The ambulance rushed away with Sherlock, its siren blaring so loud that could be heard not just down Baker Street but the whole of London. Usually John would have sat with Sherlock in the back, but that night he had another matter to deal with.
They stood outside, silence so audible that it wanted to make Mary scream. She knew that this would one day blow up in her face, but she wished it didn't have to be in this way, especially when there was a family to take care of. She thought she could have silently slinked away, but that was a bit impossible while she was two months pregnant.
John stared forward, not even bothering to look at his wife. She could see his fists clenched and him visibly trembling. The last time she saw him like this was when Sherlock came back to life after two years.
Sherlock.
"John," Mary began, cautiously choosing her next words, "It is my turn to ask you something."
No answer. His face expressing nothing other than anger.
She turned to face him, pulling her coat tight around her chest. "That night at his office, I learnt something interesting from Magnussen. About you, in fact. And it seems that I am not the only one harbouring a secret."
She saw John freeze, his eyes widening in panic. Mary felt a smug sense of satisfaction. The feeling went when she realised what this meant. This would lead to an inevitable end of their relationship. Their child, her child would grow up without a father.
Yet, all things considered, with the fact that Magnussen knows the truth and that there are a few people out there who would like nothing more than to hurt her and her child, that should be the least on her mind.
"Do you want to know what he said?" She crossed her arms. "He said that you were having an affair. With a man, no less."
John's eyes widened. "Mary, I can explain…"
She cut him off, her voice louder. "And there is only one person in this whole wide world whom I can think of. So tell me, beloved husband mine, how long have you been cheating on me with Sherlock?"
John bent his head in shame, his cheeks blossoming into a bright red. He couldn't think of a reply. What could he say?
"How long." She hissed, anger boiling through her veins.
"The night after the wedding." He barely could get the words out of his mouth. "But it was nothing! We just kissed, that was all. We didn't do anything since."
She snorted. "Alright, if it meant nothing, then why did you start to act so cold towards me since our wedding night? Why did you ignore me throughout our honeymoon? Why did you always have some excuse in bed? Why, Why Why!" Before John could answer, Mary carried on.
"Do you know what I had to do to keep you safe from my past?" She rubbed her belly unconsciously. "I gave up so much to create a safe environment for us and now I find that it was all for nothing!"
John raised an eyebrow. "It wasn't my fault that you were an assassin for the most part of your life."
She snapped her head around, her eyes burning from the hot tears. "Do you think I actually chose all of this crap! Do you actually think that I chose to become Magnussen's hitman! I was given a bad hand in life, and I had to make the most out of it!" She pointed a finger in his chest. "I had to do some awful things to keep you from becoming front page articles."
"Whoa, wait a minute. Did you just say that you were working for Magnussen?!" John's hate for the man was expressed through that one word.
Mary froze. Oh God! She had to leave. There were many things that John should know, but her dealings with Magnussen, professional and…and private, shouldn't be known. Especially about that one night two months ago…
"I have said too much." She stated abruptly. "I have explained everything on that." She pointed to the AGRA hard drive protruding from his jacket pocket.
She began to walk away and mumbled, loud enough for John to hear.
"It seems that both of us were liars."
XXX
A few weeks later…
John helped Sherlock up the stairs, to much of Sherlock's dismay. He kept swatting his friend's hands away.
"I am fine John! I am capable of climbing a few stairs by myself!" He pushed himself from John's grasp into the flat.
"Sherlock, the fact that they let you out early is a miracle. You could at least just cool down for a few days before you start on your misadventures."
Sherlock sulkily went over to the couch and collapsed on it. "Fine." He huffed.
He was not in a good mood. Not since his little meeting with Magnussen at the café. He was irritable at the fact that he had to wait a few months until he could get his hand on the sly bastard.
Waiting…he did not like that word. He did not like the idea of doing nothing except patiently sitting until he could make his next move. The very thought bored him.
Sherlock looked at his friend through half-closed eyes. Then again he thought I could start on a new project in the meantime.
John had told him about his last conversation with Mary, everything from the reveal about John's sexuality to the fact that Mary was Magnussen's pet for a few years. And Sherlock was worried about that last bit especially. If Magnussen knew about their unofficial relationship, then things were going to get ugly. Magnussen could use this new 'pressure point' against them.
There was something else, though. There was something else that bugged him about Mary. The way she referred to Magnussen. Sherlock knew that she hated him, she was the one pointing a gun to his head after all, but there was an underlying tone of something else, that there was more to what she was letting on. She was very desperate to leave after John pointed out that she let Magnussen's name slip, which must have meant that there was another story that she hadn't told, and it won't be displayed on that hard drive.
That hard drive.
Sherlock was desperate to see what was on it, what secrets it hid, but he couldn't. It was John's choice if he wanted to read it or not. And anyways, he has been fiddling with it since that night, so it was impossible for Sherlock to steal it, much to his dismay.
Sherlock moved his body into a more comfortable position when he saw something…different.
It was the door to his room. It was partially open. His door was never partially open. It was either open or close.
Sherlock pushed himself up and walked towards the room. John gave him a questioning look.
"Ummmm, Sherlock? What are you doing?"
Sherlock didn't reply as he gently pushed open his door.
To the untrained eye, you would think that there was nothing different, but the detective knew better than that.
"You have been sleeping in my room." Not a question, a statement.
"Sorry, what did you say?" John asked as he walked up to Sherlock.
"You have been sleeping in my room."
And before John could protest Sherlock began with his routine:
He walked into the room and crouched down on his haunches. "On the floor are a faded shoeprint, about your size and the pattern matches the one that you are wearing. They lead to here," he pointed to the edge of the bed, "where they darken in colour, like someone stood for a longer period of time, and look closer," Sherlock walked towards the shoe print. "These two prints are facing towards the door and they seemed to swap places, as if they were either crossed or," Sherlock sat down on the bed, placing one foot on one print and lifted his other leg across the it, "you were untying your shoe."
He twisted around to the base of the bed. "I do not make my bed like this. I tend to tuck the end of the duvet under my mattress. You didn't remove it to get it clean, because I do not smell the washing-powder that we use. And talking about smelling." He picked up and sniffed a pillow. "This smells like your shampoo, and the bed smells like you. Need I say more?"
John stood bewildered. Yup, it was true that he did sleep in the bed for the past couple of nights. It was the only thing that prevented the nightmares from returning. And the flat could get quite lonely when Sherlock wasn't there; it almost made John feel like Sherlock was floundering about the place, being Sherlock.
"Well, I, um…" John rubbed the back of his neck. "You could say so…"
Sherlock could not help but to put on a small smile. "It's ok, John. I am not angry. In fact," he pushed himself onto his feet and walked over to the doctor. He gently slipped his arm around his waist, and in a low voice said, "I am quite pleased."
John blushed even harder. "Well, that is good then. There is nothing to worry about ." He pushed himself away from Sherlock and turned to walk out the door. Sherlock caught John's arm.
"John, I want to ask you if you want to stay in here tonight? In my bed? You are in here anyway…uh, we don't have to do anything, of course. I mean I am still recovering from my wound, and you are still not emotionally stable from your separation…" Sherlock stopped when he saw John's eyebrows rise and his lips twitch. "What I am trying to say is that…"
"Before you go and dig yourself in a deeper hole," John cut him off, "I will say yes. I would love to rather stay here…with you." He met Sherlock's gaze and gave a lopsided smile. Sherlock returned it.
John, for the first time in what felt like forever, was calm and generally happy. He enclosed the space between him and the detective, and leaned in for a kiss…
"Um, Sherlock?" A voice interrupted them.
They both froze.
For one minute! That is all I ask for! Just one minute!
"Yes, Mrs Hudson." Sherlock sighed. "What is it that you want?" He lifted his head as John turned around. Mrs Hudson was holding a tray with three cups of tea and a plate with cake on it.
"I heard you come back, so I just came to check that you are alright. And to give you a cup of tea." She gave a grin as she placed the tray on the table. "It looks like you are settling back comfortably."
"Yes thank you, Mrs Hudson." Sherlock walked towards the tray, John in tow.
"So I take it that the room upstairs won't be needed?"
Sherlock and John looked at each other and smiled. "No I supposed not."
Happy new year my bokkies
Note that I have decided to change the rating, purely because of the events of the next few chapters. I just doing it to be on the safe side.
Love from thecapefangirl