Mary Morstan hovered in the doorway to the sitting room, eyeing the back of John's head. He sat silently, grimly, his hand clutching a tumbler of Scotch. That he'd refilled twice in the past half hour.
When he'd first stormed in the door after his visit with Sherlock, she'd immediately asked what had happened. What was wrong? But her queries went unanswered save for a gruff, "Nothing. I don't want to talk about it."
All right then. She'd retreated and given him some time alone to sit and stew over whatever had happened at Baker Street. She'd encouraged this visit, as she had all contact with Sherlock ever since he'd ambushed them in the middle of John's proposal at the restaurant. Mary had never met anyone quite like Sherlock before, but she knew his sort. Had encountered those like him during her travels. In her life before John. She knew she needed to stand her ground. To be unafraid and confident. But not arrogant. Unflappable.
Mary was good at unflappable. Been a long time since she'd been flapped by anyone and Sherlock Holmes certainly wasn't going to get under her skin. Not like he had with John. In fact, with those two, it was already apparent that it was difficult to know where one skin ended and the other began. She'd learned enough since meeting and falling in love with John that what he'd had, experienced, and lost with Sherlock was extraordinary. Getting John to really open up about what had happened had taken a long time, but when she'd finally gotten it out of him, John had begged her not to compare herself to Sherlock. He didn't want her to think she had to compete with his memory.
Certainly not. She didn't need John to tell her that. Sherlock had occupied such a peculiar place in John's life that it hadn't been hard to carve out her own roads. To make her own home in John's heart. It was an awfully big heart, after all. She just needed her own piece of it and was satisfied with that. She knew where she stood. And she knew that the fact that her man had come home to her meant that her standing was as firm as she'd thought.
But now things were on the verge of going askew. She couldn't let that happen. Balance needed to be restored. She took a breath and entered the sitting room, moving quietly, but making enough sound so John knew she was approaching. She sat down, carefully, in the chair opposite him, arranged her hands primly on her knees and looked at her fiancé until he was forced to meet her gaze.
"What. Happened?" she asked kindly, but firmly.
John squirmed slightly.
"John." The syllable held weight. Expectation.
John exhaled through his nose. "It's not going to work, Mary. Sherlock and I. Working together again. It can't. I thought it was ancient history, but it's not. Not for him."
"What, did he try it on with you?" Mary said with a chuckle.
John tilted his head ever so slightly and widened his eyes.
"Oh. I see." Mary pursed her lips. "Well, then."
"Well, then?" John looked at her, astonished. "That's all you have to say?"
Mary shrugged. "Did you shag him?"
"No!" John exclaimed, the force of his reply causing the amber liquid to slosh dangerously near the rim of his glass. "Of course not! How could you say such a thing?"
"Because I know you wouldn't do that behind my back," Mary replied softly.
"Damn right I wouldn't," John muttered, casting his eyes down.
"So what happened? Is he going to get Mycroft to put out a hit on me? Should I be looking over my shoulder?" Her mouth quirked in amusement.Bring it on, big boy.
"No, no," John said quietly. Then he looked up at Mary again. "He seems quite fond of you, actually. We talked … argued … about why he left. Why he didn't tell me. He made it clear that he still has … feelings for me."
"And what about you?" Mary murmured. "Do you have feelings for him?"
"I'm with you now, Mary. We're getting married, remember?"
"That's not an answer, John."
"I choose you."
Mary leaned back slightly. "… did he make you choose? Give an ultimatum? 'This Watson ain't big enough for the two of us?' sort of thing?" She gave a loopy grin.
"I can't believe you're joking at a time like this. No, he didn't. But he forced my hand. He made me push him away." John took another sip of his drink and grimaced. "Can't ever leave well enough alone, that one."
"What did he do?"
"It doesn't matter. He crossed a line. Let's leave it at that."
"John."
John met her eyes and rolled his slightly. "Speaking of not leaving well enough alone … he kissed me, okay? Is that what you wanted to hear?"
Mary paused for a beat. "Did you kiss him back?"
John stared at her. Then down at his lap. "Yes. At first. It was like … muscle memory. And sometimes I can't believe he's alive again. Right there in front of me. I'd …"
"… missed him," Mary finished. "Of course you did. He was your world, John. He was everything to you. And then it was taken away. Of course you missed him. I'm not surprised you kissed him back."
John was quiet for a few moments. "You're not angry?" he asked softly. "I am sorry, Mary. It was just for a few moments and then I got my sanity back and realized what I was doing was ridiculous. And wrong. And I stopped it. And I left. And I don't reckon I'll be going back."
"Are you sure?" Mary asked. "It's still early days yet. Things could settle."
"No," John replied firmly, draining the rest of his drink. "I think a clean break is what's needed. He needs to learn to live without me … again. He certainly seemed to do a good enough job of it for the past two years. But he doesn't understand that things can't be the same now that he's back. I suppose Mycroft was right — all that stuff he said about Sherlock not being able to let me go once he had his sights on me."
"But I thought you said he didn't want you to be rid of me," Mary said, tilting her head.
"Well, no. He never said that. He was saying some very odd things." John frowned. "Something along the lines of how he wasn't suggesting that I give up what I had, but that I take back what I'd lost. What was rightfully mine." He looked at Mary questioningly. "What kind of rubbish was that? What … I should be with both of you? That's crazy. I told him things don't work that way. Our time is finished. I was moving on before he came back and now that all that madness with the bomb and bloody bonfire is behind us, I can continue on with that. He'll have to find a new playmate, that's all." John stared pensively into his empty glass.
If I didn't know you as well as I did, Johnny, I'd almost believe you, Mary thought.
Interrogation over. She had what she needed. She stroked her hand over John's knee until he looked up at her and smiled. That dear, sweet smile. She loved him so. She leaned in and pecked him gently on the lips. "Sounds like a rough day, darling. I'll start tea, yes?"
"Yeah, that sounds good," John replied.
"Go easy on that Scotch. I don't want you passing out in your plate."
"Yes, dear."
