So I'm back with another chapter! And it's not too short or too late this time. I'm quite proud of this chapter and how it turned out. I feel like my writing has improved quite a bit since I started this story. I don't own Sherlock, or the characters, enjoy the chapter!
John left his residence immediately after learning the truth about Mary. Anyone would expect for him to crash at 221b, but John needed even more space than that. He needed to get out of London, somewhere far, far away to clear his mind. Besides, he didn't think he could put up with Sherlock's snide comments about the situation with John being in such a fragile state, and so John could think of only one person he could count on outside of London, someone that always cleared John's mind with his presence, even in the high stress circumstances of war. That person was Major James Sholto.
John stepped off the platform of the train, stuffing his sweaty palms into his pockets. He hoped that Major Sholto had received his letter. John had not bothered to wait for a reply, and instead quickly bought the first ticket out of London to Yorkshire, hoping that he could count on his former commander. His eyes frantically swept the platform; he stopped when his eyes met that of a tall man clad in a simple suit with a severe scar on the left side of his face. The tension in John's shoulders was released, and he confidently strode up to James Sholto. The two men held each other at a distance and raised their hands to their foreheads in a salute, not saying a word until their hands were brought down. The somber expressions on the two's faces was transformed into smiles.
"Watson," Sholto greeted. He turned on his heel and left, indicating that John should follow him. John followed his former commander, and he naturally fell into a military march behind him even though they were in the civilian world. Left...right. Left, right, left.
Sholto led John to a cab and helped him load his baggage into the trunk. They spent the entire ride on the way to Sholto's abode in comfortable silence, no aimless chattering and awkward conversation was needed for the two men. They understood each other thoroughly through their time spent together in war, where they learned to communicate with body language and eyes during the deathly circumstances of the battlefield. The cab stopped, and Sholto wordlessly helped John with the baggage and lugged it into his home, a small farmhouse which resided deep in the countryside, far from civilization.
Two weeks passed. Sholto still didn't know of the reason that John came, but he knew it wasn't just a leisure visit between friends. The former commander didn't dare ask, he knew John would tell him about his problems when he was ready, and if he was never ready, Sholto would be okay with that too.
John was glad for the man's silence, his quiet disposition, and the way Sholto seemed to readily accept John into his life and home without any questions. The former commander's reassuring presence gave John peace, security, and calm of mind. Being around the man eased away John's worries and allowed him to think clearly. They spent their days strolling outside among nature, listening to the birds sing and streams trickle, or doing handy work around the farm, fixing whatever needed fixing, or simply sat inside, reading, fixated on stories of another age and era in an attempt to escape their own realities.
Three months passed since John first arrived in Sholto's home. It was over tea one morning when John finally spoke up. "Mary."
Sholto looked up from his newspaper. John looked the same as he did every morning, calmly staring down at his book with a tea saucer in his hand. Sholto almost thought he had imagined the word utter from John's lips, but he trusted what he heard. Mary. A name. A woman. "Your lover," Sholto meant to state it as a question, but the tone of the phrase came out as a statement instead.
"Not so sure anymore."
Sholto merely took a sip of his tea and set it down again, not saying anything. He wasn't a man that said more words than was needed, and he sensed that an interruption from him wouldn't help John open up any more.
John continued, "She lied to me."
Sholto slightly raised one eyebrow.
"About her past. I mean, I guess it was justified. I mean, no it wasn't!" John slammed his hand against the arm of his sofa. He breathed heavily, and Sholto saw for the first time during his stay John's anger and confusion behind his eyes. "She lied to me, about the most important aspect of her life. Bloody hell, we were about to get married!"
"But you still love her."
John stared at Sholto, a befuddled expression on his face. "What makes you-"
"You came here to cool down, to think. I've seen only one expression so far on you face during your entire stay here. You've been in thought, deep thought, pondering about what to do every waking moment. If you really did break things off with Mary, you would have already made up your mind and left her, no reason to come here." Sholto twitched a smile. "But you did come here, out here in the middle of nowhere, with clear skies and crispy air, to think. I doubt you wanted your chatterbox detective friend around while you were trying to contemplate."
John returned a smile, calmer now. "So you've been reading my blog?"
Sholto chuckled. "How else am I supposed to catch up on the life of my former second-in-command?"
John laughed. "Yeah, I suppose we don't catch up much." He sighed and leaned back in his armchair. "I just...don't know what to do."
Sholto took a sip of his tea. "Do you still love her?"
John exhaled a small breath and looked out the window thoughtfully. "I miss her," he whispered softly. "I miss that confidence, that self-assurance, that smile." Frustration reappeared on his face. "But never once did I think she could be so cold on the inside."
Sholto sensed John wasn't about to divulge his fiancee's secret to him, not now, not ever, which meant John was still loyal and protective of Mary. "Do you have any reason to believe that she is the same person now as who she was before?"
John paused and thought of Mary's attempt to kill Janine, which was somewhat justified, now that he thought about it. But she also shot Sherlock, even though the man claimed that Mary actually saved his life. "...yes. But I don't even know how, or who she was before."
"Hm." Sholto's comrade had quite the problem on his hands. "You've taken months to think about this. You can't stay away forever. It's time to come to a decision." Sholto stood up, knowing that John would need some time to think. Just before he left the room, Sholto added, "Think about Mary, how she makes you feel, and decide if life is worth living without her."
John constantly flipped and turned in bed that night, unable to find an acceptable position to sleep in, his mind racing with thoughts and what Sholto told him. He sighed. How did Mary make him feel? One word immediately popped into his mind: safe.
Three years ago, after Sherlock's "death"
Sherlock was dead. John had seen his cold, lifeless eyes with his own, had felt the still pulse on his wrist. He spent a superfluous amount of time grieving, draining his tears, and blankly staring at the wall, wondering: Why?
It had been a long time. It was time to move on. So why couldn't John do so?
John's nights were once again filled with the return of painful wartime memories, of sweat soaked blankets, of desperate cries in his sleep. In fact, his current nightmares were even worse than before he had met Sherlock. It was Mary's first night over at John's when she was awoken by a frightened sounding yell and thrashing of blankets in the other room. She was habitually a light sleeper, and rushed over to John's room. She stepped over to his side and shook his shoulder, jerking him awake from the nightmare.
"John? John! Wake up!"
John snapped his eyes open and his soldier's instincts kicked in. He immediately punched where Mary stood, thinking there was an intruder. However, his groggy, sleep-deprived mind could not hope to keep up with Mary's lifetime of assassin training. She caught his punch and twisted his arm around so that it was pinned to his back. He thrashed about while Mary soothingly tried to calm him.
"John, calm down. It's just me, Mary." She continued letting sweet comforts fall from her mouth until the remnants of John's nightmare faded away and he realized where he was.
"Oh, Mary, I'm so sorry." John's frightened expression was replaced by a stoic, solid mask. "It was just a nightmare, sorry if I woke you-"
"John," Mary cut him off. She knew about John's military history, and she knew about his best friend's recent death, but never did John ever show to her or anyone that he was hurting this much. "Are you okay?"
"Yeah I'm fine. Like I said, it was just a nightmare-"
"John," Mary said more sternly this time. "I can tell when you're lying." Her voice softened. "You don't have to lie to me. You don't have to put up a front. I'm going to ask you again, are you okay?"
John's mask fell and his desolate expression returned. "I, no. No."
"Is there anything I can do to help?"
"I don't know," John said as he buried his face in his hands. "I just don't know what to do," he whispered, his voice cracking. He felt a weight press onto the bed as Mary climbed on and inserted herself between him and the wall. She pressed her chest to his back and wrapped an arm around him.
"Go to sleep John." Mary waited as John's haphazard breathing finally became deep and regular. She smiled, content with her work, and went to sleep herself.
John sleep the rest of the night peacefully, an occurrence that had not happened in a long time.
He woke the next morning to the smell and sound of breakfast being made in the kitchen. He inhaled deeply and noticed the absence of Mary on the bed. He smiled to himself, because for the first time in forever, he was actually motivated to get out of bed, to be with the people he loved, and to live life.
John smiled to himself as he thought of the first time Mary had spent the night at his place. Safe. She makes me feel safe and happy. John chuckled. No wonder she caught his punch so fast! He had even socked Sherlock once in the early days of their co-existence together in the same flat. John took a deep breath, and his heart was at ease. He knew what he had to do.
So how was that chapter? Please leave a review! Even one or two words is very encouraging to me. Thank you to everyone who's read, followed, favorited, and reviewed this story! My deepest gratitude. Until next time!