Disclaimer: I own nothing! I claim nothing! I'm just borrowing the characters for my own pleasure and the pleasure of whoever reads this!
Always in Color
Even when he was maddest at his wife, John always saw color in the brief instances they touched.
When he first discovered this, about a week after he'd discovered Mary's true past, the fact that he could possibly still love his wife, who had shot and almost killed his best friend and had lied to him fom the very start of their relationship, had seemed preposterous.
It had been at the clinic. John still worked there, even though he'd moved back into 221B with Sherlock. She'd been accepting, though she hadn't had much of a choice. He didn't want to be in the same building as her most of the time, let alone in the same room or flat.
But she had brought him his coffee, as she had before all her lies had blown up in their faces, and when their hands touched for the briefest of instances, the room came alive.
John jerked his hand away and scowled.
Mary's jaw had stiffened, but she didn't respond to his reaction. Her face had gone oddly blank as she set the coffee cup aside and left the office.
It was the last time she brought him coffee at work.
She was giving him his space, a fact that didn't cease to irritate him. Why did she have to be so damn amendable when he was so bloody pissed at her still?
As he contemplated this, he fiddled the USB she'd given him, the one with what was apparently her entire past summarized for him to view should he choose to. It never left his person.
At first, he'd decided not to watch it because he didn't want to know what else she had lied about. Now... he didn't know why he didn't look. He supposed... it was because he didn't want to see what kind of person Mary was. He might be able to justify his anger then, or maybe not. Maybe he still didn't want to know.
... ... ... ... ... ...
A.G.R.A.
Four little letters spelled out on the USB.
A life and a past and deeds done by the same woman he'd married. The same woman he'd given his name to, and the same woman who carried his child.
She was swelled, almost eight months along now. Sherlock had invited them both to Christmas dinner at his parents' cottage.
He wasn't entirely sure what his friend had planned, but he accepted none the less.
... ... ... ... ... ... ...
Sneaky bastard. When Sherlock had invited him to the Christmas party, he hadn't mentioned that they'd be bringing a third or afourth person in the vehicle they'd rented for the journey. And of course, Wiggins had to be in the front passenger seat, leaving him to sit in the back.
With her.
Mary stared out of the window as the scenery soared past them thanks to Sherlock's driving. It was a bloody miracle that they weren't dead yet.
The flash drive was in his pocket, as it often was, and John clutched it the entire ride.
Why is this so bloody hard?
Sherlock tried to drive conversation, an unusual thing for him. In fact, the whole day leading up to this was unusual. Why was he so bloody happy?
... ... ... ... ... ... ...
He watched Sherlock's parents, absolutely fascinated that two such normal people could have the two most egocentric, pig headed prigs in all of London.
And the way Mr. Holmes doted on his wife.. it was clear that they still lit up each other's worlds, literally and figuratively. John found himself... jealous.
Right, that's decided then.
Why it had taken so long, he would only figure was his own stubbornness.
... ... ... ... ... ... ...
"Now? Seriously, months of silence, and we're going to do this now?"
He hadn't really expected much else, when he pulled out the unassuming little flash drive.
"So have you read it?" Mary's words were breathy, but expectant, as if she thought she knew the answer, and was just waiting for it's inevitable truth.
John looked down at the flash drive, and ignored her question as he replied. "Would you come here a moment?"
A hitch, and then, "No, tell me, have you?"
"Just - come here."
Though Mary gave the slightest shake of her head, she began to stand. When she winced, John immediately reached out to her, but she waved him off, a muttered 'I'm fine' her defense against him.
There was a slight pause as Mary stopped, a sizable gap still between them.
He swallowed before starting. "I've thought long and hard about what I want to say to you." He took a breath. He needed to get this out. "These are prepared words, Mary. I've chosen these words with care."
"Okay." It was clipped, a slight hint of worry, almost entirely disguised.
He cleared his throat. "The problems of your past are your business. The problems of your future...are my privilege. That's all I have to say; that's all I need to know.
He could see Mary's lip trembling as he looked down at the USB. There was only one good place for it now.
He tossed it into the fireplace, and watched for just a second as the cheap material began to burn before he finally answered her one question.
"No, I didn't read it."
"You don't even know my name." Mary sniffled, one tear, then a second sliding down her cheek.
"Is 'Mary Watson' good enough for you?" It should have been good enough for him long before then. Bloody hell, he was an idiot.
"Yes," Mary hastily wiped away the tears, a small smile touching her lips even as the tears and her words continued. "Oh my God, yes."
"Then it's good enough for me, too."
As his arms closed around her, he knew this wasn't the end. He'd still be angry, occasionally. There would still be problems. He told her as much, and she understood. Bloody hell, she always understood.
He was a bloody tosser for thinking anything else, and as the colors lit up the room with their embrace, he took a breath.
God, how he missed her.
The colors were nice and all, but they didn't equal anything.
That's the true beauty of them, John decided. They were a part of the love. And no matter how pissed off he still was, he always loved his wife.
Mary Watson.
I wanted to briefly step away from the Sherlolly portion of this little drabble series, and take a look at these two instead. I hope I did the scenes and their relationship as a whole justice.