Hope the "relationship" business with Sam and Sherlock turned out well. Let me know what you think.
Mary hurried into the hospital over to where John was.
"Mary," John breathed out, relieved to see her but at the same time, overcome with worry for his friend.
"Hey."
"He's only bloody woken up. He's pulled through."
Mary grinned. "Really? Seriously?"
"Oh, you, Mrs. Watson." John pointed at her then, trying to look stern. "You're in big trouble."
"Really? Why?"
"His first word when he woke up? 'Mary!'"
Mary giggled and pulled him into a hug, thought the moment her face was hidden, her smile fell. When they parted, John went to usher her to see Sherlock but paused.
"Where's Sam? Does she know?"
Mary nodded. "I told her, but she's still a little… you know."
John grimaced. "How bad is it?"
"Not talking, sleeping a lot more, not eating. She's at home right now. Our home, though I got Mrs. Hudson to keep an eye on her for me. I asked if she wanted to come, but she said no."
John nodded, sighing and looking at Sherlock's room door. "He'd want to see her, I'm sure. He was actually going to after… well…"
Mary nodded. "I'll go let him know, okay? You go get some tea for right now. You look terrible."
"Right, yeah."
He went off towards the canteen as Mary's expression grew stiff and she went into Sherlock's room where he was lying half-conscious.
"You don't tell him," She said sternly as his eyes opened and closed slowly. "Sherlock? You don't tell John." She leaned closer, ensuring that he could see her. "Look at me and tell me you're not gonna tell him."
Mary Watson, who are you?
Mary picked up the phone, giving a brief glance at the figure groaning softly in the bathroom.
"So, where would he go?"
John was on the other line. Apparently, Sherlock had disappeared from the hospital.
"Oh, Christ knows. Try finding Sherlock in London."
Mary slowly hung up, before turning to the bathroom, heading over and grimacing at the woman attempting to rebandage her abdomen.
"Oh, would you just let me?" Mary went over and helped, allowing the woman to relax slightly.
"Thanks, Mary. Who was on the phone?"
Mary shot her a look, making the woman wince when she pulled the bandages a bit tight. "You know who was on the phone, Sam."
Sam glanced at her briefly before looking away. "Yeah, well… Surprise."
Mary finished with the bandages and bent down to pass Sam the button-up burgundy shirt. "If I hadn't already shot you, I would have done it again."
Sam spared a small chuckle. "Course you would."
Mary rolled her eyes, stepping out and picking up the bloodied shirt Sam had dropped in a bin nearby. "You're lucky John hasn't been by. He would have found your shirt."
"He wouldn't leave Sherlock at the hospital by himself unless he had to," Sam chimed back, stepping out and working on the buttons. "You and I both knew that."
"Why did you step between Sherlock and me?"
Sam paused for a moment, before continuing to button her shirt. "I didn't want to have you have to make that choice."
"So, you did it instead?"
Sam sighed. "His wound was superficial, which I'm sure he's figured out by now, explaining why he isn't staying at the hospital as he should. He probably thought he was dying initially, but you'd be surprised what hallucinogenics can do nowadays. I would never kill Sherlock, but I knew that—if need be—you would. So, I ensured he would be fine and that you wouldn't have to live with the guilt of knowing that you'd shot John's best friend."
"Why would you do that? You hardly know me."
Sam gave Mary a soft smile. "I know a lot of things about you, Mary, always have. But I like you as a person, as a friend. You've stuck your neck out for me, even around John, and I've learned to ignore my foreknowledge of things when it comes to who I should trust. Everyone has their secrets and I trust you to keep mine."
Mary eyed her for a moment, before taking a step towards her. "You're high, aren't you?"
"Only a bit," Sam hummed, cracking a slight smile as Mary sighed heavily.
"Just for the pain?"
Sam nodded, firmly, though her eyes looked sad. "Yes."
Mary placed a hand on Sam's shoulder comfortingly, knowing that she was having a rough time, but Sam lightly shrugged it off.
"We should get going soon."
"Where to?"
"Leinster Gardens."
"He knew who stabbed him." John muttered, sitting in his chair as Lestrade and Mrs. Hudson wandered aimlessly behind him—having gotten nowhere in discovering where Sherlock had left to. "The stab wound was here, so he was facing whoever it was."
"So why not tell us?" Lestrade questioned, not understanding why Sherlock would just run off the way he did. "Because he's tracking them down himself?"
"Or protecting them."
"Protecting the attacker? Why?"
"Well, protecting someone, then. But why would he care? He's Sherlock. Who would he bother protecting?"
He frowned thoughtfully as Lestrade started to head out.
"Call me if you hear anything. Don't hold out on me, John. Call me, okay?" Lestrade repeated, seeing that John was a little unfocused and feeling that he might not end up calling him if he got caught up in whatever Sherlock may be doing.
"Yeah. Yeah, right."
"Good night then."
Mrs. Hudson bid him farewell, before looking to John. "John, need a cuppa?"
John didn't respond, but she went into the kitchen to make one up anyway. John was too busy staring at the bottle of Clair-de-la-lune on the small table beside his chair. Who would Sherlock protect? Only his close friends, of which he has few. There's just Mrs. Hudson, Greg, myself, Sam and… Mary.
"John, what's wrong? Tell me," Mrs. Hudson asked, seeing his frown. "John?"
A phone buzzed on the dining table and she moved towards it.
"That's your phone, isn't it?" One look at the caller ID and she was offering the phone to him. "It's Sherlock, John. It's Sherlock. John, you have to answer it."
But it had finally clicked in John's mind. Mary…
I sighed, breath fogging up the air in front of me as we walked towards where I knew Sherlock would be. Mary was straight-faced and anxious at my side, though if anyone else looked, they'd assume she was anything but. Let's hope my intervening changed something. I'd rather have them yelling at me than her, but I'm letting her take point for this for now. Ah, speaking of, there's Bill. I tapped Mary's shoulder and nodded towards a nearby alley, getting the go-ahead from her before slipping away. I wouldn't interfere in this part until she and John started to work things out. Until then, I was a silent observer.
The bundle covered homeless man called out to Mary as she walked past and after some pressuring, she bent to give him change only for him to grab her arm. I knew it was Bill just passing her a phone and headset. Bill started to leave, but I grabbed him in a headlock before he could go too far.
"Hello, Bill."
"What do ya want?" He bit out, trying to act tough, though his voice was shaky, making me roll my eyes.
"Nothing much. It's Sam, by the way, so there's no need to act all chicken."
I released him and he huffed, fixing his clothes.
"I wasn't actin' chicken. I knew who you were."
"Sure, you did. Look just do me a favor, yeah?" I slipped him some money. "Keep an ear out for any abandoned cats or dogs, okay? Mild temper, easy-going, a bit of personality but mellow enough that Sherlock wouldn't give a damn, all right? I'm… in the market."
He furrowed his brows but nodded slowly before heading out, leaving me to sigh heavily and grab at the pouch hanging around my neck under my shirt. I'd gone back to the vet's this morning for Smith's ashes. Damn, I'm gonna miss that cat. Another heavy sigh escaped my lips as I rubbed at my eyes tiredly. And the drug is wearing off. I didn't bring anymore with me, because I don't want to depend on it. Not after Bobby and I went through so much to get me off the drugs. I'm just… so tired.
There was a click that drew my attention away from the depressing thoughts and towards the image of Mary now being projected onto the front of twenty-three and twenty-four Leinster Gardens. Time to move. I snuck my way through hedges towards the building as Mary walked towards the doors as well. She caught my eye and we went in together—myself slightly bent over behind her to hide in her shadow until I could hide in a nook off to the side, out of sight. Mary looked down the corridor at the figure sitting in the chair in the dark.
"What do you want, Sherlock?" She asked and even I could hear Sherlock now that we were all in the same room together.
"Mary Morstan was stillborn in October 1972. Her gravestone is in Chiswick Cemetery where—five years ago—you acquired her name and date of birth and thereafter her identity. That's why you don't have friends," he commented as Mary walked closer to the chair. "It's an old enough technique, known to the kinds of people who can recognize a skip-code on sight, have extraordinary retentive memories."
"You were very slow."
"Sam wasn't. She had it all figured out or she knew already. Either way, I was curious… Why did she choose to help you?"
Mary cracked a smirk. "I've been questioning the same thing. She said it's cos she likes me."
I cracked a small smile as Sherlock groaned.
"Course. Never a straight answer with her. It's all riddles and games. Though, if someone hadn't gotten in the way before… how good of a shot are you?"
Mary whipped out her silenced pistol. "How badly do you want to find out?"
"If I die here, my body will be found in a building with your face projected on the front of it. Even Scotland Yard could get somewhere with that," Sherlock reminded her and she nodded. "I want to know how good you are. Go on. Show me. The doctor's wife must be a little bit bored by now."
Mary pulled out a coin, tossed it in the air and shot it dead center. Then, Sherlock stepped out from behind her and hung up his phone.
"May I see?"
Mary turned to him and looked back to the figure in the chair at the end of the hall, managing a chuckle.
"A dummy. I suppose it was a fairly obvious trick." She removed her headset and slid the coin on the floor over to Sherlock, who picked it up as Mary walked toward him.
"And yet, over a distance of six feet, you failed to make a kill shot." He lifted the coin to look through the center, grunting in slight pain. "Your friend was good as well. Should they have not gotten in the way, you would have made a shot good enough to hospitalize me, not enough to kill me. Tell me, did they do that with the intention of saving me or of ruining your plan? Both of you were very precise."
Mary was silent so Sherlock went on.
"I'll take the case."
"What case?"
"Yours," he answered, before frowning. "Why didn't you come to me in the first place?"
"Because John can't ever know that I lied to him. It would break him and I would lose him forever and Sherlock, I will never let that happen." She stepped forward. "Please understand. There is nothing in this world that I would not do to stop that happening."
"Sorry." Sherlock tuned away, flicking on the lights to reveal not a dummy, but John sitting in the chair at the end of the corridor. "Not that obvious a trick."
Mary turned, seeing who it was and looking heartbroken as she let out a small gasp. John flattened his hair out and kept a blank face.
"Now talk and sort it out. Do it quickly," Sherlock informed them, but Mary grit her teeth.
"You said he wouldn't find out."
Sherlock frowned and I slowly stepped out from around the corner.
"I never said that. I said things would work out. There's a difference."
Sherlock turned in surprise, but I ignored him for now, eyeing Mary's shaking shoulders.
"I'm sorry. I really do like you, Mary, but you can't keep hiding from him forever."
Sherlock took a hold of my arm and turned us both away, much to my displeasure.
"Baker Street. Now."
The ride to Baker Street was tense. Sherlock and I took one cab and Mary and John were in the other and I doubted that any of us spoke a word. Once there, Mrs. Hudson greeted us all, looking concerned when she saw Sherlock and me. Both of us were in pain and I was struggling to hold back the need for more drugs.
"What is going on?" She questioned and John muttered under his breath.
"Bloody good question."
"The Watsons are about to have a domestic and fairly quickly, I hope because we've got work to do."
"Ignore him," I grumbled. "Take your time, you two."
"We don't have time to—"
"It's not his glasses, so shut up and let them sort things out, please."
Sherlock begrudgingly shut his mouth as I moved to the couch and gingerly sat down.
"Oh, I have a question," John piped up then. "Is everyone I've ever met a psychopath?"
"Yes." Sherlock and I responded simultaneously.
"Good that we've settled that. Anyway, we—"
"Shut up!" John shouted, silencing Sherlock angrily. "And stay shut up, because this is not funny. Not this time."
"I didn't say it was funny."
John ignored him, whipping around to Mary. "You. What have I ever done, hm? My whole life to deserve you?"
"Everything," I said, drawing John's eyes to me.
"Sam, you better keep your mouth shut as well because I'm not having any of your psychic vision nonsense right now."
"I mean it," I kept going. "Everything you ever did is what led her to you and you to her."
"She's right," Sherlock added and John grit his teeth.
"Sherlock, one more word and you will not need morphine."
Sherlock ignored his threat. "You were a doctor who went to war. You're a man who couldn't stay in the suburbs for more than a month without storming a crack den and beating up a junkie. Your best friend is a sociopath who solves crimes as an alternative to getting high. That's me, by the way. Hello." Sherlock waved his hand. "Even the landlady used to run a drug cartel."
"It was my husband's cartel. I was just typing."
"And exotic dancing."
"Sherlock, if you've been YouTubing—"
"Mrs. Hudson, everyone knows the right-hand lady is in control of the finances running the cartels," I muttered, earning a stern frown from the woman before Sherlock continued.
"John, you are addicted to a certain lifestyle. You're abnormally attracted to dangerous situations and people. So, is it truly such a surprise that the woman you've fallen in love with conforms to that pattern?"
John looked over at Mary, voice tight. "But she wasn't supposed to be like that. Why is she like that?"
"Because you chose her," Sherlock replied.
"Why is everything always… my fault!" John shouted, kicking a chair and making Mrs. Hudson jump and leave.
"It's not. We're not blaming you," I said with a soft sigh, making his anger-filled gaze turn to me. "You would have never met her if you weren't the man you are, John Watson. And she would have never fallen in love with you. Neither of you would have fallen in love with each other if you weren't the people you are now."
"And how do you know that? You still haven't told us how you know anything, so why should I believe you? You're a liar just like she is!"
Sam looked back at him blankly, not showing any hurt from his comment. "Maybe I am, but when has that ever stopped you from listening to me? Better yet, when has that stopped you from loving her? And if you have any sense in that big ol' head of yours, you'd have realized by now that I won't do anything to hurt you or Sherlock unless there's a reason. And right now, that reason is her."
John grit his teeth, but a small part of his mind knew she was right.
"John, listen," Sherlock said quietly. "Be calm and answer me. What is she?"
"My lying wife?"
"No. What is she?" Sherlock repeated.
"And the woman who's carrying my child who has lied to me since the day I met her?"
I sighed as Sherlock tried to get through to him.
"No. Not in this flat. Not in this room. Right here, right now, what is she?"
"Okay." He finally gave in. "Your way. Always your way." John cleared his throat and pulled up a chair, setting it in full view of his and Sherlock's seat. "Sit."
"Why?"
"Because that's where they sit," John replied tersely. "The people who come in here with their stories. T-The clients. That's all you are now, Mary. You're a client. This is where you sit and talk." John gestured to the chairs. "And this is where we sit and listen, then we decide if we want you or not."
John cleared his throat and took a seat and Sherlock moved to do the same, but Mary looked at me. I gave her a slow nod and she slowly moved to sit as well, sliding a flash drive over to John. Sherlock eyed it, spotting the letters written on it.
"A-G-R-A. What's that?"
"Uh… my initials."
John grimaced and looked away, unable to believe that she had lied about her name as well.
"Everything about who I was is on there." She looked at John. "If you love me, don't read it in front of me."
"Why?"
Mary's voice shook. "Because you won't love me when you've finished. And I don't want to see that happen."
John eventually reached over and pocketed the drive, making Mary turn to Sherlock.
"How much do you know already?"
"By your skillset, you are—or were—an intelligence agent. Your accent is currently English but I suspect you are not. You're on the run from something; you've used your skills to disappear. Magnussen knows your secret, which is why you were going to kill him and I assume you befriended Janine in order to get close to him."
"Oh, you can talk." Mary scoffed, knowing from Sam that he had played the same woman in a more personal way."
"Ooh, look at you two," John scoffed, pointing at them. "You should have got married."
They looked at each other and Sherlock grimaced.
"No."
"Yeah, no. I think Sam's more your type, honestly."
"Huh?" I questioned, blinking in surprise and making to sit up only to wince. Ow, bad idea.
I reached under my coat and lightly touched the area I'd been hurt, resisting the urge to curse when my fingers came away with blood. Shit.
"The stuff Magnussen has on me, I would go to prison for the rest of my life." Mary went on as John frowned.
"So, you were just gonna kill him."
"People like Magnussen should be killed. That's why there are people like me."
"Perfect!" John punched his chair. "So, that's what you were? An assassin? How could I not see that?"
"You did see that," Mary urged. "And you married me because they're right. It's what you like."
"So, Mary, any documents that Magnussen has concerning yourself, you want extracted and returned," Sherlock concluded.
"Why would you help me?"
"Because Sam trusts you."
I shot him a look. "Me? You're helping her because of me?"
"S-Sorry, what?" John questioned.
"Well, and you saved my life." Sherlock looked at Mary. "When I happened upon you and Magnussen, you had a problem. More specifically, you had a witness. The solution, of course, was simple. Kill us both and leave. However, someone got in the way of that and even if they hadn't, sentiment got the better of you. One precisely-calculated shot to incapacitate me in the hope that it would buy you more time to negotiate my silence. Of course, you couldn't shoot Magnussen. On the night that both of us broke into the building, your own husband would become a suspect so you calculated that Magnussen would use the fact of your involvement rather than sharing the information with the police as his M.O. And then you left the way you came, taking your friend with you, should they choose to draw the police to you as well. Have I missed anything?"
"How did she save your life?" John questioned.
"She phoned the ambulance."
John remembered the paramedics rushing up the stairs before he could even dial.
"You didn't find me for another five minutes. Left to you, I would have died. The average arrival time for a London ambulance is around—"
Footsteps came up the stairs then, surprising the people inside as a paramedic entered the building, looking confused.
"Did somebody call an ambulance?"
"E-Eight minutes," I breathed out, drawing Sherlock, Mary and John's eyes to me as I raised my hand—face pale and sweaty. "I called the ambulance."
"What?"
"Sam!"
Mary hurried over as the paramedic did, though Sam waved Mary off.
"We were told there was a shooting." The paramedic questioned and I nodded.
"Y-Yeah, last week, but my wound's reopened and I might be bleeding internally," I chuckled, cringing and grabbing onto Mary as she and the paramedics helped lower me to the floor.
John and Sherlock were on their feet now as well, though John was more than confused.
"Hold on. What's going on? What do you mean?"
Mary explained as a breathing mask was placed over my mouth and I cringed in pain.
"Sam was the other person."
My eyes slowly opened and I let out a small groan at the beeping heart monitor. I'm so tired of ending up here. I shifted with a wince, my side feeling more than a little tender and my gaze shifted to the morphine drip. Don't. I grit my teeth, trying to listen to the little voice in my head that sounded far too much like him—like Bobby.
"Don't, Sam. I told you, you don't need it."
I do. It hurts.
"I know it hurts, but you have to stop. You won't get better if you keep doing this."
My hand reached out for the knob to adjust the drip. I need this.
"You're giving in that easily?"
I jerked to a stop, closing my eyes with a grimace. "Sherlock."
"Sam."
Slowly, I lowered my hand, leaving the drip unaltered as I shifted my bed to a sitting position.
"The others?"
"Will be here in a minute. They're getting tea."
I grunted an affirmative, not wanting to look at him after what I'd done, what I'd lied about and what I just attempted to do.
"You brought Magnussen to my attention at the wedding."
"Yes."
"So, I take it you knew about Mary's secrets and what he planned to do with them."
"Yes."
"And you stabbed me."
"…yeah."
"You stabbed him?"
I winced. John and Mary were back.
"Why the hell would you—"
"Because I knew how things were supposed to go," I grunted, shifting with a cringe. "Ngh, that hurts."
Sherlock pulled up a chair and sat beside me. "And how were things supposed to go?"
I shot him a look, knowing that he'd already figured it out, but he wanted me to say it. "Mary was supposed to have shot you. A perfectly aimed, calculated shot that wouldn't kill you. Or, well, wasn't supposed to kill you."
"He would have died!" John exclaimed and I cringed.
"Not, technically? He would have flatlined in surgery before managing to restart his heart. But because I intervened he didn't."
"But—"
I cut Sherlock off with a sorry look. "Sorry, you probably thought you were dying. Hallucinogenic."
He frowned but nodded as John tried to understand what had happened.
"Hold on. Why stab him in the first place? You could have just shoved him aside or something."
"Mary needed time to keep Sherlock silent," I answered, giving the woman an apologetic look when John shot her a glare. "I didn't know what you would do if you just walked away. You might have told John, you might have gone after Magnussen too soon. I had to stop you for at least a short while."
Sherlock eyed me. "So, you stabbed me."
I groaned, bringing a hand to my face. "It's not like I wanted to, okay! I couldn't think of any other option. You're just too stubborn to stay put anywhere and even injured, I knew you'd leave, but you'd have to stay in the hospital for at least a few days before they'd let you off. We just needed time."
"But that's not the only reason," Mary said then, making the group look to her. "That's not the reason you told me you stabbed him."
I shot her an annoyed look. "Yes, well, I was hoping not to mention that."
She smiled cheekily as John frowned.
"What does she mean? What reason?"
I sighed heavily. "I hurt him because I didn't want Mary to have to make the choice of shooting your best friend."
John looked surprised as I went on.
"I didn't want you being more upset about her because she shot him either. I'd rather you be mad at me for that, for allowing Sherlock to get hurt, than for you to be even more upset with Mary."
He eyed me for a moment, before sighing himself. "You really meant it then, huh? You wouldn't let anyone get hurt unless you had a reason. Honestly, Sam, I don't know how we put up with you."
"Neither do I," I muttered, beginning to feel tired. "Just do me a favor. Don't go after him right away, after Magnussen. Wait until Christmas."
"Christmas?"
I hummed and John sighed, standing.
"Well, I'm going to head back to Baker Street. You need your rest."
Mary stood as well. "I best head home too."
They're going to different places. God dammit, John. "John."
"Hm?"
I gave him a tired look. "Everyone has their reasons. Just give her a chance."
He frowned but gave Mary a small look before sighing. "We'll share a cab."
Mary looked a little happier and gave me a small "thank you" before leaving with John. Sherlock hadn't moved though and I closed my eyes with a sigh.
"You're not leaving too?"
"It's my turn to watch you, apparently," He said, settling back in his seat. "John informed me about your cat."
I winced, looking away.
"And Mycroft mentioned that your trip to visit Bobby was less than comfortable. Not to mention the numerous injuries you've been coming home with, leading me to think that you are everything but all right. Care to explain."
"Not really."
His eyes narrowed before he reached into his pocket and pulled out a red velvet box, setting it in my lap. I knew what it was, but didn't understand why he still had it, nor why he was showing it to me.
"My relationship with Janine was a façade," he said eyeing me cautiously. "One I'm sure you already knew about; however, I do not wish to return this."
Now I was really confused.
"I don't understand."
He sighed. "I want you to have it."
"What?" I blinked at him, looking down at the ring box and back again in shock. "H-Hold on. You're doing it again, right? The whole 'infatuation will get me answers' bit, yeah? Normally I'd be mad, but please tell me that's what you're doing."
His brows furrowed. "You don't want it?"
"No, I mean, yeah, but… wait, no! No, no, no, no, no. Why… Why are you giving me this?"
"Well, while you were gone I found that I was very… irritable, as Mrs. Hudson put it. Doing the relationship with Janine was aggravating and all I could think about was where you'd gone, what you were doing, why you hadn't told me anything. Then the thing with Magnussen came up and you refused to have any part in it. I assumed that it was for the best, but…" His frown deepened. "I was expecting you to stop me, say something, do something. Yet, you weren't around. It bothered me. More than I'm used to. Now, you're here and it's still frustrating. None of this would have happened if you'd been with me. Or we could have at least come up with a better solution, so I want you to stay by my side. Hence, the ring."
My mouth had dropped open at some point and I forced myself to close it, only to open it again as I struggled to find the words I wanted to get across to him.
"Y-You are giving me the ring because… you want me to stay by your side?"
"Yes," he answered simply. "As well as not keep secrets from me and I will attempt to do the same to you. Isn't that what people in a relationship do?"
My brows furrowed as I struggled to think up a way to explain to Sherlock the severity of what he was offering me.
"But… But you don't do sentiment. Asking me to be y-your… girlfriend is admitting that you—"
"Care for you and your well-being, which I do," he admitted. "Much like how I care for John, though I would not be proposing to him in this manner."
"P-Proposing?"
He nodded, folding his arms across his chest. "Well, yes. A ring that expensive qualifies as a bit more than just a simple boyfriend-girlfriend relationship."
"W-Wha…"
"Although I understand your hesitance. With your lack of self-confidence, I know that doing anything relatively close to what normal people do in a relationship could quite possibly be out of your comfort zone. Therefore, I'll make the exception to not do any such thing with you and you can give the same respect to me. Doing so will silence anyone questioning the relationship as something more uncouth with our age gap." He snapped his fingers suddenly. "Ah, I know. We'll come up with a contract that each of us can sign. Rules and regulations for the relationship. It can be our vows."
I continued to look at him in disbelief as he smiled, proud of what he'd come up with.
"Y-You… You're not joking."
He looked to me in confusion. "Why would you assume I was joking? I do believe you threatened me with bodily harm the last time I attempted to 'joke' about your feelings for me and mine for you."
"But it's… i-it's marriage."
He rolled his eyes. "It's an agreement to care for one another and share things between us so long as we are by each other's sides, written up on paper, blessed by a priest or whatever religious head you fancy, bound by law and expressed with a piece of jewelry."
"Y-You're doing this to find out what happened in New York."
"No, I'm doing this because I'm tired of watching you go out and get hurt because you think you can't talk to me about these things. And I'm tired of you thinking no one cares about your safety because I do. I care about what happens to you, my views on sentiment aside."
I didn't know what to say. There were so many thoughts and emotions running through my mind.
Someone cares.
Sherlock proposed.
What do I do?
He's serious.
Sherlock cares.
"I-I…"
Sherlock's eyes widened as something wet slipped down my face. I brought a hand up, desperately trying to wipe away tears and hoping that he hadn't seen them, which I knew was just a lie to myself.
"S-Sorry. I'm sorry."
He sighed heavily and I stiffened in surprise as he pulled my head to his chest. "You idiot. Why didn't you cry sooner?"
More tears came flooding down my face as I sobbed, everything hitting me at once. Bobby. Smith. Mary. Sherlock. John.
"I-I was a-attacked in New York," I managed through tears, feeling his arms tighten slightly. "At the g-grave, Bobby's friends h-had waited until I was leaving. A-And his parents had gotten me arrested. The police kept it off books since t-they knew me, but I-I can't go back. Not ever and now Smith." My throat tightened, but I pushed past it. "I-I had him since I was in high school. When my brothers weren't there, he… he was all I had a-and that dick, that b-bastard killed him."
"Not by a car, I imagine," Sherlock deduced as I nodded and slowly tried to get a hold of myself, pulling away.
"S-Sorry," I apologized again and he rolled his eyes.
"Vow number one, no apologizing for rational reasons."
I managed a small chuckle at that, earning a grin from Sherlock as well.
"Y-You really mean it. The proposal."
"Of course, I do." He reached over and ruffled my hair, reaching out and picking up the red velvet box. "Though I think I'll trade this in for something more your style. I think diamond rings are juvenile."
"You just don't want anyone finding out," I concluded and he shot me a grin and a wink over his shoulder.
"Where's the fun in that?"
I shifted uneasily, fingering the ring on the chain around my neck, still in disbelief after all these months. We're getting married. He gave me a ring and… I mean, it's Sherlock, but… W-What the hell? I jolted when someone spoke up next to me, hastily shoving the ring back down my shirt as Mr. Holmes—Sherlock's father—stepped out onto the porch.
"Sorry. Did I startle you?" He questioned with a soft smile, gesturing behind me. "Just need a couple of logs for the fire."
"O-Oh, sorry." I reached over and picked up two wincing slightly as my side ached and handed them over—the man retreating into the cottage.
While my wound had healed, I still had phantom aches, ones that Mary—the only person who I told about Sherlock's little confession—said had to do with my anxiety over said confession. I need to stop thinking about it. I grimaced, rubbing the crook of my arm as I went back inside. I wasn't quite over the morphine or cocaine either. Sherlock was the one keeping me grounded right now, but we had hardly spoken since the incident with Mary and Magnussen. In a way, things had gone back to what they had been. We were mutually aware of one another but knew that active discussion was something neither of us wanted or cared for. The problem is, I prevented Sherlock from coming up with a plan for Magnussen. He won't be taking Mycroft's computer. Hell, Bill's not even here. I've changed too much and… I'm the only one who can fix it.
"I need a smoke," I murmured under my breath, heading into the kitchen only to come in on the complaining of Mycroft.
"Oh, dear God, it's only two o'clock. It's been Christmas Day for at least a week now. How can it only be two o'clock? I'm in agony."
"Mikey, is this your laptop?" Mrs. Holmes asked and I reached over and picked it up, moving it out of the way so she could put the potatoes down.
"On which depends the security of the free world, yes," Mycroft answered as I set it on the empty counter nearby. "Thank you, Miss Foxe, for preventing it from lying under a stack of potatoes."
Mrs. Holmes huffed. "Well, you shouldn't leave it lying around if it's so important."
"Why are we doing this? We never do this," Mycroft complained as I frowned.
"Least you can."
Mycroft shot me a wry smile. "Oh, believe me, I'd rather have your absentee brothers than be stuck here."
I ignored the jab as Mrs. Holmes frowned at him.
"We are here because Sherlock is home from the hospital and we are all very happy."
"Am I happy too? I haven't checked."
"Behave, Mike."
"'Mycroft' is the name you gave me if you could possibly struggle all the way to the end."
"I dunno. I rather like Mike. Easier to say, less… pompous," I quipped, earning a grateful nod from Mrs. Holmes as Mycroft rolled his eyes.
"Please don't team up with my mother. It's bad enough that you could so easily fit into this family with your amount of meager intelligence and tendency to run your mouth."
My lip twitched up alongside Sherlock's, who'd easily caught our inside joke regarding our relationship.
"I'll take that as a compliment."
"Lovely when you bring your friends 'round," Mycroft scoffed sarcastically and Mrs. Holmes raised her voice.
"Stop it, you. Somebody's put a knife in my boy and if I ever find out who, I shall turn absolutely monstrous."
Sherlock glanced at me and I twitched, mouthing back to him.
"Save me from your mother, please."
He cracked a smile and I passed Mrs. Holmes a cup of tea.
"Oh, thank you, dear."
"Course. I'll just pass them around. Sherlock's already got me making his tea for him at the flat anyway."
Mrs. Holmes chuckled and I handed Sherlock a mug and Mycroft, before heading into the other room where Mary was seated.
"Here, Mary. Tea."
She smiled with a quiet thanks, setting down a book as Mr. Holmes put the logs in the fireplace—Mrs. Holmes coming in after him.
"If Father starts making little humming noises, just give him a little poke. That usually does it," she teased and Mary chuckled as I smiled at said man.
Mary though held up the book she'd been perusing. "Did you write this?"
"Oh, that silly old thing. You mustn't read that. Mathematics must seem terribly fatuous now!" Mrs. Holmes complained, turning to her husband as he'd started humming. "Now, no humming, you!"
She pat him a few times before heading out and Mr. Holmes smiled at us both.
"Complete flake, my wife, but happens to be a genius."
"She was a mathematician?" Mary questioned, sipping her tea.
"Gave it all up for children. I could never bear to argue with her. I'm something of a moron myself, but she's… unbelievably hot."
Mary giggled. "Oh, God. You're the sane one, aren't you?"
He raised a brow. "Aren't you?"
Mary looked down, trying to keep her smile, but then the man turned to me.
"Or, well, I suppose it'd be you actually, eh? Mrs. Holmes?"
I stiffened at the man's smile as Mary looked between us in shocked amusement. "W-What?"
He pointed at my chest. "Fingering the ring under your shirt, the way you act with Sherlock. Quite obvious, really. You two are quite the pair, though I must admit, I never thought he'd pop the question to anyone, much less a lovely lady like you."
I was sure I was blushing up to my ears now, but couldn't get a word out of my mouth as the door clicked open and John walked in.
"Oh, sorry. I just, uh…"
Mary, surprisingly, didn't hastily resume flipping through her book like I expected, just waited patiently as Mr. Holmes caught onto what was going on.
"Oh. Uh, do you three need a moment?"
"If you don't mind."
"No, of course not. I'll go and see if I can help with… something or another."
"Entertain Mycroft," I piped up with a mad glint in my eyes, passing the man his own cup of tea from the tray I'd brought with me. "I'm sure he'd enjoy it."
Mr. Holmes chuckled, giving me a wink before heading out. I handed John a cuppa too and went to leave as well, but he grabbed my arm and stopped me.
"I want to speak with you too."
I hesitated, but nodded, standing in silence as he looked at us both. Mary, ever confident, kept her gaze locked on his.
"You haven't read it, have you?"
That's not the line. God, how much of a difference have I made in this? I pushed the anxious thought away, taking a long breath through my nose and letting it out slowly.
"I've thought long and hard about what I want to say to you," John breathed out. "Both of you. These are prepared words, Mary. I've chosen these words with care. The problems of your past are your business. The problems of your future... are my privilege."
Mary started to tear up, looking at me in disbelief as I managed a small smile. I told you everything would work out.
"It's all I have to say. It's all I need to know." John pulled out the flashdrive from his pocket and threw it into the fireplace. "No, I haven't read it."
"You don't even know my name."
"Doesn't he?" I piped in. "It's Mary Watson."
John nodded, smiling. "Is that good enough for you?"
"Yes! Oh my God, yes," she breathed out as John knelt down and ran his thumb over the back of her hand as she sobbed.
"All this does not mean that I'm not still basically pissed off with you."
"I know. I know."
"I am very pissed off, and it will come out now and then."
"I know, I know, I know."
"Though I'll probably let it out on you, Sam, if that's all right," he said, looking to me and I shrugged. "You are technically the one who stabbed him."
"I'm always open for sparring sessions," I quipped. "Though… thank you, for giving her a chance."
He rolled his eyes. "You idiot. You took a bullet to give us this chance. Did you really think I would ignore that?"
"I don't know," I admitted, seeing him begin to frown and blink more rapidly—having not noticed that Mary was now unconscious in her seat. "Though… I hope you'll forgive me just as easily for this."
"Sam, what…" He shook his head, leaning against her seat as he fought to stay conscious. "W-What did you…"
"I'm sorry, John. I changed too much this time and someone's got to fix it."
"S-Sam…"
"Mary will be fine. Molly triple checked the dosages so no harm done… Well, other than to me possibly. Tell Sherlock… I'm sorry and… w-we'll have to get married some other time."
His eyes closed and I let out a shaky sigh, double checking his and Mary's pulse before heading into the other rooms to check on everyone else. The two elder Holmes' were peaceful resting as well and upon walking into the kitchen, I let out a soft sigh. My only concern with the drugs was if Sherlock had built up an immunity, but he was as sound asleep as his brother at the kitchen table. I went and picked up Mycroft's laptop, not caring about gloves or fingerprints because I had to insure that they knew I had taken it should anyone show up too early to try and take the blame. I went to leave though, only to pause—hearing the helicopter nearing outside. I carefully reached under my shirt, pulling out the ring before lifting it over my head and walking back to Sherlock. I placed it in his hand, wrapping his fingers around it as I sighed.
"I really am sorry, but I care for you too much to allow this to happen. Not to you."
I hesitated before kissing his forehead and walking out, inhaling deeply as the helicopter landed in front of me. I let the breath out slowly and steeled myself for what I was about to do.
"To Appledore."