Nearly a year later, and I'm still waking up to blond grey hair and blue eyes and short wrinkled fingers. The initial shock still hasn't worn off, and I don't believe it ever will.
John opens his eyes and looks back at me, a smile creeping across his face.
"Good morning," John says softly, his fingers wrapped around the sheet. He's soft and smells of sleep. He kisses my forehead.
"Morning," I say. I can't help but smile myself. I've woken up this way for nearly 365 days in a row but it seems new to me every time.
John Watson has changed me so much. For the better.
Of course I still can't bring myself to care about most people. But at least I can remember people's names. I certainly notice when John is and isn't around anymore. It's too obvious to ignore any longer. I hate when he's away.
"Case today?" John asks, turning his body to face me.
"I believe so," I say.
"What time should we be at the Yard?"
"Oh, we can make them wait," I say, and John lets out a chuckle as our lips meet.
/
At the crime scene, we look to the elderly woman's body. She was found in the basement.
"Looks as if, from how the body is placed, that she was pushed. Now, if I were to guess, I'd say she would have had to have been pushed my someone she knew fairly well, because there is no sign of struggle throughout the rest of the house. It only looks like she was pushed. And, she can't have fallen because here—she landed on her stomach but there's this wound at the back of her head, made by a sharp edge. I would say…"
I look around the house carefully, and see the bookshelf and the stands.
I pick up the stand and of course, the paint is chipped.
"I'd do a scan of this, I believe it to be the murder weapon," I say, and hand the stand to Lestrade.
Now, if she had any family, I would guess it was a member of the family perhaps looking for inheritance, but since you've told me she had no living family left, I'd check out the neighbor, he might know a thing or two."
John smiles from the edge of the crime scene. He's proud of me, always is. I smile back.
/
As the crime scene is called to a close by Lestrade, John taps Greg on the shoulder.
"Was just wondering if you'd like to go to the pub with Sherlock and I this evening, it's been awhile," John tells him. Lestrade smirks.
"Sorry boys, I've got a date tonight," Lestrade tells us.
"Ahhh," John says. "Might we know her?"
Lestrade looks just a bit awkward, shuffles a bit, and then finally replies.
"Ah, it's Mary Morstan."
I try to suppress a giddy chuckle but it doesn't work at all.
"What's so funny?" Lestrade asks me, genuinely offended. He thinks I'm making fun of him, but quite the opposite.
"No, no…" I begin, my voice trailing, and I bite my lip to stop the ridiculous smiling. "I'm laughing because I'm pleased," I finally reply. John begins to laugh a bit too. We can't help it. We cared for Mary after all, and I certainly hated to see her hurt. We wanted her happy, just like she wanted us happy.
"Oh," Lestrade says, looking a bit confused. He doesn't know Mary and John ended on such interesting terms. He only knows they ended and we've been together ever since.
"You're a lucky man, Greg. Good luck," John says, patting him on the shoulder a bit. Lestrade smiles, realizing we were being genuine.
"Thanks," he says.
John and I head to 221 B, a stupid smile lingering on both of our mouths. Our fingers lock. I suppose even after solving murders for a living, I can still believe in happy endings.
A/N: This is the end! Thank you to everyone who read and reviewed. It really does mean a lot. Again, thank you all so so much. :)