Heathrow Airport
Mary Morstan looked thinner and paler when she entered the Café at the Terminal 5. Sherlock stood up to greet her. Her eyes lingered for seconds on his left arm in a sling. She sat down with a small nod.
"Hello, Mr. Holmes. How's your arm?"
"Hello. Much better, thank you. Would you drink something, tea, coffee?"
"Coffee, please."
Sherlock brought two coffee cups and held one out to Mary. The detective sat down and took a sip: Mary asked curiously without drinking.
"As far as I know, you take two sugars in your coffee. John's gotten into that habit."
Her words had an edge; he hesitated briefly.
"Ah… I suppose black coffee has become palatable to me."
"How's John doing?"
"Good. He came over to my flat last night."
"I knew he would restart his work as your blogger soon."
Mary sipped her coffee with a shrug.
"He wasn't visiting me to discuss my cases. He…"
Sherlock stopped in the middle of a sentence: it sounded worse. Last night John got drunk and rambled on for hours about his failed marriage and Mary's imminent departure. Mrs. Hudson made the doctor sleep in his old room because it was getting too late. Sherlock tried to change the subject.
"You are going back to Florida?"
Mary raised her eyes.
"My parents are living there. John must have mentioned it to you."
"What are you going to do?"
"I'm thinking about going to graduate school."
"Good for you."
Mary fidgeted a bit. Taking a deep breath, she opened her mouth.
"I didn't expect your text. Well, I have something to tell you. I'm sorry that I had lied to you…about the baby. That was the last resort to try."
She looked down at her hands.
"I was jealous of you. You brought back energy and vivacity in his life. I've never been able to rekindle the fire."
Sherlock was obviously taken aback at her honesty. He managed to give her a weak smile.
"I know you at least tried to help me by excluding John from your cases although it backfired."
The sleuth admitted rather reluctantly because there was little to talk about.
"I wasn't tactful. Ms. Morstan. I'm sorry about your divorce and… the loss of your baby."
She let out a bitter laughter.
"Is it your penitence? Isn't it too late? Well, bad timing, Mr. Holmes. It was a series of bad timings. Your return, the wedding, my lies, and the loss of a baby. I was stuck at a wrong place…between you and John from the beginning. I should've left when you came back."
She took a few sips from her cup, swallowed hard, and blurted out a question rather rudely.
"Why did you text me?"
"Ms. Morstan. I assume you won't come back to England for the time being. This would be my last chance to see you. There's something I need to say."
He hesitated a bit and took a deep breath before he whispered.
"Uh, thank you so much for keeping him safe."
She clarified.
"To keep YOUR John safe… That was my part in your great play, Mr. Holmes. You, John, Lestrade, Ms. Hudson… they all are so closely weaved in your play – it repels strangers like me. There was no place for Mrs. Watson. John had never been mine."
Sherlock was speechless, not knowing how to respond to her words. She emptied her cup and looked up, feigning indifference.
"You'll protect him from dangers."
"You know I'll."
Their eyes met; her eyes saw a commitment in his eyes: it was assuring. She rummaged through her bag, retrieved a brown paper package, and slid it towards the detective. He opened it and found a navy wool scarf.
"John had given it to me on my first birthday after we became a couple. His therapist was thrilled when she heard about it. A blue scarf used to freak John out for some time after your death. I found it this morning in the closet. I was thinking about keeping it for memories...or dumping it at the airport... Obviously, it's not mine."
After a pause, she stated in a matter of fact way.
"I see confusion in your eyes. You know, Mr. Detective, friendship can grow into love."
She gave the man a snobby smile at his astonished face. She stood up, and slung her bag on the shoulder.
"Thank you for the coffee, Mr. Holmes. I have to go. There are some duty-free items I want to look around."
"Bon voyage, Ms. Morstan. Thank you."
He stood up and held out his hand, but she ignored the gesture.
"There is a paper-thin difference between friendship and love."
Her last words almost petrified the detective. She didn't take his hand and left without looking back.
From the author.
The draft was originally from Sherlock's POV and my friend told me that was obviously slash - when she read "John reddened a bit". She suggested that I change it into a third person's view. So here it is. I tried to describe Sherlock whose brilliance fail to define his feelings towards John. Mary, with her instinct and keen eyes, enlightens the clueless genius. This is my first attempt to "preslash"; I'd appreciate your reviews...