Author's Note: The Mary in this story is based on the character I created in my fic, Poppies, which was written long before series 3 premiered. So the character is different from the canon.
Cyclamen
"Cyclamen are a perennial flower, normally pink in color, and native to Europe… often associated with the meaning of resignation or good-bye…"
I remember it was the perfect day for a picnic, which was wonderful because that's what we were doing. The five of us; John, Poppy, Johnny, Sherlock, and myself; had escaped London for an afternoon to celebrate Johnny's 9th birthday. The sky was dotted with puffy white clouds and there was just enough wind to fly the kites we had brought. It was glorious.
"You're it, Mum!" Johnny said, tapping me on the shoulder and running away. I quickly jumped up and ran after him. Poppy and John were attempting to fly one of the kites and Sherlock was sitting on the blanket, watching the whole scene with a gentle look of amusement. Johnny was several yards ahead of me so I pushed myself to run faster, intending to catch him. But the faster I ran, the harder it was to breathe. I even had to stop moving all together to get some oxygen into my lungs. I felt ridiculous panting and coughing like I had just sprinted a marathon, not jogged a few yards.
"Mum!" Johnny shouted back to me, sounding very disappointed.
"Mum needs to sit down, Johnny." I managed between coughs as I walked slowly back to the blanket. I dropped down next to Sherlock, who was watching me intently. "I'm fine. I'm fi-" I tried to say but the coughing didn't stop.
I thought perhaps there was some sort of pollen in the air that didn't agree with my body as I continued convulsing with hacks and coughs. I pulled out a hanky when some liquid escaped my mouth with a final cough. I wiped it off my chin and glanced down at the hanky, the white fabric had been stained with red. The metallic taste in my mouth confirmed that it was blood, my blood. I glanced up to see Sherlock staring at me intently.
"Are you alright?" John said, walking up to the blanket. I quickly stuffed the hanky into my pocket; I would not ruin this wonderful day.
"Fine. Just caught something in my throat." I said, taking his hand as he sat down next to me. I decidedly didn't look at Sherlock who thankfully didn't say anything, but instead stood up and uncharacteristically joined Johnny and Poppy in their game.
Eventually, the sky became crowded with darker and darker clouds and we had to leave the lovely place. Had I known that would be one of my last truly happy memories, I might have savored the day even more.
"So Mrs. Watson. You wouldn't happen to be related to Dr. Watson over at Barts?" Dr. Willis said, sitting down in the chair behind his desk.
"Yes. He's my husband."
"Oh, brilliant. I met him last year at a conference in Bristol." The unspoken question of what I was doing here at Kingston rather than Barts hung in the air. It was only a week after the picnic, and the sight of blood on my handkerchief was enough to send me to the doctor, but not enough to alert John. "Anyway, the nurse has written here that you've been having trouble breathing, coughing, and coughing up blood. Any other odd behaviors you've noticed?"
"Well…I've lost weight recently, without really trying, I mean. And I've been getting sick-er, vomiting. I feel nauseous, then I vomit and I feel fine. I almost bought a pregnancy test." I smiled, but Dr. Willis' face was stern.
"Any other problems? Vertigo? Headaches?" he asked. I paused and thought back over the past few months.
"Headaches, yes. I seem to get a couple a week. No vertigo though."
He nodded a few times, wrote a few notes on my file. "Well, Mrs. Watson, I'd like to address the breathing troubles first, so you're going to get a chest x-ray and that should be ready in a few hours, then we'll talk again."
I remember Mary was sitting by herself in the waiting room, staring rather intently at a painting of flowers, cyclamen to be specific, that hung opposite of her. She didn't look up till I sat down next to her.
"Sherlock. But how did you find me?" she asked.
"You weren't at Barts, which would be the most logical place for you to go for a doctor's appointment. However, you are still a creature of habit and Kingston Hospital is where Johnny was born. Easy enough."
"Oh." She turned back to look at the painting. "Why are you here? Did John send you?"
"I…I thought you might like some…support." I said. Her brow furrowed and she glanced at me. Mary and I had long made peace, but I still wasn't the sort of person to turn up uninvited, or even invited, for supporting someone at a doctor's appointment. However, that day I had my reasons for being there for Mary. I'd noticed the weight-loss and general fatigue over the past few months, but coughing up blood was worse.
But before she could ask any questions, the doctor quickly approached with an x-ray envelope in hand. He paused when he saw me.
"This is Sherlock Holmes." Mary quickly introduced, standing up. "He's a very close family friend." Dr. Willis, I could see the name on his badge, nodded and then gestured to an examining room nearby.
"This way, Mrs. Watson." He said, opening the door. Mary grabbed the cuff of my coat sleeve and pulled me into the room behind her. She must have somehow known, between her own symptoms and my appearance that her appointment wasn't going to be strictly routine. Dr. Willis seemed a little flustered but closed the door anyway and turned on the backlight, putting up Mary's chest x-ray. There were several spots around the bronchial tube and a few more in each lung. I glanced over to Mary to see if she understood what was shown before her, but it didn't appear that she did.
"Well, I suppose the good news is that we know what is causing your breathing problems. However, it appears to be tumors, but we won't know till after you have a biopsy if it's cancer." He explained as delicately as one could. But Mary froze up at the last word. "I've already called over to the oncology department at Barts, and they amazingly have an opening next week. After the biopsy, you can consider where to go from there."
Mary didn't say anything; she was obviously in a state of shock.
"Mary?" he asked. She blinked a few times and slowly nodded.
"Thank you…Doctor."
"I'm also scheduling you for a CT scan. If it turns out to be lung cancer, I'm worried it may have already metastasized." Mary looked to me to explain.
"Spread to other parts of the body." I said quietly. She nodded again.
"Ah, may I have a copy of the x-ray?" she asked, rather slowly. Dr. Willis frowned a little bit but then slid the sheet into the envelope and handed it to Mary.
She was quiet for almost the entire cab ride home. But a few blocks away from her flat she asked,
"Will you be there? When I tell John."
"Do you want me there?"
"Yes. Someone needs to be rational about this and I know neither of us will be."
"When will you tell him?"
"As soon as possible."
To Be Continued…
Author's Note: There will be 7 chapters in total; one posted every day. I enjoy reading stories with music in the background, so if you are so inclined I listened to Arrival of the Birds, Transformation, and To Build a Home by The Cinematic Orchestra, Allt Varð Hljótt by Olafur Arnalds, Dark Night of the Soul by Philip Wesley, End Credits (Pride & Prejudice) by Jean-Yves Thibaudet, Follow You Down to the Red Oak Tree by James Vincent McMorrow, A Thousand Years by Christina Perri, and Blood on the Pavement by David Arnold & Michael Price whilst writing. All of these songs can be found on the tube of you's. Any suggestions/comments you have are welcome.