AN: I didn't forget about this! Sorry for the long wait- I took a break that lasted much longer than I thought it would. But I will try my absolute best to finish this fic.
Mary's excitement was infectious. She came home from work early, singing, found John lounging across the sofa looking up places to visit that they hadn't already.. She grinned and turned on the CD player they never used, pushed his laptop aside and pulled him off the sofa to dance with her.
Even though he was looking at Mary, dancing with her, holding her, laughing as she twirled him around the living room, he couldn't help imagining what Sherlock's reaction to all of this would be (disgust and a hilarious expression of disdain; he'd complain the whole time and roll his eyes). Mary caught him smiling.
"What?" She was breathless with excitement, eyes bright and cheeks flushed.
But she wasn't Sherlock.
"Nothing," he said, kissing her cheek and wrapping his arms around her waist, leaning his head against her shoulder so she couldn't see his face. "Just remembering the last time we danced like this."
"Mmm. Harry's wedding."
God, he'd forgotten. Last time he'd called his sister she'd sounded strained, and that was at least a week ago. "It's nothing," she'd say when he asked. And when he'd insisted, she'd snapped back with "I'm not telling you anything until you're honest with me." And who was he being honest with anymore? Absolutely fucking no one, that was who.
"I just want you to relax," Mary whispered. They were swaying out of time to the music, and her lips were close enough to brush against his ear. "To forget whatever it is that's been bothering you."
She felt thinner in his arms than he remembered. He didn't try to say anything to that, and she didn't expect an answer.
France was fine. France was good, in fact, and it would've been brilliant if everything had gone to plan.
It didn't.
It wasn't getting there that was the problem. Mary had apparently been planning this for a lot longer than it seemed ("I was hoping you'd say Paris, because I already had tickets and a hotel booked anyway" she conveniently mentioned later): the problems started hours later when John had time to think- after arriving at the hotel and finding their room (and then kissing as soon as the door closed behind them and migrating to the bed soon after).
There had been something missing since the last time they'd been together, and John felt it again when Mary's hands found their way to the front of his shirt; it was a tug in his stomach, a feeling that pulled his mouth away from hers and stopped her fingers.
They blinked at each other, waiting for one of them to explain what had just happened- because there was no reason for John to pull back: they loved each other, this was their break together and Mary was looking at him like she didn't understand what was going on -
"Lunch!" Mary smiled- bright and strained- leaving a kiss on his parted lips before she slid off the bed and back into her shoes. "We're surrounded by restaurants and I'm starving."
She disappeared into the bathroom and John turned onto his back, stared at the ceiling and hoped he wouldn't be the reason she became the person he had met all those years ago. She'd always been so vibrant, and she still was when she wasn't around John. But she was bordering on the same broken cheerfulness that had made him promise to never hurt her again.
But he couldn't keep this up.