Sorry people, life happened.

"John!" Mary beamed at the man standing at her doorstep. She couldn't believe it.

"How are you? Please come in!" She came out gradually, teary eyed "I haven't seen you in so long."She only had half faith in her little scheme, but now that it had worked, she couldn't help but be pleased at her success.

At John's expense.

John had been standing there for couple of minutes. Shoulders hunched, hair mussed, head bowed. He hadn't looked up yet.

Mary had believed that Sherlock will leave John for good, sooner or later. He would come back to her then. She had believed it with all her heart. That faith had given her courage to do what she did. "If he's going to leave him anyway, then why not sooner?" She wanted to save both John and herself the amount of pain by accelerating the inevitable.

And then she had waited with bated breath. Now, her man, her love was finally at her doorstep. Too ashamed to look at her, to ask for forgiveness.

"Oh, John." She whispered as she drew closer to him and gently placed a hand on his cheek. You're here, that's all that matters. You're mine again, that's all that I want.

"Look at me John. Please." She said in the most tender voice. "Everything will be okay again. We will be just the way we were. Nothing has changed."

Her words of assurance had no effect on John. He still didn't look up. Above them, the London sky looked gloomy. A light thunder hummed across the sky announcing the arrival of rain.

Mary looked at John, worried. Something wasn't right.

"John, it's going to rain." She said in an agitated voice.

"I always wondered, how much you hated me for leaving you." Said John in an unusually deep voice.

Mary shivered, suddenly it was very cold outside.

"You hated me enough to kill me."

"John! I… I can explain…please give me a chance…"Mary said in her weakest tone. Her eyes were wet, fingers trembling. She put her hands in John's, imploring.

"Congratulations Mary." John said looking up finally. "You have successfully murdered me." His voice didn't change an octave. For the first time, in a long time, Mary looked at her beloved's face.

What she saw was a death mask with two vacant eyes.

She staggered backwards. Instinctively she put her hand to her mouth and stared at the man with utter horror. What had she done?

John stood there. His soulless eyes pointed at his offender, crashing her dreams, causing her fear and pain.

John was gone. She had killed the John Watson she loved. He was dead. The warm man of loving smile and caring heart was rotting in the grave of this body standing before her. Her John was gone.

There was no recovery from death. This, what she had done to this man was irreversible. What was this standing before her? What was this creature capable of?

His husk was staring at her now and she couldn't take it anymore.

Don't you want to love me Mary? Don't you want to make love to your creation? This body of a dead doctor, whom you once loved so much that you didn't think twice before stabbing him through his heart?

With a gut wrenching scream, Mary ran away and closed the door.

Outside, the man who had once wanted to have a life with her stood still.

Unfeeling, unseeing, drenched.

Thunder drummed on…