"Do you, Mary Morstan, take this John Watson, to be your lawfully wedded husband, through sickness and health, rich or poor, till death do you part?"
"I do."
"Do you, John Watson, take this Mary Morstan to be your lawfully wedded wife, through sickness and health, rich or poor, till death do you part?"
John Watson looked into the bright blue eyes of his fiance and for a second, saw the face of his best friend.
"...I do."
The wedding was small. It consisted of Mr. and Mrs. Morstan, Harry, and a few of Mary's friends. John didn't know who to invite. He hadn't spoken to Lestrade in a year, he ignored Mycroft's calls, and Mrs. Hudson had left Baker Street. Molly came, though. John was surprised she seemed so insistent on keeping up with him, texting him, calling him.
To anyone looking, he was the happiest man on the planet. No one in the vicinity (except for Molly) knew that John was THE John Watson, who worked next to the notorious Sherlock Holmes. In fact, very few even remembered who Sherlock Holmes was. No one knew that John still missed his best friend. Except for Molly. She knew he was actually very sad. The smile that he wore wasn't the same one that he used to have. The one he had around Sherlock. It was fake.
"Hey, can I get a picture of you two?" Molly asked, approaching John and Mary. The reception was a bit dull and the few who came were busy conversing. They were trying to give the happy couple a bit of private time, but that was for the honeymoon, anyways.
"Sure!" John said, wrapping his arm around Mary's waist. She looked up at him in adoration, while he slapped on that fake smile and stared straight at the camera. Molly snapped the picture, even though it broke her heart.
Twilight was approaching fast, as the sun set. The orange sky was warm and the beach was empty except for two lovers who were cuddling close together on a beach blanket. They had really found the perfect spot for this.
"I'm really glad we decided to come here, John." Mary muttered, burying her head into his chest. It was their honeymoon and it was such a lovely place. Mary couldn't be any happier.
"Me too." John replied as he leaned back, using his palms for support.
For a second, the silence fell around them. Then Mary sat up suddenly with a gasp. "Look! A dolphin! Come on, John! Let's go see if we can pet the dolphin!"
John looked at Mary with half of a laugh. "Calm down, Sherlock. It's just a dolphin."
Mary giggled, but stopped halfway through. "Wait- ...Who's Sherlock?"
"Sorry, a friend of mine."
Mary had settled wonderfully into 221B, which John had refused to give up. She was naturally curious about the locked room, but when John said no one was allowed in there, she nodded and left it alone. They were happy together, though there were a few fights. Usually they ended with John storming out of the flat.
One day, it got worse. They were arguing about silly things, at first: leaving the dishes unwashed, spending more money than planned, who was going to cook dinner. But eventually the row got even more heated. They were calling each other out on their imperfections now, naming every little thing that bugged them.
"Why can't you work normal hours, anyways!" Mary yelled, tossing her hair around in a way that would usually be found as cute. John just found it annoying now.
"Oh, I'm sorry I don't have a job that suits your vision. At least I have a job!" John replied, clenching his fists tightly together.
"I didn't think I needed one!"
"And yet you spend all of my money on SHOES?"
"MAYBE I LIKE TO FEEL GOOD ABOUT MYSELF SOMETIME."
"WITH MY MONEY? YOU CAN'T JUST SPEND MY MONEY LIKE YOU WANT, SHERLOCK!" John huffed with anger while Mary stared at him with surprise.
She crossed her arms. "Who is Sherlock?"
John paused and his eyes widened in shock. He took a deep breath and retreated to the forbidden bedroom, unlocking it and entering, then relocking it. He stayed there for two days and wouldn't come out, despite Mary's pleading. She thought she heard the faint sound of a violin on the second day.
When John finally left the room, Mary was gone. That gave him enough time to compose himself. When she came back, she treaded lightly. She was sweet to him. She invited him out to a lovely dinner. For the next couple of weeks, things were good. They were great, even. John went in and out of work humming. The dinners tasted better, the music sounded sweeter, the air smelled fresher.
One night, they were going on a stroll when John bumped shoulders with someone. He was surprised to see the face of Lestrade. The two men stared at each other for a moment. Mary looked confused.
"Sorry..." John muttered, before he started to trot along, taking Mary with him.
Lestrade reached out and touched his arm lightly. "Wait, John, how are you?"
John shrugged him off. "Fine." Then he pulled Mary along quickly.
Lestrade watched him go with a frown.
Mary looked up at John curiously. "Who was that?"
"An old friend." John replied, his voice gone from being quite energetic to dull and boring.
"Oh. How come I never met him?"
John refused to look at Mary, at first. "We haven't talked for awhile." He replied simply.
"Do you not like him?" Mary asked, moving to look at him with concern. He gulped and stared at her for a moment. Her blue eyes looked just like his. Sherlock's face flashed in place of hers and John took a step back. She stepped closer, reaching up to carefully touch his cheek. "John?"
He shook his head and smiled painfully. "Sorry, I was just lost in my thoughts. Let's go home." He took her by the hand and led her back to the flat.
That night, he retreated back into the room. Mary tried to peek into it when John entered, but all she saw was a dark blue/black cloth. It looked like a coat. That was all she saw.
Luckily for her, John exited the next morning, locking the door behind him. But he went straight off to talk to Molly. She went over to the door and peered under. She couldn't see anything except for the hemline of a coat. It was blocking her vision.
The next month was looking much better. John was cheery again and was certainly the light of the household for quite some time. He would sometimes hum tunes that Mary didn't recognize. When she asked him what they were, he just said, "Some compositions that a friend did."
Sometimes he would stare off into space though, where he seemed sad. Mary tried to cheer him up. "Hey, let's go see a movie." She said one night, tugging on his hand lightly. He looked up and nodded lightly.
When she moved over to the closet, she pulled out a new coat. It was long and navy blue. She put it on and smiled. "You ready to go?" She looked completely innocent, but she was studying John while he got up and walked over to her.
He didn't hesitate to put on his own coat and walk out the door. "Come on, Sherlock."
Mary removed the coat, dropping it to the ground carelessly before she followed him to the restaurant.
The next few weeks, Mary studied John more close than usual. He seemed to get weird whenever she curled her hair, or wore that coat. Sometimes he would get weird when she mentioned ongoing crimes in the city. When she confronted him about it, he retreated to that special bedroom.
When he left, he simply shut the door and immediately went to work. Mary was too curious for her own good. She approached the door, testing the knob. It was unlocked. She opened it and took in the sight.
The bed was rumpled as if it had just been slept in. A small desk was piled up with various things: a skull, a blue scarf, music sheets, a cluedo board, and many more things. Pinned to the wall were newspaper clippings; newspaper clippings of a man with black curly hair and bright blue eyes. He wore the coat that had hung on the door, and the scarf on the desk. The first one read: "Hat-man and Robin: The Web Detectives." Another read: "Sherlock Holmes: Net Phenomenon."
She approached the articles and read them, letting the word sink in. There was so much she didn't know about John. So much he never told her. His best friend had been this great detective. Then she read the last one. "Suicide of Fake Genius." She looked around again. "Oh god..."
Mary was on edge after that. Whenever John seemed lost in thought she snapped at him. He began to get snippy too. Tensions rose easily. When John didn't wash his dishes, Mary yelled at him. When Mary came home late, John snapped.
Then, one time, when they had a row, things got really bad.
"I was just hanging out with my friends! There's nothing wrong with that!" Mary screeched, throwing her hands behind her furiously.
"It is if you're spending MY money on your friends!" John replied.
"So I treated them to dinner! What's wrong with that!" Mary asked, thrashing her hands in a pissed off way.
"That money pays our bills! You can't do whatever you like, Sherlock!" John shouted, slamming his fist into the wall.
"I'M NOT BLOODY SHERLOCK HOLMES. HE'S DEAD." John fell silent. He stared at Mary with a rock hard glare. She shook while her hands rose to her lips. "Oh god... I'm so sorry..." She muttered.
John didn't say anything to her. He just walked by her, out of the door, and away from the flat.
He walked down the road, beginning to shake. To anyone walking by normally, he looked like a drunk, but those who saw his face knew he was crying. Few people actually managed to see his face despite the long distance he walked.
He didn't stop until he reached his destination, which was a small cemetery a couple miles off. He walked down the rows and rows of tombstones. His silent tears had turned into moans and back again into tears before he reached the one he was looking for. He knelt down so he could read the words etched into the stones.
'Here Lies: Sherlock Holmes. Not a fake.'
The tears were silent again, which worked as an advantage for John, because he started to talk to the grave. "I've messed everything up, Sherlock. I've messed it up so badly... and... and I don't know why I'm doing this anymore. I think... I think I'm only with her because she reminds me of you so much. It's just... I-" He shuddered and sobbed before continuing, "I miss you... s-so much..."
The cemetery around him grew unbearably silent as the seconds ticked by.
"Sherlock, I love you. I love you so much and I'm just realizing this now. I love you and y-you're g-g-go-" He struggled on the words for a minute before managing to sputter out. "G-gone. Y-you're gone a-and the only thing I can do is spend my time... thinking of you..."