Eggs? Check.
Milk? Check.
Tylenol? Check.
John walked through the supermarket, mentally checking off groceries as he placed one item after the other into his cart, grabbing the essentials, but still piling high the prenatal vitamins and preggie pops, and watching as people, especially women, began giving him looks of absolute love and adoration, making him smile with great pride. Over these last few months, the items in his cart had begun to get even more peculiar, but still, he was becoming quite the expert on which pregnancy brands were the best and which were definite 'no goes'. He knew which foods made Molly sick and what lotions made her skin feel better, and hell, he could practically run a crap tele show on which body pillow would suit a woman's needs. But truly, he didn't mind the shopping, because in return for his efforts in making her more comfortable, John became the most attractive man in the entire store.
He had heard the rumors before, but never in his wildest dreams did he believe them to be the slightest bit true. Women, everywhere, were practically throwing themselves at the little man just because of his grocery list, and he was loving every bit of it. On each aisle, at least one or two would be right there, asking him questions about the baby and offering any advice they could give, while in the process making googly eyes and almost drooling on themselves as they listened to his 'thank you's', watching him walk away with his head held high and his cart full. And besides, now that Sarah had broken up with him, Dr. Watson was the most eligible bachelor in all of Baker Street and he wore his badge with happiness.
John made his way over to the freezer section, weaving his way in and out of the maze of shoppers who now seemed to all be in a rush for frozen peas, opening up doors here and there and grabbing out what he needed, then walking away with yet another item checked off his list. He made his way around the store, watching as the ladies slowly began to dissipate, finally finding their husbands or spotting some sale on crisps that they couldn't possibly resist, and leaving him to walk in silence among the shelves of packaged items. He had to admit, it was nice having ladies practically fondling themselves over the shorter man, but really, it made it more difficult for him to concentrate on what he needed before leaving to see Molly, for there were certain things that had to be purchased. Slowly, he let out a heavy sigh, and, grabbing the cart with both hands, he started forward, making his way toward the infant's section.
Really,there was no point in him being in this area of the store, but for some unknown reason, he found a particular fondness in perusing the racks of tiny clothing, looking over onesies and blankets with a twinkle in his eye. Truly, he couldn't wait to find out the gender of the baby, because it meant that he could finally begin buying actual clothes instead of making lists inside his head of what they might need, and to be honest, he had already had some things in mind. If it was a boy, miniature jumpers and jeans were in order, along with tiny shoes to fit newborn feet, but if the child was a girl, it was all dresses, and in the brightest of colors too, with flowers on the little white Mary Janes to match.
John smiled to himself as he ran over his imaginary list in his head, picturing his soon to be niece or nephew covered in fluffy, warm material as he held them in his arms. Truly, he couldn't wait until he could hold the baby for the first time, not only because he would be acting as the primary male figure, but because it meant that he would still have that bond, that one connection to his best friend that he thought had been lost forever. Before he had found out about Molly, everything about Sherlock was a lost cause, leaving him many a nights lying in his bed, crying to himself softly and thinking that maybe if he had done something different, just maybe if he hadn't fallen for the phone call, his friend would still be alive. But now... now that Molly was bearing the child of the great detective, he felt as if it were his obligation to be there for her, but no obligation ever seemed so sweet. It was his chance to make things right again, and he wasn't going to mess anything up a second time.
Slowly, John brought himself back into reality, ceasing his daydream and gathering his thoughts once more as he continued scanning the racks of pinks and blues with wandering eyes. He blinked rapidly, trying to pull himself fully into control of his mind, and finally regaining his full-consciousness just in time to spot a small, blonde woman walking his way with a confident expression. John quickly lowered his gaze, feigning interest in the tiny socks that lay before him and beginning to pick through them diligently as he watched her stop at the same bin through the corner of his eye, and slowly, he looked up, catching her stare and then lowering his gaze once more.
She was a very pretty lady indeed, with short blonde hair and piercing blue eyes that made John want to melt right then and there in this very spot. Her pale skin contrasted nicely with her rosy red cheeks, and the light dusting of freckles that speckled across the bridge of her nose gave her a delicate aura that just seemed to resonate from her little figure as they both stood in complete silence. She was dressed in jeans with a nice blue cardigan, and over her clothes she wore a bright red coat with a brown purse that extended from her shoulder, across her chest, and down to her waist in a diagonal line. She was beautiful, absolutely gorgeous, and for some reason, Dr. Watson could no longer seem to capture the attention of his mouth or tongue to form any part of the English language. He continued looking straight down and he cleared his throat listening as, suddenly, a sweet and cheery voice began to fill the air between them.
"Your wife must be a very lucky girl," the woman said, pulling John's gaze upward and toward her face. "You seem to know exactly what you're doing." She gestured toward the cart, and John cleared his throat once more, throwing down the pair of socks that he held in his hand and grabbing on the hem of his coat, twisting it in nervousness. He steadied himself, licking his lips tentatively and straightening his back in confidence.
"Umm... Yes. I mean no," he began, stumbling over his words, "I mean, I'm not married." He smiled shyly, looking at the pretty lady with a look of embarrassment. She smiled back.
"Oh, well, girlfriend then?" She asked in reply, wanting to know more. "I think that's absolutely brilliant, considering the loads of cowards out there who would just run." She looked into John's eyes, smiling brightly as she moved over to the side nearest him, making his body begin to sweat ever so slightly. He swallowed, breathing in and gathering his composure.
"Actually, she's not my girlfriend either. I'm just... filling in for a friend." The words slurred out of his mouth in an almost inaudible tone, making him wonder if that was really the appropriate thing to say, his mind now practically running rampant as he struggled to speak and his mouth compensating for the mistake. "It's a bit complicated really." He moved closer to her, feeling slightly more relaxed as he stood amongst the clothes, and he watched as she moved even closer to his basket, grabbing onto the side of it with her fingers and reaching around the edge, seeming rather comfortable around a man who was a complete stranger. She smiled at him sheepishly, giving him a warmth inside as her perfectly-plump lips easily formed into perceptible patterns of vocabulary.
"Well, Mr. filling-in-for-a-friend," she began, smirking slightly and making John giggle like a child, "if you're willing to tell, I'm willing to listen." She reached her hand toward his, gesturing for him to grasp it, so he reached forward, shaking hers gingerly in his rough, callused palm.
"I might as well introduce myself," she began, her face lighting up with sheer delight . "The name's Mary Morstan. And you are?" The sound of her voice was beginning to pull John into a kind of trance, but he caught himself, blinking multiple times and stumbling over his words once more.
"Dr. Watson," he began, trying to stop himself from sounding stupid, but what was he doing? He didn't want to sound like a prude either! His lips once again began to atone. "But most people just call me John." Mary looked at him, smirking a bit to herself at his noticed faux pas, but who was she to say anything? He was adorable! She laughed slightly, her cheeks turning a light shade of pink as she spoke to him once more.
"It's a pleasure to meet you, John," she said, nervously rocking back and forth while simultaneously twiddling her thumbs, but not letting her confident, beautiful smile fade. She stopped herself, standing still and straightening her back, giggling a bit as she looked at the slightly taller, adorable man. He smiled back, looking a bit sheepish himself, and he cleared his throat for a third time.
"And also a pleasure," he replied, looking at her and feeling like a love-struck school boy as they kept up the awkward conversation, both feeling quite nervous as they spoke to one another. John blinked a few more times, gathering himself and trying to hide any nervousness that now plagued his body, and he looked into her gorgeous eyes, not helping his cause at all. John placed his hands behind his back, squeezing his fingers together tightly in an attempt to quell his growing discomfiture and swallowing hard as he finally found the strength to utter at least some intelligible phrases.
"So," he began again, his voice cracking slightly into a higher register "what brings you to this area of the store?" He asked, quickly gesturing to the bin of socks before them. "New baby at home?" Oh God, why would he ask that?! Stupid! He watched as she shook her head, laughing a bit as she did so.
"Oh God no," she replied, still laughing childishly, "no I'm not married or in a relationship. I'm just picking something up for a pregnant colleague." She hurriedly shoved her hands into the socks, pulling out a pair with pink fringe. "Although I don't know what the hell get, because I don't know the baby's gender." She threw the pair back down, annoyed, beginning to search through the pile once more, and John chuckled, quickly following suit.
"Sounds like we are in the same boat then," he said as he also thrust his hands into the soft mound of cotton, sorting through the many pastels that lay before him. "Molly wants it to be a surprise, but to be honest, it would be easier on us if she just went and got the bloody ultrasound done." He absentmindedly picked up a brown teddy bear, casting it aside and continuing to sort through the pile, not realizing that Mary had briefly stopped and was now looking up at him wide-eyed. Did he just say...? No he couldn't have. It wasn't possible. Or was it? Mary turned her head slightly, looking at John with a look of puzzlement.
"I'm sorry... Did you just say Molly?" she asked, cocking her head to the side in a gesture of confusion as John continued his mindless sorting, throwing pairs of socks this way and that. She stared at him, waiting for an answer, and finally, he stopped, realizing what she had asked.
"Umm... Yeah," he replied, looking at Ms. Morstan quizzically. "Yes, I did. Molly Hooper, actually. She's the one I've been helping." John wondered why she was asking so many questions, but he looked up at Mary anyway, just in time to see her face light up with pure happiness. What the bloody hell? He finally stopped sorting altogether, looking at her puzzled.
"Oh my God," she said, repeating it over again happily, "Oh my God... That's who I'm getting this bloody gift for!" Mary was now practically jumping up and down. "Molly and I work together at Bart's! Or at least we will be when she gets off maternity leave. Seems like she's been gone for ages!" She suddenly looked up at John, her eyes beaming with joy. "How is she doing?" She looked at John, expectantly awaiting an answer.
"Umm... She's good," he replied, pulling himself out of her voice trance and praying that his answer was right. It seemed to be. He quickly wiped his face, shaking his head slightly, and causing Mary to giggle. "Umm... Yeah. Really good actually. A bit sad some days, but can anyone really blame either of us? Although, she has more of a right than I do, I suppose. You know? Since the incident?" John shrugged his shoulders a bit and closed his eyes, letting a lone tear fall down his face as he thought of Sherlock, but quickly drying his eyes and taking on his soldier form. He stood upright, looking down at Mary, whose eyes now looked saddened.
"I can only imagine," she began, her voice caked with sorrow for her friend," Poor girl. First the love of her life just completely walks away after everything, and then she finds out he's gone left her pregnant? I mean the nerve of some men!" She stopped herself, anger now filling her to the core. "I can't remember his name. Sheldon? Sherwood?"
"Sherlock," John interrupted, choking back his tears, "his name was... Sherlock Holmes." He lowered his gaze, looking down at the floor and swallowing hard. "He was my best frie-." John paused, recalling what Mary had just said. Had he heard her right? "Wait did you just say he walked away?" He leaned closer to her, wanting to learn more, and Mary looked at him, baffled, wondering why this was so surprising.
"Yeah!" she practically shrieked, flailing her arms about. "The man just completely walks out of her life with nothing but a tiny 'see ya later', and the next thing I know, Molly's in the loo, bawling her little eyes out because some deadman-walking-prince-charming just up and leaves her for God knows how long. And then she finds out she's going to have his baby? It's terrible!" Mary was working herself into a tizzy, ranting on and on about poor little Molly, but John couldn't help himself from wondering what she was taking about. This... this damn Deadman walking? Suddenly, John reached forward, grabbing both of her arms tightly and holding on for dear life, his mind racing miles per second.
"I'm sorry, what?" he asked, his voice filled with question. "Mary... he jumped off the roof off a five story building, and I watched him die in front of my eyes. I am pretty sure that a dead man didn't just walk away..." John's voice was becoming slightly manic as he spoke, causing a few people to take notice, but frankly, he didn't give a shit. Sherlock was dead, and he KNEW he was dead. For God's sake, he buried the poor bastard! Slowly, Mary leaned forward, silently begging him to quiet himself to a normal level, but still looking surprised herself.
"I'm sorry, Dr. Watson," she began, cutting him short, "but I do believe you are mistaken. I know what I saw." Mary's voice was now gaining volume, catching John off guard, making him more confused. What the hell was this woman talking about? He moved forward, closing in the space between them by mere inches, but to the pair, it felt more like multiple feet, and he leaned down, his voice close to a whisper and his eyes starting to fill with mist.
"Ms. Morstan," he replied, "I don't know if you've noticed, but I really don't know what you are talking about, so if you would, please explain. It would be bloody lovely." He looked at her face, now cold and hard, but understanding, watching as she sighed to herself. She closed her eyes tentatively, gathering her thoughts before she began to speak.
"On the day that your friend jumped off the roof," she began, her voice soft, "I was filling in for one of the girls in the trauma center." She paused, taking in a breath before continuing. "One of the boys from upstairs told us about the jumper about two minutes after it happened and he brought us his papers, so we all started prepping the ER for surgery. We waited for about ten minutes, but no one ever came, so we figured he was DOA, which really isn't uncommon with suicides, so they just took him straight to the morgue for identification."
"Well, I was the one in charge that day, and naturally, I had to go take the case papers down to Molly, so I grabbed them and headed to the morgue. On my way, I was curious as to who the bastard was, so I started looking at the write-ups. 'DESCRIPTION: White male, 6'1", black hair, blue eyes. Last seen wearing a black trench coat and suit at time of death. CAUSE OF DEATH: blunt force trauma.' To be honest, I didn't think anything of it, so I put the papers back and kept walking down the stairs. But then..." She stopped, swallowing hard once more, and catching John's attention. Should she continue? John placed a hand on her shoulder, cajoling her into continuing with her story, his ears begging to know more. He watched as she breathed deeply, closing her eyes and opening them once more, sighing out a warm breath.
"When I got to the morgue," she continued, "something happened." Mary paused once again, contemplating her next move, but then starting once more. "I was walking down the hall toward the doors, and just as I was about to reach them, someone pushed them open from the other side. I didn't pay any attention at first, because people were always coming in and out to claim a loved one, but then when I looked again, I realized that this man seemed vaguely familiar. Black hair. Tall. Trench coat. And then I realized that this was the same man which I had read about in the case report! I thought I was seeing a ghost at first, but I knew it couldn't be possible, so I pulled out my phone and snapped a picture before he saw me. And then, just as quickly as he had come, he vanished." Mary finished her story and John looked at her as if she were mad, his eyes narrowing and his lips settling into a straight line.
"You know," he started, his voice full of agitation, "I didn't think that you were the sort of person to make a joke out of someone losing their best friend, like every other dick-head in this town, but really, you're just like everyone else." Mary's eyes grew to the size of dinner saucers, her ears listening as John continued to speak. "I am so sick and tired of people mocking him because he was a little different, and it's people like you who drove him to the ledge!" Mary's eyes began to fill with tears, listening to every word as it struck the pit of her soul, hitting her blow by blow. All she was doing was trying to help! She lowered her head, feeling like a helpless twat, not realizing that the he was beginning to walk away, but suddenly, she had a revelation.
"Wait!" She cried, causing John to turn around for a moment. "I still have the picture!" She reached into her purse, fishing around for the small device which held the digital image, finally wrapping her fingers around the little black rectangle and retrieving it from the bag's clutches. John walked back over, watching as she hurriedly tapping out a code on the screen, unlocking the device and scrolling through her thousands. She finally stopped, frantically handing the phone to John,w ho looked at her with displeasure, then down at the screen, hardly believing his eyes. His mouth gaped open, stammering uncontrollably.
There he was, the great detective, walking out of the morgue at St. Bart's and looking as dapper as ever, displayed for all to see on the screen of the camera phone. His collar was turned up in the normal fashion, partially concealing his pale face, but nothing could hide the black curls and piercing blue eyes which John knew so well, and he couldn't believe himself. We're his eyes deceiving him? No, they couldn't have been. But how...? He turned to Mary quickly, his eyes broad with question and mouth unable to speak.
"How... What... But...," he all but choked out, searching for words but finding none as he stood there, staring languidly at the screen. His fingers were wrapped tightly around the phone, not letting go for dear life, and he watched as Mary slowly wrenched it from his grasp, tucking it back into her purse.
"I really don't know," she said, looking up at his astonished expression, "I have been asking myself the same questions for months and I still don't have an answer." She looked at him once more, watching as his expression just as quickly began to turn from shock to outrage, his pupils contracting again and mouth forming a straight bar across his face. And suddenly, he turned around, leaving behind his cart walking toward the front of the store with haste, causing her to chase after him.
"John!" She shouted, practically running to keep up with his quickening pace. "Where on Earth are you going? You left your basket!" She looked him over again and again, watching as he continued to stalk out of the store, heading to the street corner to hail a cab. He raised his arm, waiting for a cabbie to notice, and when one finally came, he opened the door, beginning to climb inside, and causing Mary to shout.
"John Watson!" She cried, wondering what the hell was happening, and why he had become to angry. "Where the hell are you going?" She didn't understand anything at the moment, and frankly this was absurd, and she watched as he climbed into the cab, filling down the window. She heard him utter a few words to the driver, telling him where to go, and he leaned out the window, looking at her directly.
"I'm going to find some answers."