Sherlock and John sit on the floor of John's living room, photos and papers scattered around them. Sherlock keeps crawling from pile to pile, switching crime scene photos to the wrong victims and back again. John refuses to rise to the bait and ask, 'what are you doing?'
"I'm done with my essays, what about yours?" Mary asks as she comes out of the door to the study in the back corner.
John just points at Sherlock lying flat on his stomach with the three victim photos right in front of his nose.
Mary smiles. "Does the genius want tea?"
Sherlock grunts in reply and John clears his throat. "The normal mind does, if you please."
"I please."
"Yes, tea, sugar and milk," Sherlock says suddenly so John tenses sharply with surprise.
Mary laughs and nods as she crosses the room then on into the kitchen.
"Must you?" John hisses at Sherlock.
"What, speak?"
"You know what I mean."
Sherlock turns his head to the side to look at John leaning against the arm chair. "She did ask if I wanted tea."
"Then answer her the first time!"
Sherlock gives John a withering look then turns back to the photos. John rolls his eyes then sits up and shifts closer to Sherlock. He peers over Sherlock's shoulder to see if Sherlock's changed anything, left any clues, because, as much as John tries to resist, he is so curious. Sherlock does not rise to John's bait either of the 'please tell me' pose so John sits back, chewing the inside of his cheek.
"At least the carpet is more comfortable."
"Hmm?" Sherlock pipes up, eyes still on the photos.
"Better than the wood flooring you've got back in at your flat."
"Missing Baker Street, are we?"
"Are you?" John snorts. "With the amount of time you spend at our house do you remember what Baker Street looks like?"
"Oh yes," Mary moans from the kitchen with a perfect long suffering tone.
Sherlock only cocks an eyebrow over his shoulder at John and smiles. "I can only imagine the terrible things which would happen lest I leave you two alone, possibly cleanliness or pregnancy; can't have that."
John hears Mary start to crack up as he sputters. "You… why would you…"
Sherlock smirks and turns back to the photos. He lies still for about ten seconds more then shoots up to sitting, legs crossed in front of him. He puts his hands palm together and twiddles his fingers under his chin.
"It is right in front of me."
"Clearly."
"Be serious, John."
"You have a woman stabbed in her flat, a man stabbed in the first woman's girlfriend's flat, and the man's girlfriend stabbed in…. where was it?"
"The first woman's sister's flat."
"And this isn't just some love triangle because –"
"Because that's what Lestrade thinks and, thus, so do you?"
John scoffs. "Just because Greg says –"
"Oh yes, Greg."
"You're still mad because he and I got a pint and I didn't invite you, aren't you?"
Sherlock snorts. "Puerile."
"You wouldn't have wanted to go anyway, Sherlock, so you really shouldn't be upset about it. I think you were on a case at the time so –"
"I wasn't."
"And you don't even drink!"
Sherlock makes a 'humph' type noise and snatches his mobile off the couch on the other side of the photos. "It is not a lover's quarrel turned to murder."
"Then what?"
"Then tea." John and Sherlock look up at the same time to see Mary standing beside them, tea cups in hand. "I would tell you not to put it on the floor but I doubt you'll listen."
"You could bring us a tray," Sherlock points out.
Mary glares half-heartedly and John most definitely does not giggle.
"I could." She hands Sherlock his tea and then leans over the taller man to give John his.
"Thank you." John smiles and winks.
Mary just raises her eyebrows back then walks behind him toward the front door and out into the hall with an exaggerated sway of her hips. John watches her go and nearly spills his tea as she turns the corner and up the stairs out of sight.
"Try not to drool," Sherlock says with annoyance.
John hums quietly and smirks. "What happens, happens."
"Oh, do kill me again."
John laughs. "Touchy tonight?"
"This case! The show is too obvious, too melodrama; someone jealous of someone else and too many clues with too many options. I could give you a case for murder for every family member and ten friends each."
"Please don't."
"The sheer amount of physical evidence left could fuel an entire two hour comedy, complete with alternate endings to amuse the tittering crowd."
"That doesn't sound half bad…"
"John!" Sherlock groans.
"Drink some of your tea."
Sherlock picks up his cup from where he'd placed it on the floor and downs the entire thing in three rapid gulps. He gasps loudly and grimaces as he puts the empty cup down, obviously burning his throat with such a display.
"Maybe it's that thing you said once; the simplest answer is often the right one?"
"And often it is not."
John sighs and rubs a hand over his face, picking up the evidence bag of business cards from the one flat. "Or maybe it is all a big mistake and the murders linking up is just some crazy happenstance coincidence, now that would be a film."
Sherlock's hands stop moving in the air where they'd been circling and his head snaps around toward John. John halts with his teacup at his lips and stares.
"What did you say?"
"Uh," John blinks, "about the film?"
"Coincidence!"
"You don't really think these three murders are just coincidences with each other?"
Sherlock grins. "Oh, they certainly are not."
"Then what?"
"Dear John, as I have said before, your abilities as a source of inspiration are truly invaluable." He grabs John's face and kisses John's forehead before jumping up to his feet, sloshing John's tea all over John's jeans.
"Fuck! Sherlock!"
"It's not three murders, John, it is one!"
"Sherlock, you –"
"One murder disguised by others, so only one real murder!" Sherlock grabs his coat off a hook by the door and throws it over his shoulders with one of his insane cackles. "Just one!"
"Sherlock, I don't –"
"Have no fear, John. Stay and play house –"
"Play hou– "
"I have a triple, single murderer to catch!"
"You're insane!" John shouts as the door slams closed.
John stares at the closed door then sags back against the arm chair, further away now so he's practically lying on the floor. He hears Mary's footsteps come down the stairs until she is standing over him.
"Have a good time?"
"I have tea on my trousers."
"Is that a yes?"
John chuckles. "I do not know."
"Well, Sherlock did leave his entire case on our floor."
John cranes his neck to look at the mess, papers and evidence (which Sherlock probably shouldn't have) and photos taking up half the carpet space in the semicircle made by their couch and chairs.
John groans and looks up at Mary again. "Does that mean we need to clean it up now?"
"Who said anything about 'we'?"
John pouts up at her until the corner of her mouth quirks up. Mary kneels down beside him then pulls John's head away from the chair and into her lap. She presses her finger tips to his temple and massages slow circles. John's eyes flutter closed and he slips into the feeling. He sighs happily as Mary keeps massaging and reaches up to absently touch Mary's thigh under his head. She combs her fingers through his hair slowly then slides up again to rub the sides of his head, warm and soothing and perfect.
"Hmm," John hums and opens his eyes, "are you real?"
"I believe I was real enough last night."
John chuckles. "That sounds like a joke."
"Do you think it is?"
"I know it isn't."
Mary laughs as well then leans over and kisses John's forehead, just to the left of the spot Sherlock kissed.
"I love you, John."
John smiles. "I love you too."
"Great Expectations? Really?"
"It's a classic."
Lacy's forehead scrunches. "Didn't I read that in third form?"
Mary nods. "Yes, I remember you kept trying to make me summarize chapters for you."
"You enjoyed it; I found it slow. Made sense to have you tell me about it." Lacy sips her water. "It would have been quicker."
"But then you'd never learn."
"About dear Pup's coming of age?"
"Pip!"
"I never get tired of hearing you two talk to each other." Mary and Lacy turn to look at John. He smiles. "Just sounds nothing like Harry and I talking to each other."
Mary chuckles.
John's mobile buzzes in his pocket and he pulls it out down by his hip while Mary starts in on the importance of revisiting past literature at different ages.
[Sherlock]: Need your assistance on a case
John frowns and types with this thumb, At dinner, and sends.
"Do you ever make them write essays about what they thought about the book at fifteen versus twenty?" Lacy asks as John looks up again.
"That implies they read it before," John cuts in, "a lot of assumption in that, right?"
"Hasn't everyone read Great Expectations before eighteen?" Mary asks with distain. Lacy and John both stare at her. Mary chews her ravioli and looks everywhere but at them. Finally she sighs and shakes her head. "Oh, all right! But really, literature is wasted these days."
"Spoken just like an English professor," Lacy counters.
Mary sighs. "In the student's defense my lecture today was horrible."
"Oh?" John says
"Did you go off on one of your tangents about adverbs?" Lacy asks.
John snorts into his hand then tries to hide it in his wine glass when Mary shoots a glare at him.
"I was distracted; I've just been having bad cramps lately." Mary shoots a look at John then continues more to Lacy, "all of it just longer, worse lately."
Fortunately, John's mobile buzzes again to save him from the 'lady problems' talk. He pulls it out to see another text from Sherlock.
[Sherlock]: Your point?
John chuckles and texts back, It's with Mary and her sister. Can't.
"…so I just turned it into a student led discussion," Mary says as John tunes back in.
"Good save!" Lacy spears the last of her steamed vegetables with her fork. "I guess that's why you get the big bucks."
"Ha! Now there's a joke."
John smiles and kisses Mary's cheek. "Like we really want money."
"Oh yes, don't need that." Mary shakes her head, putting her fork down and picking up her wine.
"You gonna finish that?" Lacy asks, pointing with her fork at Mary's half full plate.
"'Going to.'"
Lacy gives Mary a withering look. "Are you going to finish that, madam?"
Mary smiles and shakes her head again. "No, I am not."
John frowns. "You didn't have lunch though."
Mary shrugs. "I'm just not hungry."
"Hmm," John narrows his eyes at her, "you're not dieting or something ridiculous, are you?"
Mary snorts. "Perish the thought."
"Mine then!" Lacy crows and snatches the plate.
John's pocket vibrates again and he pulls out his mobile as Mary makes tsking noises at Lacy.
[Sherlock]: Surely you've eaten enough, come to Baker Street.
John rolls his eyes though he still grins; Never enough. Just call me later when you've passed the 'brilliant' phase into real mystery.
"So, question of the night," Lacy says, "Should I go blond?"
Mary squawks. "What! The lone ginger in the family and you want to tarnish that?"
"Exactly, lone ginger. Might be interesting to blend in for a spell."
John shrugs. "I could see it."
Mary waves her hands at both of them. "Oh no, no, no. I forbid it!"
"Didn't you dye your hair pink once in your past?" John asks.
"That's not…."
"Exactly." Lacy leans forward over her new plate. "Doesn't everyone get a turn?"
John nods. "True."
"Do not side with her." Mary put up her finger in John's face. "You are married to me."
"Means he has to think like you do?" Lacy clicks her tongue. "Poor, John, no longer able to have an opinion with the shackles of Mary over his wrists."
"And this is why you wanted to be a theater major when you were sixteen."
John's pocket vibrates yet again as Lacy sputters indignantly and says something like, 'you love Shakespeare.' John is beginning to suspect that Sherlock does not even have a case but just wants to disrupt John's night.
"So, does he text more or less since his second birth?" Mary asks suddenly as John starts to sneak his mobile out again. John clears his throat awkwardly as Mary gives him the side eye. "Because if it's less, then your mobile must have died twice a day before at the rate he goes now."
Lacy chuckles but says nothing as she puts a fork full of ravioli into her mouth.
John smiles guiltily at Mary and pockets his mobile. "How about I make you a graph?"
"Oh, don't you dare."
"An essay?"
Mary smirks. "12 point font and due by Monday."
John leans into her shoulder. "And is there a page number requirement?"
Mary laughs. "Not for you, love."
"How long are we going to stake out this flat?"
"As long as it takes."
"Is this even legal?" Sherlock snorts which only makes John sigh. "Right, yeah, of course you don't let those sorts of things stop you."
"Is it legal to commit fraud?"
John sighs again and lets his binoculars drop. He turns to look at Sherlock lying beside him on the rooftop. "Come on, Sherlock."
Sherlock glances at John briefly then back through his binoculars. "John, this man has already stolen half a million pounds from our client's cooperation."
"The poor, poor corporation."
"And he has left barely a trace of his computer hacks."
John purses his lips. "It did take you near ten hours to finally get that code out."
Sherlock nods and smirks. "Certainly worth a stake out to see him in action."
"But, again, how do you know he is going to start more money hacking tonight?"
"I don't."
"Sher… do you mean we are just going to wait here until –"
"Yes."
"I do have a job, Sherlock, a wife. Remember those things?"
Sherlock finally turns away from the binoculars and looks at John. He frowns dramatically and raises both eyebrows. "Yet here you are."
"Because you tricked me," John points a finger at Sherlock, "again."
Sherlock smirks. "I believe I used the words 'invaluable skills' to tempt you."
John clicks his teeth. "It was more around the lines of 'possibly life threatening' and 'Mycroft advised against it' where I came on board."
Sherlock tilts his head. "Oh?"
"Well, anything to piss off Mycroft." Sherlock chuckles then John shakes his head. "I couldn't let you go without back up."
Sherlock nods, that old soft look on his face which reminds John of the word 'love,' then he turns back to his binoculars. "Of course the word 'danger' implied there; always was your trigger word to jump on board, wasn't it?"
John sighs and leans his head on his fist to get slightly more comfortable on the concrete. "Before, I suppose."
"Still."
John huffs and shakes his head.
Sherlock peers at John side long. "You disagree?"
"Before it was any case you had that I jumped up and came along, you know that. It's not the same now, for me at least. People do change and I can't come on every run and jump and chase you've got going on."
Sherlock 'hmms' and shakes his head. "You could."
"I can't."
"You won't."
"Sherlock…"
"But surely you miss it?" Sherlock turns and looks at John for a moment.
"We've had this conversation."
Sherlock frowns and turns back to his binoculars. "Yes, of course. 'Now' is domestic bliss with Dr. Morstan and 'before' was your midlife crisis of adventure to clear out your system before settling into normalcy."
"You're being maudlin, Sherlock."
Sherlock 'humphs.' "I mean only that underneath the 'now' there is part of you that misses what we had before, you and I, alone fighting against the tide."
"Poetic."
"Accurate."
"Sherlock, I don't miss before because it wasn't better." Sherlock's head tips slightly in John's direction though his eyes remain straight ahead in his binoculars. John smiles and touches Sherlock's hair making the other tense slightly. "Life is perfect now because I have both of you; I have my perfect balance of what I need and want nothing else."
At that Sherlock turns his head to stare at John. He opens his mouth once then closes it again. His eyes tick up and down John's face, lips parting but still he says nothing. John snapshots this memory in his mind, Sherlock Holmes speechless. Then John drops his hand from Sherlock's curls, lifts his binoculars again and turns back to their stakeout subject, now milling about the kitchen of his flat. He feels Sherlock watching the side of his head a moment longer but he lets Sherlock's brain whirl with no more comment.
"At times, John," Sherlock finally whispers, "you baffle me."
John only smiles.
Mary and John stand side by side brushing their teeth and staring into the bathroom mirror. Mary shifts her feet as she brushes, left then right, left right. John brushes his tongue then bends over and spits into the sink.
"Don't get your tooth paste on me," Mary mumbles around her tooth brush.
"You should be so lucky," John replies as he runs the water, cupping his hand under and sucking some into his mouth to spit twice more. He stands up straight and wipes the edge of his mouth.
Mary pulls her tooth brush out of her mouth and purses her lips at John which loses any attempted effect at mock offense due to the foam at the corners. John breaks and laughs, slipping a hand into her hair. Mary chuckles back in her throat and bats him away so she can rinse her mouth too.
John inches around her and walks down the hall to their bedroom. He pulls off his watch and puts it on the side table, nearly knocking the clock off in the process.
"God," John mumbles as he sits down and shakes his head.
He yawns and sets the alarm for the morning. Why in the world he is awake at half till midnight when he has to be up at seven is beyond him. It's probably Mary's fault in some way.
"Don't blame me." John looks up as Mary comes in. "I can see your face doing that 'Mary's making me stay up late' thing again."
"Oh really?"
"You're the one who said, 'Just one more Top Gear,' not me."
John frowns then chuckles. He dips his head then looks up again. "Maybe."
Mary nods and slips under the covers on her side of the bed. "Exactly."
John rolls and pulls her up against him. "What was I thinking when I could have had such an amazing woman in my bed sooner?"
"Amazing?"
"Articulate?"
Mary laughs.
"Astute?"
"All right, all right! I am impressed by your complementary 'A' words you arse."
"Ah ha, you see, it's catching."
Mary laughs again and rolls further into John, pushing him onto his back and her on top. She kisses his lips then cheeks and his lips again. "You are ridiculous."
"Only because you make me so," John says, kissing her back.
"I love it." She scratches her nails through his hair and kisses him hard, sucks on his lip. "You are positively prolific."
"Changing to P words?"
She chuckles. "I can think of a few."
John rolls them again, tangling the covers. Mary laughs and kisses, pulls at his shirt and nips at his lips, teeth clicking. "Perfect and predatory."
"Am I?"
"Oh no, I am."
She kisses hard and grips his neck, arches up into him, still chuckling so the sound is like music. John pushes against her, one hand in her hair and tastes the mint in their mouths. Mary yanks the covers over their heads then puts both hands on his cheeks, kisses and kissing.
"My John Watson."
She giggles quietly as she slides her shirt off between them, kissing down his neck. John grips her hips and holds on to the sound of her body with his lips on hers. All John thinks, Mary in his arms, laughter in her voice and sheets around them, is happy, so happy, happy.
John pulls off his gloves as he walks out of surgery, dropping them and his mask into a biohazard bin. Dr. Chowdhry steps into stride beside him and pushes the button for the double doors.
"Liz went to tell the family all is well."
"Perfect," John replies then looks at his watch. "Shit, Aziz, it's four?"
"I know. I thought we'd been on time but…."
"Yeah, well, better surgery done right than fast."
Aziz chuckles. "Spoken like a professor."
John smiles. "I am married to one, rubs off."
"I bet."
They turn a corner and walk into John's office. Patient folders are piled up on both sides of his desk though not high enough to be panic worthy.
Aziz shakes his head and taps the top of one pile. "Follow ups?"
John nods. "A lot of people like to hear back about physical therapy, things like that. I believe it's called patient care?"
Aziz scoffs. "Oh, well that. I just cut the organs." He makes a 'snip snip' motion with his hand in the air.
John chuckles and opens a drawer in his desk, pulling his mobile out. It buzzes in his hand just as he notices eight text messages waiting for him. It buzzes again and John holds up a finger to Aziz. "Yeah?"
"John?"
"Sherlock."
"You are at work."
"It is that time of day…"
Sherlock hangs up. John pulls the mobile away from his ear and stares at it before shifting his eyes back to Aziz.
Aziz raises his eyebrows. "Call lost?"
"You could say that."
John clicks the screen and scrolls through his texts.
[Sherlock][11:42]: Case. Need you.
[Sherlock][11:50]: Promptly.
[Sherlock][11:55]: Please promptly.
[Mary][12:36]: At the shop, chicken tonight?
[Sherlock][1:05]: If not promptly then now.
[Mary][1:45]: After my Gyno visit and 4:00 Renaissance Lit class I am going to see Harry like promised, told you I would, win to me.
[Mary][2:15]: And when I say 'see Harry' you know I only mean 10 minutes, right?
[Sherlock][3:00]: Must I say 'danger?'
Aziz leans over John's shoulder as John scrolls and John hears a bad attempt a repressed laughter. "So which one is the wife exactly?"
"Ha ha." Then John's mobile buzzes again. He clicks answer with a shake of his head. "Yeah?"
"John, it is nearly five, you cannot give that as an excuse."
"I hadn't given any excuses before."
"I could hear them in your tone."
"You know, details beyond 'come, John' could help with that."
"Danger, crime, dead body. There you are; are you coming?"
John rolls his eyes and watches Aziz's smile climb higher. "I'll call you back." John hangs up before Sherlock can retort and holds up a finger. "Don't start."
Aziz shrugs. "I am just saying, maybe you should tell your boyfriend you're married."
John sighs. "If I had a pound for every time –"
"You would be rich beyond my dreams?"
"I'd take you out for a pint."
"Oh, hey now," Aziz holds up his hands and backs up toward the office door, "already looks a bit crowded over there, Watson, wouldn't want to make it three significant others you had to juggle."
John sits down in his chair and points at the door. "Get on then."
"Oh, so now you're not taking me out for a pint?" He frowns. "Shame."
"Keep that up and I'll tell Usha all about your flirting."
Aziz grabs the door handle, "I'm going," and snaps it shut.
John pulls a few files down into the middle of his desk to go through then stares at his mobile debating the pros and cons of calling Sherlock or Mary first. He very determinedly does not think in any way that Aziz might have a bit of a point.
John fumbles with his keys, Sherlock's arm over his shoulder making them both awkward and slow but somehow John manages to fit key to lock. He shoves the door open with his shoulder and half drags Sherlock inside, both groaning as they stumble into the living room.
"What have you… oh no," Mary says as she stands up shakily from a chair in the living room, some folder in her hand probably full of student papers.
"It's not as bad as it looks," John says as he deposits Sherlock into the armchair beside the couch.
"Do speak for yourself," Sherlock grumbles and puts a hand against the blood still slowly coming from his nose.
Mary's eyebrows fly up and John shakes his head, "He doesn't have a concussion."
"Oh, if only I did, perhaps I would be blissfully unconscious."
"You're so funny," John snaps.
Mary clears her throat and clasps her hands behind her back around the folder. "So, what happened then? Bar fight? Car crash?"
"Now who's funny?" Sherlock rasps.
"Uh," John grimaces, "suspect smashed Sherlock's face into a car hood."
"What!" Mary shouts. "Why didn't you go to hospital?"
"I have a doctor here," Sherlock points at John, "and as he said, no concussion."
"Have you noticed you are bleeding from your nose?" Mary says deadpan.
John shakes his head. "I can up fix him, just need to get my supplies."
"See?"
Mary sighs distractedly. "Don't bleed on the chair."
Sherlock huffs then frowns. John just shakes his head again and walks over to the stairs. John jogs up and into the upstairs bathroom. He has to root around for a few things, gauze in the closet but eventually he finds everything he needs. Sherlock has a cut on his forehead too that might need suturing but probably just a bandage will do; would be good to have something for the bruising so Sherlock doesn't end up looking like he was punched in both eyes.
When John comes back downstairs with his kit, Sherlock and Mary are standing facing each other in front of the couch. Mary's hands are at her sides and the folder she'd been holding before is on the floor now, a few papers scattered. Neither of them speaks.
John stops at the edge of the one step down into the living room and cocks his head. "You two aren't fighting again, are you?"
Mary's head snaps to him in surprise and she crouches down quickly and gathers up all the papers and folder. She shakes her head and laughs airily. "No, uh, no we… we were –"
"Talking about another of her ridiculous Shakespeare courses which rely too heavily on Hamlet as God's work," Sherlock finishes still staring at Mary.
Mary straightens up again opens her mouth at Sherlock then turns to John again with a chuckle. "I, ha, well."
John nods with eyes narrowed, looks back and forth between the two of them but then Mary turns and sits down making the air seem to expand again. John watches her a moment then glances at Sherlock. He finally turns to look at John and John sees the bleeding has stopped.
"All right," John shrugs and steps over to Sherlock, pushing him back into the chair. "Let's clean you up then."
Sherlock frowns more but let's John clean and tape him up, eyes staying on John and never once straying to the room or Mary behind John. Months later a light bulb will click on when John thinks of this moment and he will hate them both for it.
"Another case solved for your boys, Lestrade."
Greg rolls his eyes while John suppresses a grin. Sherlock holds out the flash drive with the damning photographs for their suspect now sitting on the curb in handcuffs to Greg. After a beat Greg takes the flash drive with a gloved hand.
"Do I need to dust this for finger prints?"
Sherlock only snorts.
John clears his throat. "Best not."
Greg sighs again. "Just in case?" John makes an apologetic face which only takes Greg twenty seconds to cave under. "Fine then. I assume you want to be well out of the credit for this?"
"Oh well, wouldn't want your superintendent getting punched once more, would we?" Sherlock grins then flashes at look at John.
John shakes his head, expression completely innocent.
Lestrade sighs for the hundredth time. "I think I liked it better when you two were fighting." Sherlock frowns and John snorts. Greg shoots John a look. "Don't you have a real job?"
"Do you?"
Greg scoffs. "See if I ever buy you a pint again."
"Ha!" John crosses his arms. "I bought last time if I remember right."
"Socializing," Sherlock grumbles.
"All right, all right," Greg admonishes toward Sherlock, "Thank you, you're a genius," then turns to John, "and you're a saint. Now both of you out of my crime scene before Anderson or someone comes to loudly complain."
Sherlock smirks and turns on his heel, marching away. John smiles at Greg who rolls his eyes back. John laughs once, shakes his head, then turns and jogs after Sherlock. He catches up at the corner where Sherlock stands hailing a cab.
"Fun one that," John says.
Sherlock turns to him with a small smile. "Glad you came along?"
"Oh yeah, just like old times."
Sherlock frowns. "That phrase is erroneously generalizing. All my cases have very different elements, path ways and results and, thus, none really can be called 'old times.' Not to forget that such a phrase usually links so strongly to nostalgia as to warp any view of supposed 'old times.'"
"And now this brings to mind the phrase 'rain on my parade.'"
Sherlock frowns again but John cocks his head to the side and smiles until Sherlock finally breaks and smiles back at him; two for two tonight. Then a taxi pulls up beside the curb. They hop inside, John getting to the punch first so they go to his house and not Baker Street. Sherlock fixes John with a look but does not protest.
They ride in silence for a few minutes until Sherlock taps his phone on the edge of the window and John peers sidelong at him. "John, have you and Mary…"
John waits when Sherlock trails off and then presses, "What?"
Sherlock turns and looks at him, eyes running up and down twice then he shakes his head. "No, no I didn't think so."
John crosses his arms with a smile and huffs. "Do I want to know what you're observing this time?"
Sherlock turns away. "No, you don't."
John and Mary slide across the dance floor in some amalgamation of a ballroom dance, the twist and John wanting to look suave. Neither Mary nor he are exactly formally taught dancers but then everyone else at this club seems to be on the same page. It's one of the few places that manages to straddle the line between hip and 'old folk;' no flashing epileptic seizure lights but also no elevator music and 80-something loners planted at the bar. Instead, one finds drinks, swing, and jazz music and enough dancing that John can pretend he is in a 1920's era film. Call it a treat.
John and Mary do not exactly have 'date nights.' John always thought such a distinction was corny when one was married. Isn't every night 'date night?' Then again that distinction is just as bad.
"Want to stop for a drink?" Mary asks.
"Why?" John twirls them to the left. "Am I no longer impressing you?"
Mary smiles. "You call this impressive?"
John does a quick cha-cha and turns them in a kind of Anglicized salsa back and forth. He grins. "I think so."
Mary runs her fingers through his hair once and still smiles. "Okay, maybe."
John turns them, twirls Mary once, then pulls her back into his arms and cocks his head. "Just maybe?"
Mary laughs though it cuts off in a strange way and she nods quickly. "All right," she takes the lead and turns them in a graceful loop around another couple, "very impressive."
John chuckles and nestles his face in her hair, chest to chest simply rocking to the saxophone music for a moment. She smells like shampoo and ink and he presses his fingertips into the skin of her back to feel bone underneath; complete and real under his touch because maybe sometimes he still doubts she is really here.
As they turn again, heels clicking, John leans back and suddenly notices tears in Mary's eyes. He grips her a bit tighter and kisses her cheek. "Hey, you all right?"
Mary laughs breathlessly and makes a quiet sniffing noise. "Ha, yes."
"But you're cry–"
"I know, I'm just…" She sighs as she presses herself against him, cheek to cheek, and her voice soft in his ear. "I'm just so happy I met you, John."
Mary and John sit at the kitchen table eating dinner, John's best attempt at chicken masala. John has made it before but that attempt ended in something akin to Harry's cooking so he hadn't tried again; this time the chicken appears quite cooked and nothing burnt. Neither of them are that good cooks but John thinks he can win this long game if he keeps at it.
John watches Mary, her fork mostly making circles on her plate instead of bringing food to mouth. "Don't like it?"
Mary looks up and chuckles. "It's fine, John."
John purses his lips and raises an eyebrow. "Uh huh."
Mary rests the tip of her fork on her plate then lets it go, laying her palms flat on the table. "I have something to tell you, John."
John chews slowly and tilts his head. "All right?"
She pulls her hands off the table and rubs them together then puts them down again. John puts his fork down as well and sits up, waiting. Mary clears her throat and tosses hair out of her face. Then she looks John right in the eye. "John, I have ovarian cancer."
John's stomach drops in the most literal sense possible and he feels a shake in his one hand. John clenches his fist slowly and swallows. "Ah."
Mary stares at him for a moment as neither of them speak. Then she breathes in slowly and shifts her chair closer to the table. "Did you hear what I said, John?"
John swallows and nods. "Yes, uh… I did."
Mary slides her hand across the table and covers John's. "I found out at my last Gynecologist visit –"
"That was over a month ago."
"I know." John opens his mouth again but Mary squeezes his hand and he stops. "I'm sorry. I wanted to get the biopsy to be sure before I told you."
"But when did you –"
"When you went on that case with Sherlock that had you in Dublin a night." John clenches his teeth but only nods. Mary smiles and rubs a pattern on the back of his hand. "So, it's confirmed now and…" She breathes in again. "It's…" She blows out a breath, closes her eyes once then opens them again. "It's stage four."
"Stage four…" John says like frost falling.
"I, uh…" Mary looks down at the table and their plates. "I have an appointment to figure out treatment options – you know when, where I should go, details, something about category and surgery – same stuff of course, and the doctor said we need to move quickly before –"
John sees her control starting to slip and John puts his other hand on top of hers. "Mary."
She looks up at him suddenly and her jaw clenches. "John, I…"
"It's fine." John nods reassuringly. "We will figure this all out."
"You can probably understand more of what they say anyway," Mary whispers.
John nods again, "Yes," keeping his voice calm and controlled as Mary is despite the pulse he feels in her hand. "I will."
"Yes."
"Mary, we will figure this out."
"There's no figuring out, John, we know what this is!" Mary snaps. John nods again as Mary sighs. "I'm sorry, I…"
"It's all right, Mary, don't apologize."
She shakes her head and stares up at the ceiling. "I've just… I've been keeping this in…."
"You know you didn't have to."
Mary's eyes tick down again. "Yes, I did, John. I needed to."
John refuses to overanalyze and squeezes her hand like she did his. "We are in this together and I am going to pull you through, all right? Everything is going to fine."
"You say that, but –"
"Mary, you are a fighter, we both are."
Mary laughs. "Oh, don't I know."
John smiles and kisses her fingertips. "I love you, Mary."
Mary breathes in sharply with a shake of her head then leans over and rests her forehead on their clasped hands, breathing slowly in time with John's hand stroking her hair.
Sherlock is already looking at the doorway when John enters the flat after bounding up the stairs. John breathes in and out as Sherlock watches him, fingers still on the keys of his laptop. John swallows but it takes him another minute to form any words.
"Mary…" is all he can say.
"She told you."
John sucks in a ragged gulp of air. "You knew?"
Sherlock stares back at John and does not answer. John breathes through his nose to calm his erratic pulse but it does no good. John shakes his head hard and clenches a fist.
"Why would you not fucking tell me something like this?" he barks.
"She asked me not to."
John laughs harshly. "And since when do you listen to anyone but yourself?"
"John, sit down."
"Sit down?" John snaps. "That's what you say?"
"John, your reaction is –"
"My reaction is all mine, Sherlock, don't you tell me what it is or what it should be!" John shouts, all his control with Mary, all his attempts at calm out the window now.
"John, please sit down."
"My wife has stage four cancer and you say sit down!" John shouts so that it sounds like tearing in his throat, like an anguished scream.
"Sit down, now," Sherlock commands sharply and this time John listens.
John sits on the couch and puts his head in his hands with a groan. "Oh god…"
Silence clamps down and for five minutes neither of them speak, tears dripping onto the carpet and John's fingers fisted tightly in his short hair. He feels Sherlock's presence across the room, knows his friend is there, but apart from that he could be alone in the flat.
"I…. do you…" Sherlock clears his throat and his voice is that attempt at 'normal,' 'generic,' proper' he always fails at. "Do you want tea?"
John laughs but cuts it off with a gasp.
"Perhaps not…" Sherlock whispers.
"You're right," John shakes his head in his hands. "I know why she waited, why she didn't tell me right away; takes anyone time to process of course, of course! But…" John groans and snaps his head up, swinging his body along so his head knocks against the edge of the couch. "I'm a doctor! I could…. I mean… Damn it!" John throws up both hands and protests the ceiling. "I know how this goes! It's not my specialty, no, but I know how… How…" His voice drops in volume. "How it could go." He breathes in sharply and sits up again, counting on his palm with two fingers. "I know all the steps, the stages, the symptoms as it progresses, the process, the treatments, who she should talk to, what we should do, where she should go – and why are you being so quiet?" John snaps the end and looks at Sherlock again.
Sherlock slips his hands slowly off his keyboard and threads them together. "You do not want to hear what I have to say."
"No, I do."
Sherlock sighs and tilts his head. "I am not a doctor, John, but I know you need to be prepared that the possibility is –"
"No, you're right," John interrupts, "I don't want to hear what you have to say."
"John…"
"I swear, if you say something like 'it will all be okay…'"
"Why would I say that?"
"To have some fucking compassion, maybe!"
They fall silent again, the only sound John's harsh breathing. He hunches over and clenches his hands, runs one palm over his knuckles then vice versa over and over. He shoots a glare at Sherlock then looks at the wood floor – the carpet gone as if Mary and he had never lived here in the time in between.
"You're not angry with me," Sherlock says finally.
"No?"
"No."
John huffs a breath out and shakes his head. "No… no…"
He hears Sherlock's chair move and then Sherlock is crouching down in front of him. Sherlock puts his hands on John's shoulders and it makes John shudder. He looks up at Sherlock who only looks back him, does not challenge John's emotional reaction now, does not over explain the situation or call him an idiot. John feels like he cannot breathe and he slides his hands over his face, shifts forward and into Sherlock. Sherlock does not move, only keeps his hands on John's shoulders as John shakes and cracks and falls and spins away.
John and Mary sit in chairs that appear as though they should be comfortable with their plush cushions but really make one sit up too much and pinch when one shifts. John wonders if this was a deliberate choice, make sure the patient stays awake and feels uncomfortable? If so, John is well aware one does not need special chairs for that.
"All right, let me go over what I can tell you now." Mary's initial doctor – Dr. Johnson – opens up Mary's folder as she speaks. "We have your biopsy and x-ray and this gives us a lot to start with."
Mary nods, her hand slipping into John's. John finds himself judging the size of Johnson's desk. She has two piles on her desk just like John does but in her case John wonders what her two piles mean. Positive and negative? Terminal or not?
"So, if you look right here." She holds up the x-ray, pointing quickly. "You can see…"
John grits his teeth and blinks his eyes, hand still tight in Mary's. John knows he can understand it all better, knows he has to listen but it feels like being inside a cloud. He wonders if his patients feel this way, that they see his mouth moving but the words just flow right over like water. Johnson keeps talking, hand gestures and reassuring smiles. It feels like pantomime, like silent film, like this whole room is just a construct and the only real thing is Mary's hand in his.
"So," Mary clears her throat and sound clicks back on. "What is the best course of treatment for me?"
John's eyes tick over to Mary, her still face and determined eyes. John breathes slowly and watches her, her hair tucked behind her ears, the way the light makes her eyes darker, the small gold hoops in her ears, the smell of lotion, the edge of her teeth on her lip for just a moment, her eyelashes moving down then up again, her chin held up just enough, her lips pressing together then opening as she breathes out. John clicks his heels together and sits up straight. This is not about him, it's about Mary.
"I won't sugar coat this," Johnson says and John focuses on her, "your road going forward is not going to be quick or easy."
"We know," John and Mary say together.
They look at each other for a moment then turn back to the doctor. Johnson smiles a fraction and nods. "Then let's get to it."
Mary and John sit side by side on the couch, hands tight together. Mary's parents sit across from them with Diane standing behind her mother's chair.
Diane speaks first. "What do you mean?"
John glances at Mary as she frowns. Mary breathes out and pats her other hand on her thigh. "Just what I said, Diane."
"But you're young!"
Mary's mother gasps sharply and John sees her eyes glistening behind her glasses.
"Diane," Mary's father says, "let her finish."
"She is finished; what else is she going to say? You heard her!"
"Diane." Mary holds up a hand. "Just calm down a minute and let me –"
"Calm!" Diane starts to pace toward the window then back to her mother's chair. She swoops her arms in the air once and huffs. "How are you calm?"
"I've been waiting to tell you, I've known –"
"How long?" Mary's mother asks. "I mean, how long have you known?"
"Mum…"
"Were you keeping this from us?" She sniffs. "Isn't there things you should be… we should be doing?"
"She needed time to process, Joan," John says. "We've been to the doctor and have treatment plans set up."
"What are they?" Mary's father suddenly asks.
John clears his throat. "I think –"
"Dad, can we wait –"
"Mary, you've just told us you have cancer." Everyone suddenly looks at Mary's father, his calm and even tone almost as frightening as screaming. "This isn't a pleasantry we can stay on the surface of. We need to know everything you know, everything going forward. We need to be a part of the plans. Mary, I…" He clenches his fists on the arms of his chair. "You're… you're my first girl."
John clenches his teeth together and squeezes Mary's hand. She stands up and walks over to her father. She crouches down in front of his chair and clasps his hand.
"It's going to be all right," she says and anyone – even all of them, the closest in her life – would believe her the way she speaks.
Diane runs over and kneels next to Mary, wrapping herself around Mary's shoulders. "We need to call Lacy. She should be here and…. Oh god, Mary."
"I know, I know. Don't worry."
John stands up quietly as the Morstan's close in around each other, all hands on Mary and her steady voice keeping them anchored as she carefully tells them more details. He turns and walks out of the living room into the hall, pulling his mobile from his calls Harry.
After two rings the line clicks. "Wotcher, my darling shorter brother, to what do I owe?" She chuckles.
"Harry, I…" John breathes out slowly and has to close his eyes.
"John?" Harry's voice changes to serious. "John, you sound…"
"Harry, I have to tell you something."
"I think the dosage needs to be adjusted, the way she reacted to this chemo –"
"Mr. Watson…"
"Dr. Watson; I've told you that before so don't pretend you don't know or that I am not perfectly understanding everything you are talking about because I certainly am."
The man clears his throat. "Dr. Watson, your wife's chemotherapy is aggressive due to the phase of her cancer, so some reaction –"
"I am aware of that but her platelet count –"
"Dr. Watson, you need to let us –"
"I do not need to –"
"John," Mary pipes up quietly from the bed, "they know what they're –"
"Maybe." John flashes her an angered smile then turns back to the doctor in front of him. "If the reactions to the chemo are too severe then –"
"We need to see this round of the treatment through before –"
John shakes his head. "There is room for adjustment."
"John, please, just –"
"And about the radiation." John picks up the chart at the end of the bed. "I saw it, there was something which needed to be amended."
"John!" Mary snaps.
John and the doctor both suddenly look at Mary lying in the bed.
"Mary…"
"Could you give us a moment?" Mary says to the doctor, making a quick smoothing motion over the sheets covering her legs.
The doctor smiles and practically runs out of the room, shutting the door behind him. Mary breathes slowly, hands clenched in the bed sheets, the shouting clearly causing her some distress.
John clenches the edge of the chart in his hands. "Mary, I am only trying to make sure you get the best and most effect type of treatment."
"I know that, John."
John paces for a minute and taps the chart on the bed frame. "It can be better than this. I've seen some treatments where –"
"John, I don't need you to be my doctor!" Mary says sharply.
John blinks in surprise. "Mary, I –"
"I need you to be my husband," she gasps with the sound of tears in the back of her throat.
John's hands clench around the chart and he slowly drops his hands down. He puts the chart back onto the end of her bed then walks over and sits beside her, taking her hand. He smiles and nods at her, squeezing once.
"Just be my husband," Mary whispers as a few tears leak down into the edges of her hair.
John leans forward and kisses her lips, stroking his free hand over her hair. "Just your husband, okay."
She sniffles and kisses him back. "Okay."
John scrolls through an extensive website full of numbers, graphs and figures which a layman would consider incomprehensible. John has trouble even as a member of the medical profession but he reads on about a new form of hormone treatment, taking notes in a Word document as he goes. He closes his eyes once, remember s some spring day and Mary's hand pulling him off some path and into a field.
"John."
John opens his eyes and looks over the edge of his laptop to Sherlock sitting at the table once again positioned between the two front windows of 221b. "What?" Sherlock makes a motion with his hand for John to come over. John sighs. "Just tell me, Sherlock."
"I can prove for a start that our husband was home when he said he was not."
"What are you –"
"Google earth." Sherlock smirks. "Something so simple and coincidental!"
John groans. "Sherlock, I told you, I can't help with your –"
"You have been staring at that screen for hours, John." Sherlock types in a quick flourish then looks at John again. "My screen is just as bright as yours."
"But my purpose is far different."
Sherlock tilts his head and sighs. "A multiple murder is an important venture, John, this case needs solving and, as you know, you are an invaluable resource, one I have lacked lately. I can point definitively to at least one case where your assistance may have allowed its solving a day earlier had you been there; likely there are more."
John frowns and blinks twice then turns back to his computer.
"John –"
"Sherlock, do I need to say it again?" John snaps.
Sherlock's face softens slightly. "Make some tea at least."
John opens his mouth then shuts it and sighs. "Yeah, all right."
He stands up and walks into the kitchen. It's strange to see the combination of old and new here now. The chemistry set has returned to the table but some of the new appliances were those left by him and Mary. John picks up the hot water pot and sticks it under the tap until it's full to the line. Then he sticks it back and flips the switch on. He pulls mugs out of the cabinet – the cabinet Sherlock always kept them in before – then gets some sugar – out of the bowl Mary bought. The milk in the refrigerator is a constant bridge between all three time periods. John decides not to bother with a proper pot and drops a PG tips bag into each mug.
John leans back against the counter waiting. In his head he sees websites, alternative cancer treatments and new radiation options. He sees a medical journal from his coworker Melissa, article on successful laparoscopic procedures combined with neoadjuvant chemotherapy. John crosses his arms and knocks his head gently back against the cabinet. He opens his eyes and stares at the fluorescent light on the ceiling. He wonders absently if he'd chosen cancer as his specialty, if he'd practiced for years instead of entering the army would he be any more use now?
The pot begins to whistle so John turns around and grabs the handle. He pours water into the two mugs then drops a spoon in each. He walks back into the living room and puts one mug beside Sherlock's hand. He moves to walk back to the couch then Sherlock grabs his wrist.
John looks down. "What?"
Sherlock holds up his mobile and John cocks an eyebrow. "Barts."
"Sherlock…."
"Molly has my bodies ready and I think that the missing piece could be a poison, if you would –"
"I can't." John pulls his hand away from Sherlock. "I need to read on this –"
"You can spare twenty minutes, John, it would –"
"No." John steps back twice and waves his hand. "No, Sherlock, I can't spare five."
Sherlock grits his teeth and breathes sharply through his nose. "You cannot bury yourself in –"
"Are you going to give me advice on –"
"If these places were reversed," Sherlock snaps, "you would say –"
"Ha!" John sneers. "If these places were reversed I would surely pity the other Mary."
"Giving in to insults now, John?"
"As though you've been above it so much, Sherlock."
"I am only asking you to –"
"And I am just saying, no, I cannot play your puppy dog now!"
Sherlock frowns deeply and his voice lowers. "Life does not stop for cancer, John."
"Yes, it does!" John shouts suddenly.
Sherlock sits back in his chair, purses his lips but does not reply, twirling his mobile around once in his hand.
John stares for a moment then his shoulders sag. He sighs and rubs his free hand over his eyes. "Look, I know what you're trying to do, tactlessly and blunt as you are; trying to give me a distraction, something else to think about but… just no, all right?"
Sherlock's face does a quick round of frown into forced smile. After a pause he nods. "All right."
John nods once more. "Good." Then he turns and walks back to the couch, setting down his tea and sitting in front of his computer.
John can feel Sherlock watching him as he types – pulls up another article from a doctor in Finland – but he keeps his eyes on the screen; he ignores the feeling in his limbs that either calls for him to run over and punch Sherlock in the face or fall into his arms, either way to feel something else than this helpless, throbbing pain.
John hates work now more than anything. Every patient, every face, every single one is Mary looking back at him. All their fears are his fears for Mary, her expression falling, her false confidence and her attempts at positivity. Every time he checks an IV he remembers Mary dosage, see's Mary sitting in the chair getting Chemotherapy. Whenever he has surgery he imagines Mary under the knife and her life resting on that edge.
"You should take more time off," Liz says, "you have it, you know that."
"Yes, I… I know."
But being home is no better, watching Mary wince each time she shifts in bed, wondering if that day will be one of the good days or the bad days.
Mary tries to cheer him up when it should be him cheering her. "Don't need to worry about shampoo anymore, right?" She says.
He counts out pills for the week, triple checking the prescriptions are full and up to date. He finds things she can eat which won't provoke the nausea. He rubs lotion on her skin as gently as he can when her new medicine gives her a rash which hurts instead of itches.
John makes her laugh. He does everything he can to make her laugh – that gorgeous sound – and maybe for ten minutes a day they will think about something else.
He walks the hospital halls, smiles that doctor smile meant to instill confidence and hears Mary's doctors in his head, "treatment… not going as well…. Still options but you should be prepared…"
At work every smile is false and he wants to tell his patients to run as fast as they can off the nearest cliff because why sit still in this hell?
"Go home, John," Aziz tells him, "be with Mary."
"I have to keep working… I just…"
"I know, but Mary can't run from it any more than you can."
No matter where he goes cancer follows. John just wishes being a doctor could cancel it all out, cash in the karma. Couldn't the lives he's saved – the hundreds of lives – balance out and give him this one life he wants to keep?
John wakes up to some noise, slowly digging up from sleep and he notices the room is still dark. His arm sweeps out over the empty bed beside him then hears the noise of retching. John blinks his eyes open quickly and throws the covers off. He climbs out of bed and walks down the hall toward the light of the bathroom. He steps over to Mary and touches her back as he crouches low.
"Do you want –"
"I'm fine," she says into the toilet. "Go back to sleep."
"It's all right, I'm –"
"You have work in the…" She gasps and shifts her legs, "in the morning."
"Don't worry about that."
"You should –"
"Mary." John picks up a wash cloth from the edge of the sink and carefully wipes some of the sweat from her head. "I'm staying up with you, all right?"
Mary nods once then gasps. She grips the edge of the toilet seat harder so her knuckles turn white and heaves again. She gasps twice, heaves and makes a pained noise. John bites his lip hard and edges closer, moving so he can hold her shoulders even if it actually does nothing to help. Mary gasps, almost hyperventilating for a minute, then leans back. She reaches behind her but John gets there first and hands her some toilet tissue.
"Okay, okay." She waves his hands away from her hair then wipes at her mouth. "Oh god, tastes like –"
John chuckles half-heartedly. "Yeah, I bet."
She clenches her fists once and grimaces. Then she throws the tissue into the toilet and pushes the handle down with a whoosh of water. She turns and looks at John with a grim smile. He smiles back and pets the crest of her head once.
"Go to sleep," she says as she leans back against the bathroom wall.
John shakes his head. "Nope."
"Really, I just want to sit here a moment longer then I'll be back in bed."
John smile wryly. "Why would I want to go without you?"
Mary sighs but still smiles. "Ha ha. Go on."
John shifts and leans his back against the wall beside her. "I'll go when you go."
Her smile fades and she sits up. "John, I can throw up on my own, the body does the work."
John sits up with her. "You know that's not why."
"John…"
"I told you we're in this together, all right?" John's hand hovers over Mary's but he pulls it back instead and scrubs it through his own hair. "If you're up at three in the morning, I'm going to be too."
Mary smiles and opens her mouth then jerks her head around to the toilet again with a pained retch and a gasp. She moans and heaves and bangs one hand on the toilet top against the tank. She makes a high noise like something tearing then stills, hands griping and her face in the toilet. John hovers beside her, wanting to pull her back, to pull her close, to hold her until she falls blessedly asleep again.
"God, John…" She moans.
"It'll pass, Mary." John rubs a hand gently on her back. "It has before. Just ride it out."
"I can't…" Mary moans. "I can't…" She gasps and sits back on her heels, staring at the wall above the toilet. "I just…"
"You have to fight," John whispers.
Mary's eyes tick to him and she stares at him for a long moment. "We both know how this is ending, John."
John shakes his head a fraction, swallows and watches her as she closes her eyes then rests her head down on the green porcelain seat. He does not reply.
John walks down the hospital hallway, skirts around a vacant wheelchair, ginger ale in hand. His left shoe looks as though it's coming untied but he doesn't bother to stop and tighten it. If he trips and bashes his head on the tile he knows how to suture it. John comes up on Mary's room but stops just at the edge of the door when he hears voices inside, Sherlock's and Mary's.
"I know I don't need –"
"Then why are you bother –"
"…to ask you –"
"You don't."
"But I am anyway!"
Sherlock sighs quietly. "Well?"
"You have to take care of him."
"Mary –"
"It's not your forte," Mary coughs once and breathes in audibly, "don't deny it."
"I certainly won't."
"But you're going to have to learn because failure here isn't an option."
Sherlock clears his throat but does not say anything. John imagines Sherlock making one of his strained smiles. John leans his back against the wall beside the door and stays still.
"We haven't ever really gotten along, better than before, yes, but well…"
Sherlock sighs again, "Really, is this –"
Then something makes a banging noise. "Can you let me talk? Jesus! It's hard enough!"
Sherlock clears his throat just enough for John to hear. "So?"
Mary breathes deeply. "I don't know how he's going to react, Sherlock, when it happens. My sisters have each other, my parents too, they will all have someone. John has you; Harry won't be much help so it will really be just you."
"John does have other friends, I hear."
"Come on, Sherlock," she gasps raggedly, "of all the people to play dumb!"
"Mary," Sherlock hisses with frustration and John hears that familiar pacing. "Emotions are not my highest ability, obviously, but I know he –" Sherlock huffs and his voice lowers in volume. "How in the world can John lean on me when I did this very thing to him first?"
For a long moment John hears nothing, barely breathing, no one moving until Mary clicks her tongue in her professor way. "He won't have a choice, Sherlock; and, believe me, he would still choose you anyway."
"He didn't before."
Mary laughs in a gasping way and Sherlock chuckles once, somehow not an issue between them when all rules of interaction would say it should be. John hears a chair scrape on the floor and Mary makes a small pained noise.
"Sherlock…" Mary clears her throat and her voice sounds slightly strained. "I just need to know that he'll be safe. He is the one I am supposed to protect, the one I love, and with all of this I just need to know that someone will be there to catch him when he falls." The bed makes a creaking noise – Mary sitting up. "I need to know that you will put him first no matter what, no matter what he does."
For a long moment there is no sound – the faint beep of machines, footsteps far away down the hall, nurses speaking at the station in the distance. The chair shifts again and Mary breathes out in a surprised, quiet way.
"I will."
"Thank you."
"You don't need to thank me; I would have done it without your request, even if you had told me to stay away instead."
Mary huffs quietly. "Oh, well then."
"I told you, Mary, I won't hurt him again and that includes by neglect."
Mary laughs in an airy way. "You really must have changed from before."
The chair scrapes again and John hears someone – Sherlock – stand up. "John should be back soon. Good bye, Mary."
"Good bye."
It is only when John hears Sherlock walking toward the door that John realizes he has slid slowly down the wall and now crouches at the floor, ginger ale clutched between both hands. He stares at the wall across from him until Sherlock's legs block his view. John bites the edge of his lip and shakes his head once. He stays silent, thighs starting to ache, and Sherlock does not move away or speak. Then John sees Sherlock's hand held out toward him in his field of vision. John breathes through his nose slowly then detaches one hand from the ginger ale. He grips Sherlock's hand tightly and Sherlock pulls him up.
"I want to go to Italy."
John turns his head and stares at Mary tucked beside him on the couch under a blanket. "I want to go," she continues, "not just metaphorical. Let's go."
"What, now?"
"I'm serious, John." She brushes a hand over her head, a soft fuzz covering it now since her last round of chemo having ended long enough ago. "I've never been and I want to go now."
She doesn't add what John can hear, 'before it's too late.'
John looks at the floor for a moment then nods. "Okay. Let's go."
They start at the top and head down, Venice – city of canals and architecture.
"I feel like we are in a rom com right now," Mary whispers as they take the traditional gondola ride.
"Do I look the part?"
She smirks. "For me you do."
They take the train – fields of sun flowers and rows upon rows of grapes through Tuscany and Umbria. they crisscross the width of the country, double backing and stopping in any small town which catches Mary's eye; Deruta with a pottery store on every street and apparently its own distinct design which some art collector could point out to you.
The Leaning Tower in Pisa, exactly as every photo ever hailed it to be.
"I thought it would be bigger."
"Don't mock the short, John."
"Want to do one of the corny holding it up photos?"
Mary laughs. "Oh, do I ever!"
More towns, regular places where people live as though this Italian world is real, places they'd never heard of before they stepped on the ground. (Supposedly).
"Volterra?"
"It's in Twilight; it's where the old vampires are from, the sort of ruling body."
John stares.
"Know thy enemy, John, now help me up this hill."
A Roman theatre, Etruscan museum, a restaurant in an old prison – just a little town stacked upon a hill and hardly a tourist in sight but so peaceful John can imagine staying.
"A town of our own?" Mary says.
John grins. "If you cancel out the Twilight connection.
Towns up winding streets high into the hills so they overlook only rolling fields of green – "reminds me of Scotland but with sun," says Mary; towns so small you can count the inhabitants as you drive through. Abbeys that look like castles on hills and towns where the doors hang open and you are invited inside at first glance.
"Just try the wine," Beatrice says from her back garden, Mary and John in chairs somehow after only being in Migliano an hour when they got lost, "it is not good, he makes this himself but it is not good, pretend it is good."
"Wine!" Says her father as he comes up from the basement and they talk for hours on this countryside back patio, John's hand in Mary's.
Florence. Watching the sun set over the Duomo di Firenze then Mary crying in the hotel room, lying on her back on the bed for two days from the pain.
"Mary…"
"It's…. I can…" She sobs.
"We can go home, maybe we should go home."
"No, not yet," she gasps in pain and puts her hands over her eyes. "Not yet, no, no."
They try all kinds of food – real Italian pizza, pasta and truffles, marzipan – all the things they supposedly have at home.
"Spaghetti in England is a lie!" Mary says with pasta in her mouth and eyes wide. "Have you seen this, have you tasted it? Look!"
"I think heaven is on my fork," John replies, bite in his mouth as he leans back against the chair. "Can we steal the chef?"
And then Rome, the heart of Italy, the city, the people, museums and art and statues and the reminder of a civilization which spread their presence across the world. The Colosseum, the Piazza del Campidoglio, a quick trip into Vatican City to pretend they are Catholic and somehow feel that God rests at their feet in St. Peter's square.
In Naples – the south of Italy and somehow a feeling so different than three weeks ago in Venice though they know it is the same country – John holds Mary in his arms. She trembles slightly and John knows it is not from any temperature outside.
"I love you, John."
John kisses her forehead, kisses above her ears and breathes in the foreign air around her familiar presence. "I love you too, Mary."
She squeezes her hands against his back. "Let's go home now."
John sits beside Mary's hospital bed in a chair, feet curled up underneath him and scooted as close to the bed as possible. He's only half awake now and he knows it is past visiting hours. It helps to be a doctor to get the rules bent. They wouldn't want to test him now anyway about leaving. Across the room Lacy sleeps in another chair, her head tilted to one side and her hand half curled around her mobile in her lap. John watches Mary's monitors, quiet occasional beeping and colored lines. He has already memorized what they say and the lines blur the more he stares. When was the last time he slept more than a few hours?
John lets his eyes close and he sees Mary in her wedding dress. Red flowers nestle in Mary's hair as she dances with him, hand on his one arm. She giggles as he puffs himself up to look just a little taller. 'The uniform does it too,' she says. They turn slowly to music, something classical with no words and she grips his hand so their rings click together. They smile at the same time and look at their hands. 'ding ding' he says and 'ring ring' she says. She smiles and smiles and he laughs and they dance in white and black with gold accents and red flowers.
"John."
John opens his eyes and reaches his hand out to touch Mary's before he even realizes she was the one who said his name. He widens his eyes and blinks a few times to wake himself up.
He smiles at Mary's tired face. "Hi."
"Hi," She says. "It's late."
John peers down toward his watch but doesn't actually look at the time. "It doesn't matter."
"I'm glad you're here," she whispers.
"I wouldn't be anywhere else."
"I know." She smiles. "I know." She taps a finger over his thumb. "Do you remember New Year's Eve, when you tied the confetti ribbons in my hair?"
John chuckles. "Yeah, I said that gold should go with gold."
"And I told you my hair wasn't gold."
"And I said it was worth gold."
Mary smiles tiredly. "You'll remember it."
John swallows. "Of course I will."
"Oh, when you proposed." She smiles more and shows a small flash of teeth. "I thought I would fall right through the floor of the capsule."
"So did I."
"Down on one knee and…" she sighs. "And everything."
John nods. "I can't believe I didn't just fall on my arse."
"I would have still said yes."
John sniffs sharply. "Good for me."
Mary tilts her head away for a minute, her eyes on Lacy then she slowly turns her head back to John. "Remember last Christmas?" Her fingers tap on his hand again and she laughs weakly. "I bought you that hideous tie."
John laughs too and feels a flick of water on his other hand. "Yeah, the four clashing colors of stripes and then a whale on top?"
"You called me color blind."
John shakes his head. "I didn't mean it."
"You did with my dress sense."
"Sometimes you mix things up."
"You would know." She laughs quietly again and coughs slightly. "But I liked it that way."
"I kept the tie."
"You never…" she breathes in slowly then goes on, "never wore it."
John huffs quietly. "Do you want me to? I will. I'll wear it tomorrow so you can see."
"I don't think I will."
"Will what, want me too?" John smiles wryly. "I'm not saying it's my first choice."
"No…" Mary shakes her head just a fraction. "See tomorrow."
John sets his teeth together and shakes his head. "You will. You will. I'll wear that striped whale tie with that pink shirt I know you hate just to show you I can model your dress sense too and then you'll laugh and you won't forget it and we'll both laugh every time we think of how ridiculous I looked. Okay?" John breathes in and wipes a hand at his eyes. "Okay? Whale tie tomorrow, I promise."
Mary breathes in and out and her lip quirks up just a bit. "Okay, John."
John squeezes her hand. "Are you tired?"
"No…"
"Do you want something? Water? I can get you –"
"No," she whispers. "No, just…" her fingers tap slowly, one, two, slowly on his hand. "Just… hold my hand."
John hunches closer and squeezes her hand. "Okay." He reaches out and touches her cheek – skin thinner but her eyes still just the same as they always were. "Okay," he whispers. "I won't let go."
She smiles and closes her eyes. "I lov…" She sighs quietly and taps his finger again.
"I love you, too," John says. "I love you, Mary."
When the monitors start to beep John stands up, reaches over and turns the sound off. He sits back down and keeps holding Mary's hand, stroking her cheek with his other. He remembers Mary lying beside him in bed and way she looked at him every morning, like she would never love anyone else as much again.
It only took five months.
John unlocks his front door and lets it slowly swing closed behind him with a faint click. The first thing he sees is Mary's trainers by the wall, one upside down on top of the other. He stares at them, notices traces of dirt on the soles and how one of the shoe laces has begun to fray. John's coat slips out of his hand onto the floor absently, brushing against his leg as it falls.
When John finally looks up he sees Sherlock sitting on the edge of the couch watching him.
"John?"
John stares at Sherlock, long coat still on as if he'd just walked in a five minutes before. However, a mug sits on the side table and a book on the couch, Sherlock's phone beside it – he's been waiting for hours.
"John?" Sherlock repeats.
John blinks slowly but still does not move. Sherlock stands up and walks over to him. John watches Sherlock, head moving slowly along but his feet stay planted where he stands. Sherlock stops just to the side of John and picks up the fallen jacket. He steps around John and hangs the jacket up on one of the hooks in the wall just above Mary's shoes.
John breathes in sharply then turns and shoves Sherlock. Sherlock hits the front door, not hard, but he still winces and gasps once in surprise. He puts up his hands but does not push John back or say anything. John shoves Sherlock again, as if Sherlock would fall through the closed door with only a tap. Sherlock grabs at John's arms but John pushes his elbows out, knocks Sherlock's hands back and shoves him again.
"You…" John gasps and pushes feebly against Sherlock. "You… why…. She should…" John gasps harshly, raggedly and he fists a hand in Sherlock's coat, shoves him hard against the door so Sherlock gasps too. "Why… I can't…" John grabs Sherlock's lapels in both hands but stops shoving at Sherlock's chest. Instead he just hangs on as he body begs to give up, to collapse, and he leans heavily on Sherlock, forehead falling just above his hands on Sherlock's chest.
After several minutes Sherlock's hands come up and grip John's hands. He squeezes once then carefully pries John's hands off of his coat. Sherlock holds onto his hands until John stands up straight again and pulls his hands away. John steps back from Sherlock, his eyes still drawn to those blue trainers on the floor.
"John?" Sherlock asks after another minute.
John shakes his head and takes another step back. Finally he looks up at Sherlock again. Sherlock stares at him, expression blank in a way that means he's concerned but trying to stay neutral until John reacts again. John frowns and shakes his head. He turns and walks toward the stairs.
"John, do you want –"
"Go."
"What?"
John turns with his hand on the stair banister, "Go back to Baker Street, Sherlock." Then John turns and walks up the stairs without waiting to hear Sherlock leave.
John turns at the top, flips on the hall light switch, and walks the short distance down to his bedroom – his and Mary's bedroom. He stops in the doorway without turning the light on. From the hall light he sees "Great Expectations" on Mary's side of the bed, three prescription pill bottles on top of the book and a half full glass of water on the far side near the lamp. He sees his and Mary's watches side by side on the dresser against the wall. He sees one of his sweaters in a ball on the end of the bed with Mary's pale pink bra on top.
John turns around and walks across the hall to the bathroom. He flicks on the light and stares at the mirror. His hair looks greasy, as greasy as short hair can look. When did he last take a shower? John rubs a hand over his face and keeps staring. Out of the corner of his eye he sees tooth brushes and jasmine hand cream. John's hands grip the edges of the sink until he slowly slides down to the tiled floor.
Two hours later, John stands up and walks back downstairs. A light is still on in the living room. Sherlock sits, legs curled up, eyes closed with his head resting on top of his elbow on the arm of the couch. His coat is draped over the matching chair and his mobile lies on the floor. John steps down into the room and walks over to the couch. He picks up Sherlock's mobile and puts it on the chair with Sherlock's coat. Then John sits down beside Sherlock. As the couch shifts with John's weight, Sherlock stirs and turns to John, blinking himself awake again.
John opens his mouth but then closes it again without saying anything. Sherlock slides his feet off the couch and sits up straight, still watching John. Then Sherlock scoots closer and, after a hesitation, puts his arm around John's shoulders. John laughs once – barely, a huff, a breath of air – and looks at their shoes side by side on the floor.
"What do you need?" Sherlock asks, voice with a feeling born out of three years absence that John still finds foreign to his ears even in the time since.
John shakes his head and leans slightly into Sherlock. He doesn't speak for a long time – maybe he forgot the question – until he whispers, "Mary."