Mary turned a benevolent glance at her husband as he slumped into the sofa next to her.
"What a day," he muttered under his breath, and she wrapped her arm around his shoulders.
"Well, it's over, isn't it?" she said reassuringly, John finally relaxing into her touch.
He tensed again a moment later, as if the reality of the situation was eventually sinking in.
"Not really. Moriarty is back, and we've no idea what he's up to. He might even decide to come after you and the child – he loves this twisted sort of games."
"John."
"He's a psychopath, remember?"
"John, relax. There's no Jim Moriarty. He's dead, you were actually there when he killed himself."
"What?" he frowned, and she had to fight back the urge to chuckle at the confusion that was apparent on his face.
"Look, you wanted Sherlock back. He's back now."
She could see the exact moment when the penny dropped, right before John started babbling again. "You mean – you – Why?"
"Because you love him."
"What?"
Mary quirked her lips in an amused smile. "He gave me back to you because you loved me, and now I'm giving him back to you because you love him as well."
"I'm not – gay."
"So you say, love," she teased him lightly, placing an affectionate kiss on his brow.