Mary spent the rest of the ride to John's flat nestled into his side. John had never really been one to cuddle. His views on the matter consisted of being physically close to someone as means to an end, the end being a trip to his bedroom. However Mary's presence was soothing, nearly therapeutic in effect and John had meant it when he said that this wasn't meant to be a frantic tussle and an awkward morning after.

Silence had fallen over them again, but it wasn't the same ill-at-ease quiet as it had been before. Instead it was peaceful, comfortable. It was the silence that remained when nothing needed to be said.

The cab stopped outside the flat, and John thrust a handful of notes at the driver. He then proceeded to help Mary out of the car, stumbling on the kerb.

Inside the flat, John was cursing his decision not to tidy up beforehand. The debris of his life as a bachelor was strewn all over the kitchen table. Books, takeaway containers, used forks. Mary didn't seem to mind, and appeared to be making herself at home, throwing her coat onto a hook and toeing off her heels. Hanging his cane on the back of a chair, John puttered about, trying to clean a little while Mary watched with a bemused expression. "What's the plan, Doctor Watson?"

"Same as every night, I guess. A cuppa and then turn in."

"I wouldn't say no to a cuppa." She gave him a high-voltage smile.

They chatted about the children at Mary's school while John made tea. As they sipped from their cups, John quirked a smile as she confessed, embarrassed, about match making playmates in her class that she thought would make adorable couples in the future. "They'll thank me one day. Fifteen years from now I'll be invited to a dozen weddings every summer."

As John cleared away the mugs, Mary slipped away into the den. It was there John found her looking intently at the photo of him and Sherlock. She looked at him as he padded into the room. "That's er my friend. Colleague."

The look she gave him made his heart skip a beat. "I have a confession John." His blood ran cold. His mind was imagining all sorts of things she would feel the need to disclose now. She was married. Or a raging alcoholic. Maybe a crack addict. "When I walked into that room at Molly's, I knew exactly who you were. I read your blog regularly for nearly a year. And if not that, it's hard to miss the papers." That was not what he had been expecting at all, but in hindsight, he realized, he probably should have. He squared his jaw.

"And?"

"And if you want to talk about him, it's okay." She made to slide her hand into his, but he promptly pulled it away.

"Yeah, I bet you do. Kitty Riley isn't the only one who can come up with a good news story, right?" he spat. He was feeling immensely upset for being naive enough to bring a near-stranger home.

"No, no. John, that's not what I meant at all." Mary looked stricken. She bit her lip. "I meant that...I believe in him too." When John didn't reply, she continued. "Molly is convinced that he was the real thing." A lump had formed in his throat.

"He was the real thing."

"It's okay John." It really wasn't, but this time, when she touched his hand, he didn't pull away. He also didn't stop her when she tilted her lips to meet his. He returned her kiss with enthusiasm, his hand lacing through the hair at the nape of her neck, toying with the bump of her vertebra.. This time she was the first to break away. "Can we...er-"

"Bedroom?"

"Bedroom."

John had done this before, but it had been so long ago that it may as well have been the first time. He took her hand and led her through to his bedroom. Although the rest of the flat was in shambles, his room was tidied with military precision. Not a sock was out of place. Mary had sat down on the edge of the bed. John pulled off his jumper, standing there in his smart trousers and button-down shirt. For a moment, neither of them did anything. Then John moved forward, descending around her, guiding her down so that she was flat on the mattress and he was on top of her, their lips crushed together. His hands wandering, across her side, neck, and breasts. One hand toyed with the hem of her skirt. She pulled away, looking him in the eye with a mischievous grin.

Mary hooked a leg around his side, and then rolled over, pinning John beneath her. She slid down his legs, fiddling with the button on his trousers in the dark. John had been hard since she had first said 'bedroom', but his arousal hit its peak as she tugged down his trousers and pants. Shit this is really happening, he thought. He sat up to remove her dress, but was rebuffed with a firm hand pushing him back down to the mattress. John chose instead leaned back on his elbows to see what she was doing, his mouth slacking open. Mary gave him a smouldering gaze before she wrapped her hand around him. There is a woman touching my cock. It is a person who is not me. Unbidden, his thoughts turned to his string of exes since the last time he got laid. He even took Sarah to New Zealand and hadn't gotten this far.

Mary ran her finger across the head of his cock, causing him to buck, his shoulders slamming against the bed. She grinned, and began stroking the base of his cock with one hand, while the other teased at his foreskin. It felt divine. John had never been quiet in bed, and tonight was no exception, moaning his approval. Her hands were smooth and soft, and he felt every turn of her fingertips. One hand slipped down, rolling his balls in her palm. It was too much, and he felt himself go.

John's face coloured. He threw a hand over his eyes, groaning in embarrassment. He felt Mary flop down to sit next to him on the bed. He lifted his arm to look at her. She looked frankly bewildered. She looked at him, her eyes clear and honest, and then started to laugh. He found himself laughing with her, giggling in fact.

"It's usually more impressive than that," he gasped, relieved that he hadn't ruined his chances. This just made Mary laugh harder.

"I'm sorry. It's fine, it's fine. I should laugh." She said, trying to straighten her face.

"I'm afraid my dress was a bit of a casualty though." Sure enough, the dark material was dampened as a result of their activities.

"I have some things you can borrow." John jumped up, pulling up his trousers to cover his rapidly fading erection. Flicking on a lamp, he rummaged through the dresser and threw her an old RAMC t-shirt and a pair of sweat pants.

"Ta. I'm looking forward to testing out your couch."

"The least I can do is take the couch." She gave him a look that plainly said neither of us will be on that couch.

Mary excused herself to the loo while John threw on some pyjamas. He glanced at the clock. It was getting late and he needed to sleep. By the time she returned, he had tucked himself in. As she sauntered into the room he didn't think he'd ever seen a damn sight sexier than Mary Morstan wearing his clothes. He clicked out the light as she climbed in next to him. She placed her hand in his, snuggling up next to him.

"This just might work," he said, but she had already dozed off.

John woke up the next morning to an empty flat. For a moment, John didn't believe that the previous night had actually happened. Sure enough, though, as he walked into the kitchen, he found a post-it stuck to the kettle.

John,

Thank you for the lovely evening.

I had to slip back to Molly's.

Text me if you want your clothes back.

MMx

Her number was scrawled at the bottom. He put the note inside drawer below the kettle and hurried off to work, completely forgetting his cane.


Molly had been drinking her fifth cup of tea when Mary had come in early the morning after the party. Greg had already left to look over a few cases that had been weighing heavily on his mind. When she heard her cousin's footfalls, she had jumped up from the table. "How did it go?" she asked anxiously.

"God Molly. You frightened me."

"Sorry. Sorry." Molly composed her face into a delightful smile. "Would you like a cup of tea?"

"How many cups have you had?"

"Not that many. Now. John."

"It was fine."

"Just fine?"

"It was! He was a perfect gentleman."

"Oh good." Molly heaved a sigh of relief. Mary however tensed.

"Was there something that you weren't telling me?"

"No," answered Molly, after a short pause.

"You're a bloody awful liar."

"John has been having a hard time lately."

"All of London knows that Molls."

"That's not what I meant-"

"What do you mean then?"

"Don't hurt him. That's all."

"Aren't you supposed to be having this conversation with him?" Mary laughed. "Now, how were things with your lovely copper?"

"I wanted to watch a Disney movie. I'm not sure we'll ever agree on what to watch."

"Did you want to watch it now?"

"It's six in the morning! Wait. Your train leaves in less than an hour!"

"...I don't have to go." Molly looked at her, shocked.

"What happened?"

"Well I was just covering for someone on maternity, and I thought certainly they'd offer me a position. It was going so well."

"You said that about the last school."

"Public schools don't agree with me."

"You can stay here if you need to. Maybe find somewhere in London to work?"

"Maybe. Did you want to watch Tangled now or not?"

"I'll make some more tea."


John walked into the examination room where his last patient of the day was allegedly waiting. Rather than Herbert Jenkins, 72, persistent chest cold that was more likely than not emphysema from years of smoking, he came face to face with Mycroft, examining the medical posters with boredom. The ever-present umbrella was propped against a chair. He held a large file folder. "Where's Mr. Jenkins?" asked John, unable to think of something wittier. Mycroft just gave him a look. "Has something happened?"

"Why would you say that?" asked Mycroft, a smirk blooming on his face.

"I've behaved, according to your standards. I didn't look for the bugs around my flat and I haven't complained once about the people that I know are tailing me."

"One can't stop in for a chat?"

"You wouldn't do that. Something happened."

"Quite the deduction, John. And here I was thinking that my brother didn't rub any of his talent off on you at all."

"Really?"

"No. I'll give you a moment to think about it." Mycroft even made a show of fiddling with his pocket watch. John was stumped. What had happened in the last 24 hours that would cause Mycroft himself to come see him? Nothing was different. He had seen the usual people...and Mary. It was only when Mycroft said "Very good, John," and snapped away his watch that John realised he must have said that part aloud.

"What about her?"

"Well, for one, while you were fumbling around in the dark, we were running extensive background checks." He indicated the folder, but didn't open it.

"And?" John had blushed at the realization that Mycroft had probably seen his fumblings, but didn't let it show in his voice.

"Mary Morstan, thirty-four years old, resident of 86 Cherry Road, Aldershot. Trained as a primary school teacher."

"How dull, Mycroft."

Mycroft however, continued. "Prefers earl grey tea, is partial to the American television programme Glee..."

"Alright stop. You made your point. What do you want?"

"Not a thing, John."

"You wouldn't leave your...batcave for nothing."

"What are your intentions with Miss Morstan?"

"I think that's none of your business."

"Will you be seeing her again?"

"She ran out wearing my shirt, and I'd like it back, so yeah. I will." Mycroft nodded absently, and began flicking through the file. Neither of them spoke for a moment. After a time, Mycroft opened his mouth to speak, and then shut it again. Taking his umbrella, he made for the door. "Good afternoon, Dr Watson."

"No, no. You tell me what is going on."

"I'll leave the file with you. You know where to find me if you have any questions." He set the file down on the exam table.

John stared intently at the folder. There, in front of him was everything there was to know about Mary Morstan. It would be easy to read through it, knowing all of her secrets. There would be no surprises, no sudden betrayal down the line. But those were things she was meant to tell him in her own time, after dinners and dating and wooing, not after one midnight tumble. He paused, then haltingly, tucked the file under his arm, walking out the door.