no idea how to help him.
She had been seeing less and less of him lately; every night he would return home from his practice and lock himself in the study. Once there, he would completely lose himself in whatever story he was currently working on. Mary found it bitterly ironic that despite his being often summoned away for one adventure or another, she had actually seen far more of her husband while Mr. Holmes had still lived.
Mary coughed, partly from the smoke, and partly to get John's attention. Not surprisingly, he took no notice and continued writing. Mary set the tray of food on a table near the door and then went to open a window. "Forgive me for being a nagging wife," she said as she went over to the writing desk and peered over John's shoulder, "but you really should eat something. Why don't you give it a rest for awhile? The story will still be there when you get back."
"Mary, do you mind? I'm quite busy at the moment!"
Stung by the sharpness in his tone, Mary jerked back as if she'd been struck. John looked up, and upon seeing the hurt in her eyes, said in a softer tone: "Just let me finish up this paragraph and then I'll eat something, I promise. Thank you, darling."
"You're welcome dear," Mary whispered softly, tears welling up in her eyes. "Good night." But John had already gone back to his writing, and he did not respond. Mary slowly left the room, quietly closing the door behind her. She then went upstairs to their bedroom and stretched out on the bed.
She had been getting the most dreadful headaches lately, and tonight was no exception. They would always strike suddenly, with little or no warning, and would often be accompanied by nausea. Mary had no idea what was causing these headaches, but she secretly wondered if it was possible that she was literally worrying herself sick over John.
But if her headaches were being caused by worry, what then? It was not as if she could suddenly stop feeling on command. Mary briefly toyed with the idea of visiting John at his practice. If he became aware of the physical toll his behaviour was having on her, it might snap him out of his funk.
On the other hand, the guilt brought on by this revealtion might send him completely over the edge and leave him permanently beyond repair. Perhaps she should see a specialist in the morning. He could figure out what was causing the headaches, and maybe he'd have some advice as to how she could help John. Goodness knows, she certainly hadn't been able to do it by herself.
Mary rolled over and buried her face in John's pillow, surprised that it still smelled like him despite the fact that he hadn't slept in their bed in several months. He slept in the study now-that is, when he even bothered to sleep at all. Mary knew that he was trying to avoid nightmares. She recalled how she would be jarred out of her sleep by his anguished cries for his friend and tearful pleas for forgiveness for failing to save him.
After awhile, John had stopped coming to bed, saying that Mary would have a better night's sleep if he weren't constantly waking her up. But with his absence, Mary actually had a harder time sleeping.
Tonight, however, she was completely exhausted. John's behavior was not healthy and she was beginning to fear for his life. Mary prayed that the specialist would be able to help. The only solution that she could come up with would be if Sherlock Holmes could come back from the dead, but of course, that was quite impossible.
Mary's headache had begun to fade by this point, and she soon found herself gradually falling into an uneasy slumber.
Mary awoke the next morning to warm sunshine streaming through the window. She started to sit up, but almost immediately, the room began to spin wildly and she quickly had to lie back down again.
This is new, she thought worriedly. She wondered if the dizzy spell were connected to her headaches, or if it was just an isolated incident. Perhaps she had just simply sat up too quickly. When the dizziness had passed, she sat up again, more slowly this time, and got out of bed.
After getting dressed she went downstairs. In the hallway, she ran into their servant girl, Ivy. "Good morning Ivy," Mary said kindly. "Do you know if my husband has left for work yet?"
"No ma'am, I'm sorry," Ivy said softly, staring at the floor. Mary smiled at the shy young woman.
"That's quite all right my dear, I think I'll just check the study and see if he's there." Mary began to head for the door. "Oh, and Ivy?" Ivy turned to look over her shoulder. "Could you arrange for a cab to meet me out front? Thank you dear."
Mary entered the study and found John exactly where she had left him the night before. The smoke had cleared, and he sat resting his head on the desk, using his arm for a pillow.
A/N: and so ends the first piece! Coming up next, Watson's p.o.v.