I do not claim any ownership of the characters within. Instead, they are simply my playthings for the moment.
Had someone told John Watson and Mycroft Holmes they would one day be working together, would be as close as brothers, would actually enjoy each others company, both men would have laughed in the face of the messenger before rolling their respective eyes and walking away.
However, one fateful day at the beginning of March 2015, all that changed.
It had taken over two years for John to work his way through Sherlock's death, and had been doing very well. Mary had been a veritable life-saver, pulling him out of his own head and making sure he ate and slept and got out of the flat on occasion. She had essentially done for him everything he had done for Sherlock.
John had also found a deep and abiding affection for this woman. He proposed to and happily married her, and had been deliriously happy to be able to start a family of his own. They'd picked out names for the child and had chosen to wait for the birth to know the sex. John had decided, fairly early on, if he should have a daughter, she would be named Arabeth Grace. Mary, having read case notes and blog entries and heard stories of their adventures, had put her foot down firmly when it came to their possible son's name: Hamish Holmes Watson.
John had lain in their bed, curled around his wife's protruding abdomen, and joyously cried himself to sleep.
