John sat in his chair, staring at the invitation in his hand and thinking just how odd, and normal, his life had gotten in the two years since he had met Mary. The crisp card stock was neatly folded and printed in a calligraphic font that he could not remember the name of, which read:

You are invited to the union of

John Hamish Watson

Mary Elizabeth Morstan

John still felt a little twist in his gut when he saw those words. He had never thought to see the day he would be getting married. He had lived a bachelor since he had graduated, first preoccupied with the army, then having every prospective girl run off by his prick of a flat mate, yet here he was. In one week he, John Watson, would be married. What would his mother say to that? What would Sherlock say to that?

John tightened his grip on the invitation and felt a dull ache of loneliness that he had thought he was over. He never had given up on sending a message to Sherlock. He liked to do little things, like dropping little phrases that he knew the detective would recognize into his conversations when he would intentionally bump into one of his tails, or ordering some of Sherlock's favorites – or at least some of the foods John had managed to get him to eat while they were not on a case – along with his own food and taking it out to the man who had taken up residence in the back alley a block away from his flat.

All these things John continued to do, even though there had been no other sign of the detective. It was the last real remnant he had of hope and he could not seem to set that aside, although at this point it was more of a ritual for his peace of mind than any real attempt to get the man to come out of hiding. Sherlock was just that stubborn. If he wanted to stay hidden, no force on the Earth would make him do otherwise, except maybe Mycroft, and John would just have to wait him out.

John had come to accept this, because really, the alternative was just too much to face. A small voice in the back of his head liked to remind him that he had seen Sherlock jump, that he was dead. Hadn't John seen him fall? Hadn't he been there as the body bled out onto the sidewalk? John much preferred to think that Sherlock was alive somewhere, hiding from him, than rotting away in some grave, even if he couldn't entirely believe it. Every now and then John recognized the madness in the whole thing and would begin to wonder if he hadn't made it all up, but then he figured he was not hurting anyone and kept at it.

To his surprise, Mary was very understanding of it all. In fact it was she who encouraged him to go back and study Sherlock's website. After all, if he was going to leave a message anywhere, that seemed the most likely place. She seemed to believe, if not in Sherlock, then in John's faith in Sherlock. She had spent hours going over the site with him. It was odd to read the words he had written on the most inane subjects John could ever imagine, but then that was Sherlock through and through. It didn't matter that the Earth revolved around the sun, but the temperature at which orange marmalade froze was of utmost importance. John supposed it must just be a matter of priorities.

John did have to admit, he learned a lot from Sherlock's website when he actually sat down to it. Not about how to differentiate types of tobacco, because who really cared, but about what Sherlock did. John was reminded just how brilliant the man had been and how simple he made it seem. John tried to practice a few of the suggestions on the website, but somehow he always just felt silly and a little rude staring at people as they passed him on the street.

Mary had also encouraged him to get back in touch with Lestrade and start working with him. Of course, John refused to go gallivanting around London chasing murderers the way he had once, but he found that more often than not, Greg was happy for a second set of eyes and Molly was more than willing to let him consult on scene if it meant she did not have to leave her lab to go collect dead bodies when the police could not be bothered to do it properly on their own.

The first case was the hardest. He couldn't help but remember the way it should have been and had almost walked away before he ever even ducked under the police tape. If it had not been for the fact that Greg had called him in as a special favor, he honestly might have, but he gritted his teeth and found the Detective Inspector waiting for him at the crime scene inside an old abandoned building where a man had been murdered.

The case had been relatively straight forward. Even to John, it seemed a simple matter, but it had given him the chance to reconnect with Greg, who aside from being a fine cop, had become a good friend during the time they had known each other. John was glad for the excuse to get back in touch and for the evening they spent down at the pub after it was all solved. It made him realize just how much he missed the DI, and people in general. If he were to be perfectly honest with himself that was the point when things started to look, if not brighter, then certainly not any darker than they had been.

John had become the less brilliant, more likable substitute for Sherlock with the DI and his team. He had taken up the challenge of proving Sherlock innocent and tried his best to validate the man's methods. Of course, he was only human and a slow learner at that, so progress felt glacial. Frustrating. John was pretty sure that the team only put up with him at first because he was a good doctor and they respected Lestrade. Still, he got better. Very slowly he got better, until one day he walked onto the scene and told them six things about their murderer – well murderess – that they had completely overlooked, surprising everyone, himself included. Anderson had muttered about having to put up with another one while Greg just beamed at him for a moment.

John was still nowhere near as good as his friend had been. He knew just enough to understand how extraordinary Sherlock had really been and it made John's brain hurt to think about all the information that must have been whirling around in Sherlock's head. John considered himself to be slightly above average intelligence, or as Sherlock had put it, "not as much of an idiot as the rest of them," but he could not imagine contending with the storm of thought that must have gone on every day for Sherlock.

John would never get on with Anderson or Donovan, but the urge to punch them in the face every time he saw them had receded to a simmering dislike that all three of them mutually shared. Donovan even went as far as to offer her condolences to John, which at least raised her to the status of almost human in John's opinion.

With the passing years, John fell into a routine that was a more stable version of his life before. He worked his shifts under Sarah full time until Greg called him with a particularly intriguing case, at which point he would take a few days off and help the police with their work. It had the added benefit of pleasing Sarah, who had continued to nag him about doing something other than living at the practice for days at a time. Granted, she had not been pleased at the unpredictable nature of his absences, but she was lenient and made it work, especially after having been introduced to Detective Inspector Lestrade and his inability to care for himself after his divorce.

Now that had been something John had not expected. Sarah the doctor and Greg the cop. Sarah, who had found John's life just a bit too mad to contend with, even disregarding Sherlock's possessiveness, seemed to find Greg just the right mixture of daring and security. John hardly found this fair since every crazy case he had been caught up in had been brought to them by the DI, but at least Lestrade worked mostly regular hours and did not romance his date by getting her kidnapped. As John had gotten more serious with Mary by that point, he could only wish them happiness.

He was startled from his musings when the front door banged shut. He could hear Mrs. Hudson speaking to someone downstairs before there were steps on the stairs and Mary stuck her head around his door. She grinned at him and nudged the door open.

"I hoped I might find you here."

John smiled up at her, rising to go put the kettle on. "I'm getting predictable, then."

Mary laughed as she crossed and kissed him on the cheek. "Never." She spied the invitation on the coffee table and couldn't help herself. "What were you up to?"

John waved vaguely at the living room. "Oh, just thinking."

"About what?"

John liked the way she wrapped herself around him, leaning her head against his chest. She was warm and alive and smelled like fresh rain. He breathed in her scent for a moment before replying. "Things. How strangely my life turned out."

"But good, right?"

John nodded. "But good."

They stood like that, Mary wrapped around him as he held her to him. "You are ready, aren't you?" she asked.

John kissed the top of her head, then pulled away to grab the kettle as it started boil. "Of course I am. I just realized today that had anyone told me what I would be doing in a week's time, what I would go through to get to that point, I'd have laughed at them. It's been so long since I could look at everything objectively, I had forgotten just what it was like to have some perspective." He smile ruefully as he handed her a mug of tea.

They relocated to the sofa and Mary curled up beside him. "Then I suppose I don't have to worry about whether or not you've called the church to confirm?"

"Yes, I did. And the invitations went out ages ago. And I have my tux all taken care of. Relax Mary, it's all going to be fine."

She chuckled. "Right. My army doctor, prepared and ready for battle. You know they had a bet going at work over how long you would hold out on the wedding after you proposed."

"Really," John asked, not surprised at all. "Who won?"

"Peter."

That really did startle a laugh out of him. Doctor Peter Wiggins was a few years older than John and always said he did not appreciate the idle gossip he had to slog through just to do his job. "Well, he's finally shown his hand."

"He keeps saying it was to show them all up and take all their money since they insisted he join in, but he's been crowing about it for a month now. I'm surprised you haven't heard him."

John grunted. "Well, I had that case a few weeks back and then I was so swamped with that stomach bug that went through all the schools, I've barely had time to breathe much less socialize."

Mary poked him in the side. "That's why you've got me. I take care of you in all sorts of ways."

"Oh?" John said, a glint in his eye. "And you'd be willing to take care of me today too?"

She winked at him, "Maybe. If you're very, very good."

It wasn't until after they were laying side by side, John watching the slow rise and fall of Mary's chest as she breathed, that Mary finally got to the point she had been dancing around all day.

"I wanted to ask you something." She said a small frown playing on her face. John made a noise of encouragement. "I know what tomorrow is."

John froze, his hand pausing in the small circles he had been tracing on her arm. How could he have forgotten about tomorrow? "Yes?"

"Last year we were still dating and I didn't know if I even had a right to ask, but now so much has changed…"

"Yes," he said, barely able to whisper it.

"Well, I wondered if I could go with you."

John's mind went blank. Of all the things she could have asked of him, that was the last he expected. "You want to come with me?" He asked.

He face was tense as she watched him, waiting to see how he would react. "Well, yes. I understand if you don't want me to, but it seems fitting to pay my respects. After all, I would never have met you if it hadn't been for him."

"You do realize that he would scoff and say that was sentimental and ridiculous?"

"Probably, but still, I want to be there for you."

John pulled her close, relishing the way she fit into his side. His visits to Sherlock's grave, although sparse, were very private moments for him. This one would be the three year anniversary of his death. He wasn't sure if he was ready to bring someone else along. Then again, he thought as he studied the woman in his arms, if he could not trust Mary, who could he trust? Maybe, just maybe, it was time to let her in to this little part of his life that he was always so careful to keep from her.

He sighed. "Okay."

Well, I'm not sure why, but I felt like I needed to at least keep to the traditional three year gap. Plus it seemed odd, for reasons that will be explained in the next chapter, to have John and Mary so close so fast in order to react properly to upcoming events, so I sacrificed some of the drama of John still in the throws of depression for some other type of drama. Hopefully it wasn't weird to jump ahead like that. I thought it fit pretty well. Now the stage is set for all our actors. Cue music...