I do not claim any ownership of the characters within. Instead, they are simply my playthings for the moment.
John eventually returned to Baker Street near the middle of November. Once December 1st rolled around, he and Mrs. Hudson broke out the decorations and laid waste to the blandness in both flats. He watched the lights flicker and flash against the tinsel and decorations, letting the memories swamp him.
His first Christmas at Baker Street with Sherlock, Mrs. Hudson, Greg, and Molly. He'd had a girlfriend then, but not one that could withstand the scrutiny – Thank you very much, Sherlock Bloody Holmes.
His second Christmas at Baker Street had been spent alone. He'd been so drunk, he still didn't remember much of the week leading up to or the day after Christmas Day. Greg had dragged him into the bathroom the day after Boxing Day, dumped him in the shower, and blasted John with freezing cold water.
They'd fought viciously, but Greg, being sober and less malnourished than John, had easily over-powered him. John would owe Greg for that for as long as he lived. The dark thoughts had been getting bad. Worse, John had been tempted to relinquish his soldier's strength and just give in.
From that day on, John may not have Lived, but he was Alive. He continued working at the clinic, met Mary, and spent his third Christmas at Baker Street in a state he hadn't been in a long time: Happy.
The only day better than when Mary agreed to join her life to his had been the day she'd come into the flat's kitchen, wrapped her arms around him as he stood at the sink, and kissed his neck. John smiled, dropped his sponge into the water, and turned to embrace his fiancee. He placed kisses to her lips, intrigued when her grin spread and laughter started spilling out between them.
"John." Mary kissed him again at the corner of his mouth. "John Watson. I love you. So much."
John hummed his pleasure into her mouth. "I love you, too, Mary-mine."
"John," she whispered. "I'm pregnant."
Things went a bit fuzzy then, but John would never deny it. Because the next thing he knew, he was sitting on the floor with Mary in his lap, her legs wrapped around his waist and their child cradled inside her between them. John would tell anyone that asked that he had cried like a child.
He'd texted Sherlock the news that night. Just picturing the look of horror on his dead friend's face made him giggle a bit hysterically. He was glad Mary had already been in bed. He didn't want her to witness his slight breakdown.
Back in the present, John sipped his whiskey and let his head fall back against the sofa cushions. He missed his wife unbearably, would always love her and be thankful they had the time they'd had. But John would happily take to his grave one truth: Had he been forced to choose between Sherlock Holmes and Mary Morstan, he would have been hard pressed to choose, even though he knew exactly who he would choose. Every time.
The guilt that accompanied this admission almost overwhelmed him but, instead of going for the alcohol again, John shored himself up and called it a night.
I almost feel like I need to explain myself and why I chose to have John love both Sherlock and Mary so much. I like to believe that John would be a more open-minded character, capable of loving more than one person regardless of gender or sexual orientation.
