John woke up the next morning surprisingly rested and feeling well. He'd expected to sleep restlessly in his old bed, haunted by memories of the past. Maybe he was coming closer to acceptance. Maybe it was just Mary's magical touch. Either way, he slept fantastically and he was reluctant to get out of the warm, comfortable cocoon of blankets in the bed.

It was even harder when Mary was peacefully sleeping next to him. Today was her day off and it made John even more reluctant to go to work. Feeling affection swell in his heart for her, John gave her a gentle kiss on her cheek before resigning to get out of bed and get ready. He knew Mary had had some sickness throughout the night and she really deserved to rest even though he wanted to wake her up. To tease her or snog her he didn't know; maybe both, he thought with a smile.

John took a shower, shaved and dressed in a comfortable pattern like he used to years ago. The only thing to remind him anything was different than it had been was the fact that he had to retrieve his clothes from a suitcase.

When John walked down the stairs and found Sherlock rifling through a pile of papers on the floor in his old rumbled pyjamas and dressing gown, he felt a sense of surrealism. It could have been like hundred other days he shared the flat with Sherlock. Unbidden and unwanted, John felt that familiar pull of desire; wanting to run around with Sherlock like they used to catching criminals, living free and recklessly. Just him and Sherlock…And almost instantly he felt that familiar tug of betrayal. It felt wrong somehow to want that now when he had Mary.

John made himself coffee and some toast noisily in the kitchen; he was surprised to find everything just where it had always been. Sherlock didn't look up once from what he was doing until John had sat down in his chair and addressed him specifically. Everything really was just as it had always been.

"What are you doing, Sherlock?" John asked, curious about the mismatch of paper around Sherlock. To John it looked like a bunch of rubbish but he knew to Sherlock it would make sense.

"Looking through some old case files" Sherlock said. "Since the criminals in this city seem intent on being boring, I have nothing better to do"

"Which ones are you looking at?" John asked, wondering if it was one he had worked on.

"The one with the hatchet lady" Sherlock said. John could tell that he tried not to grin but he couldn't help it.

Even John had to smile. "That was quite a case" he said smirking behind his coffee cup. "Who would have expected the little old lady who knitted sweaters for the church was actually killing ex-convicts with a hatchet? Well, who but you?"

"No one" Sherlock said with a touch of haughtiness. "That's why she got away with it for twenty years"

"That one was a nine if I ever saw one" John said, referencing Sherlock's own system for ranking crimes based on interestingness.

Sherlock gave him a sly glance. "Let's not be too generous. Eight at best" he said with a laugh.

"Maybe it was an eight until you tackled her and wrestled the hatchet from her hand and she called you a curly haired twat" John said laughing. "Have to say that bumps it up in my books"

"Well, it's not your books that count is it?" Sherlock said arrogantly but he was still smiling.

John didn't argue; he was just glad to see Sherlock smiling, see him acting normal and enjoying something. The past few days had been terrifying and John hoped Sherlock never put him through that stress and worry again. Knowing Sherlock though, he'd be in a life threatening situation soon enough and John would be worrying by his bedside again. He just hoped it wasn't him that caused it that time.

"We really had some good times" John said when the laughter subsided. He hadn't meant it to sound so morose but it did. God, he missed working with Sherlock….he missed being with Sherlock like it was an ache inside him deep and longing.

"I'm sure we have plenty of time for more adventures. Unless you're growing soft on me" Sherlock said, looking over his papers at him.

John huffed. "Don't count on me ever growing soft" he said honestly.

"Just round your middle, right?" Sherlock said with a laugh.

If John wasn't so happy to see Sherlock in a good mood, he'd act more insulted. "You just wait until you have Mary cooking for you for a while. Even you'll put on some pounds. Domestic bliss suits everyone well."

Sherlock's face fell slightly and he seemed to grow thoughtful and sad, so much so that John regretted saying anything. "John…I'm….." Sherlock stuttered out, laying his papers aside. "I want you to know I regret having…upset you."

John nearly chocked on the toast he was eating. Was Sherlock actually trying to apologize? "W-what do you mean?" John asked, trying to hide how shocked he was at Sherlock's statement lest he take it away.

Sherlock looked down and away from John, seeming uncomfortable. "I know you don't want to be here because of….my missing time. What I did to you…I'm…..sorry"

John was sure he'd never been so shocked in all of his life which was really saying something. "What did Mary say to you?" he asked. He knew that as heartfelt as an apology from Sherlock was, they weren't unprovoked. He wouldn't have said it on his own.

"Mary didn't say anything" Sherlock said earnestly even though it was clearly a lie. "I just wanted to…..well…just be happy again, okay? If you're going to live here, just try to get over it will you?"

John couldn't help but smile. Sherlock's sympathy could only go so far before he just wanted to be done with it. "Yeah, I'll try to do that" John said, giving Sherlock a nudge with his foot as he stood up to get ready to leave for work.

…

"I apologized to John!" Sherlock had been so eager to tell Mary about his trying to make amends that it came out like a yell the second that she had emerged from her bedroom, bleary eyed and yawning. He regretted sounding so eager; it made him sound needy and he hated needy people. But he knew Mary would be pleased and he couldn't waste time waiting for it to come up in normal conversation to tell her.

Sherlock was not disappointed. "Did you?" she asked with a raised eyebrow and wide smile. She walked over to where he was sitting in his chair and sat on the arm next to him.

Sherlock felt a swelling in him of pride that he hadn't known in a long time. "Yes I did" Sherlock said. "I told him I was sorry for what I'd done, leaving him and he seemed to accept it. He thought you made me apologize but I told him it had nothing to do with you. He believed it of course."

"Sherlock, what an important step you made; a genuine apology" Mary gushed. "That's what I like to see"

Mary petted his hair, fingers running through his curls. Rather than feeling violated or condensing, Sherlock felt himself lap up the praise. Mary was so open it was easy to be open with her. He could talk; he could act in ways around her that he never could with John. And she was so touchy…Sherlock had noticed it in the way that she interacted with John. Constant touches on the arms, shoulders, kisses on the cheeks and head, and hugs; Sherlock thought it was isolated in the way she acted with John but he was finding it was the same with him. She touched him a lot and he found it even stranger that he enjoyed it.

Sherlock felt the loss of it when Mary stood up and walked into the kitchen, leaving his hair more rumpled but alone. "Alright, what would you like for breakfast, Sherlock?" Mary asked from the kitchen amidst sounds of clanging pans and pots.

"Nothing" Sherlock said, scrunching his face up in disgust. He had far too much memories of having his head in a toilet to find anything appetizing.

"Now, Sherlock" Mary said in a chiding tone, sticking her head out from the kitchen. "We talked about this."

"No, you talked about this" Sherlock corrected her. "I never said I'd listen."

"But you will, won't you? You won't give me any trouble? You wouldn't give a poor, weak pregnant woman any trouble would you?" Mary asked, giving a dramatic pout.

God, this woman…Sherlock thought as he rolled his eyes. "Does that act work on John?" he asked with a laugh. "I'm sure it does but it won't work on me. I know you're anything but a poor, weak woman, pregnant or not."

"You're good" Mary said, pointing to him with an appraising look. "Come on though…..there must be something that you like to eat."

"My stomach feels like it's filled with hot coals; I am not eager to put any food into it" Sherlock said, rubbing his aching stomach. He'd never liked eating before the overdose but now his stomach permanently hurt. Maybe it would never be the same again.

"Your stomach hurts because you haven't eaten in days" Mary said.

"My stomach hurts because it keeps rejecting anything put in it" Sherlock argued. "It can do quite well without food for a few days." Sherlock was used to going a few days (or more) at a time without food and it didn't do him ill. Mary was just wrong, not surprising.

"Well, your body shouldn't be used to not eating for days. That's not healthy." Mary said

"Healthy" Sherlock said with a huff. "Who cares what's healthy?"

Sherlock was so intent on looking through his papers again he didn't notice Mary sneak up on him until she had crouched down in front of him in his view. "I happen to care a lot what's healthy for you" she insisted.

And there it was; that look, that tone…Sherlock didn't know how she did it but when looked at him with that concern, with care it made him believe that she really did care.

"Fine…I'll eat something" Sherlock said irritably only to earn a wide, happy Mary smile.

….

After some prodding and a lot of eye rolling, Mary had finally managed to get Sherlock to eat a few pieces of toast and some milk. Mary didn't press for anything more; she knew that Sherlock likely couldn't stomach more right now and she couldn't either. Her own stomach felt shaky at best but breakfast was an interesting and delightful affair. Mary turned on a court television program just to annoy Sherlock and though he huffed dramatically beside her on the couch they ended up watching the entire program as Sherlock deduced what had really happened in the cases, in all of which, everyone was lying. Mary laughed endlessly and she was glad to see even Sherlock smile a lot.

Mary was glad to see Sherlock show some happiness. She'd felt so guilty and responsible after he had overdosed and ended up in the hospital. She had underestimated his loneliness and how much he was affected by her and John's marriage. She wouldn't make that mistake again she vowed. Though Sherlock showed it to no one, he was really a very sensitive person and he needed care that he didn't know how to ask for. She could see his desire for approval in the way he obeyed what she told him and she could feel how much he appreciated and needed each touch she gave him. She was careful not to let him see that she knew all of this or that she was trying very subtly to add comfort to the small touches she lavished on him. If he knew she was doing this intentionally, Mary was sure that he would push it away. He obviously cared for John very much; Mary believed that he loved him whether he knew it or not. But he was too afraid to be vulnerable enough to show it to John.

Mary was surprised to have spent a whole afternoon watching crap telly with Sherlock and even more surprised how much he seemed to enjoy it. They talked and laughed and she had even managed to get him to eat a bit of soup for lunch. Feeling drowsy, Mary had leaned against the arm of the couch and gave in to a cap nap as Sherlock complained to the news on the television.

Mary lapsed into a warm, delightful unconsciousness. She felt as if she had dreamed something, something so alluring it made her feel even in a state of sleep that she could feel a heat and pressing against the middle of her legs as she slept. She felt her body twisting and moving in sleep, half way between sleep and consciousness. Ever since she had gotten pregnant she'd found herself often aroused upon waking, a thing that John was always glad to take advantage of.

Mary couldn't recall the dream that had spurred such a rush between her legs but as she slowly woke she was sure the press of the body against her must have been John returning from work and eager to slide into bed with her.

"John….." Mary muttered sleepily as she woke, smiling as her dreary eyes opened. What she found instead was far from John.

Mary jumped slightly as she awoke but it didn't seem to affect Sherlock's sleeping at all. Mary's memory came back and she remembered falling asleep on the couch. At some point, Sherlock must have fallen asleep too because he was leaning heavily on her, halfway in her lap, his head against her belly.

Mary suddenly felt a blush rush to her cheeks; she had been more than half way ready to take off her pants, thinking that John was there. Mary could only be relieved that Sherlock was not conscious when she'd had her warm dreams; she could just hear him tease her now.

Mary had made up her mind to gently slip away from Sherlock and the precarious position he was in when he stirred in his sleep, his arms reaching around her and affectively trapping her. His head tilted up toward her, mouth agape and made a small, whimpering sound. It was so cute, so juvenile that Mary wished she had a camera on her.

"John…."

Mary's face broke into a smile at the sound of John's name on Sherlock's lips as he slept. The little devil…he did it too! No matter how many times John denied it, John did say Sherlock's name in his sleep and it was now obvious that Sherlock did too. Mary wanted to tease him…but the way he grasped at her clothes in sleep, a frown on his brow, made her pause.

"You and John belong together…..how do neither of you see it?" Mary asked. As she whispered it, she began to toy with the soft curls on Sherlock's head, feeling a warmth spread her that she didn't want to identify.

Mary didn't even know she'd been secretly asking herself that question the whole time that she had known Sherlock until she spoke it but she had. She'd known long before she'd met Sherlock, Mary knew that his connection to John was more than simple friends. The way Sherlock's death affected John told her that. But once Sherlock came back into John's life and she saw the interaction between them it was nearly impossible not to see that they had a connection. Maybe she'd interrupted that by being here but she wasn't going to let that keep them from being together.

"Don't worry, Sherlock. John and I aren't going anywhere" Mary whispered, planting a kiss to the top of Sherlock's head.

….

John was in Sherlock's dream. They were running through the streets of London and Sherlock thought that it could have been the first night they'd been together, chasing the cabbie but it could have been one of a hundred times really. They ran and ran until Sherlock was suddenly on top of St. Bart's, falling, falling, falling…away from his life, away from John….away from everything that mattered. His dream changed and it was John and Mary kissing but it was as if Sherlock could feel Mary's hands in his hair instead of John's…

When Sherlock awoke he couldn't believe that the hand he felt in his dream was real. Sherlock tried to stay still as he could, afraid to mess it up. His head lay on Mary's stomach, her hand playing with his curls. Sherlock repressed a sigh but that didn't stop Mary from seeing him feign sleep.

"Have a nice nap, Sherlock?" Mary asked knowingly. Sherlock was relieved to see that she didn't stop playing with his hair. Normally, he wouldn't have been able to stand anyone touching his hair but with Mary…for some reason it made him feel weak.

"I don't nap" Sherlock said stubbornly even though he realized that sounded stupid. Then what was he doing if he wasn't sleeping? It made him look like an idiot and Sherlock was glad when Mary didn't comment on it.

"Did you have a dream about John?" Mary asked, a smile in her voice.

"What? No!" Sherlock said automatically. He pushed away from Mary, sitting up and putting some distance between them. How did she do that? It was his job to know things, not hers and he found it discerning.

"Then why did you say his name while you were sleeping?" Mary asked. She was grinning and Sherlock felt his cheeks growing warm; great, now he was giving in to blushing!

"I did not" Sherlock said, crossing his arms over his chest. Well, she could say he did it but that didn't mean he had to admit it.

"You did too. It's okay though, John does that too" Mary said.

Sherlock was so stunned that his head whipped toward Mary, disbelief flooding through him. She was making that up…..she had to be. "He does?" Sherlock asked. He hated himself a little that he gave into the curiosity but he did.

"Quite often really" Mary said, "You know, a lesser woman would be horribly jealous but not me. I get it."

Sherlock didn't know what to say. He felt like he was on the edge of that building again but in a different way; he was about to fall into something that he couldn't deny but something that he wanted very much.

Mary held out her arms toward Sherlock. "Come here, Sherlock" she said. For some reason, Sherlock fell into her.

Mary was warm and soft, like a pillow; he couldn't recall the last time that someone held him like this or the last time that he wanted someone to. Mary put her arms around Sherlock and he suddenly felt better; he felt like he could somehow hide this way.

"Why didn't you and John ever do anything about your feelings for each other?" Mary asked quietly as she held him against her chest.

Mary smelled delicious in a way that Sherlock couldn't describe; had she always smelled that way or was it some part of the hormonal change due to her pregnancy? Her question terrified Sherlock; she could see what he had so long denied to everyone, even himself. She was going to make him acknowledge it.

"It was never that way" Sherlock nearly whispered against Mary's chest.

"You can't lie to me, Sherlock. I see what other people don't" Mary prodded him.

"I mean, it was never that way for John" Sherlock said, "He dated, that's what he thought he wanted. I let him have it"

It hurt Sherlock to say that; it actually physically hurt him. He wanted to go back to the drug fueled oblivion where he didn't have to feel things. He wanted to go back to not feeling like there was a John and Mary shaped hole inside him that throbbed with each day alone. It never would have happened with John even if he had done something about it and it hurt to think it ever would have been another way. Sherlock was relieved when Mary didn't say anything more but just played with his hair and held him close.