Mary whisked up a vinaigrette to be tossed with baby greens, while the fresh baked bread hid under a towel to remain warm. A vegetable tagine bubbled on the hob. Mary couldn't help but smile at the cone-shaped cooking vessel. It was a rare souvenir from her previous life. She'd always enjoyed her time in North Africa. It was a far different existence than the one symbolized by the brightly decorated kitchen where she so skillfully worked. Mary had no regrets about the woman she had been, because she set her on the path to the woman she was now. A woman with the home, the family, and the stable life she had crafted for herself and was determined to keep.
Mary was still in the kitchen when Harry Watson called out as she opened up the front door. "Hello? May we come in?"
John left the nursery at the sound of his sister's voice and wordlessly accompanied Mary to greet Harry and her guest.
"So glad you could join us." Mary produced her most winning smile. She and Harry did not get on any better than John and Harry did. This irritated Mary, who was used to people reacting to her in the way she planned.
John merely said, "Hello, Harry."
Mary observed John's tension as he accepted a hug from his sister, who then gestured to the lovely woman at her side.
"John, Mary, this is Olivia Ikemoto."
John warily looked at Olivia, displaying the apprehension that always accompanied meeting Harry's new choice of companion. Mary, however, jumped in with a hug. "It's wonderful to meet you."
"Thank you." Olivia held out a box of chocolates. "You are very kind to invite me to dinner."
John accepted the candy, but remained silent. Nothing yet.
Mary waved a hand to where Molly and Greg sat in the adjoining room. "Please, make yourself at home." She then glared at her husband, who had made no move to follow the couple.
Time to give the first nudge. Mary pulled John into the kitchen and whispered, "You are being so rude this evening."
"Sorry, just a little on edge."
"For dinner with friends? Seriously, John, what is wrong with you?"
It was a question Mary often asked herself. What is wrong with John? Mary understood the impact of the unfortunate events involving Sherlock and Magnussen would linger for some time in her marriage. In fact, when John appeared at the Holmes' cottage to forgive her at Christmas, her happiness was tempered by the fear that it was all part of a plan hatched with Sherlock. His killing of Magnussen later that night erased her concerns. She knew Sherlock would be gone from her lives after that. But then Moriarty had materialized, and the plane had landed.
Sherlock had returned, but John hadn't.
Living with John again in their flat, Mary felt more distanced from him than while they lived apart during Sherlock's recovery. He had not been present during the worst parts of her pregnancy, but she'd hoped he would be more engaged once the baby was born. Instead, he seemed even more diminished, spending extra time at the surgery and away from her. But he wasn't replacing her with friends. There were no nights at the pub with Greg, no long lunches with Mike. And obviously, the cases with Sherlock were a part of the past, but fatherhood did not fulfill John's desire to be needed by someone.
He certainly did not care that Mary needed him.
Mary had worked too hard for this life, this normal life she had craved so much as she approached the end of her previous career. She knew she was clever enough to win John back wholeheartedly. He loved her, after all. She just needed to develop the correct strategy. She had planned this dinner party to introduce stimuli for John to respond to, to help her diagnose if there were any underlying conditions she had not anticipated.
With the baby sleeping in the nursery, the adults sat in the sitting room with drinks and chatted. Well, most of the adults. John sipped at his sparkling water and just listened to the conversation. Mary needed Sherlock to show up to draw a reaction from John. Any reaction would be welcome from this lifeless husk of the man she loved. Mary was worried Sherlock would be a no-show when the doorbell rang. Everyone looked at John, who eventually said, "Guess I'll go answer that."
"I'll come with you. Can't wait to meet his date." Mary jumped up from her chair and winked at Molly and Greg as she walked towards the door.
Sherlock, with a date. Mary guessed that John was expecting another Janine, another Irene Adler. Mary, however, was waiting for John to finally be confronted by the truth.
John took a deep breath and opened the door to see Sherlock with a man.
Bingo.
He was well-matched for Sherlock, similar taste in clothes, similar in height, dark skin contrasting with Sherlock's pale complexion. Everything that John isn't, Mary noted with not unappreciable relief.
She engulfed Sherlock in a hug. "Good to see you."
Sherlock stiffly patted Mary on the shoulder. "I'm sure that is an overstatement."
John turned his back and walked towards the sitting room.
"We'll do introductions inside. Everyone else has already arrived." Mary glanced at Sherlock apologetically, but Sherlock's eyes were focused on John.
They entered the sitting room together, and everybody rose to their feet.
"Everyone, this is Victor Trevor, an old friend from uni." Sherlock indicated Victor with a tilt of his head with affection in his eyes.
"Hello, all. It's wonderful to be here." Victor kissed Mary on the cheek. "You must be Mary. Thank you so much for welcoming a stranger into your home."
"You have nicer manners than Sherlock. Guess you didn't learn that at uni."
Victor laughed. "And you're the famous John Watson." He held out his hand.
John grabbed it firmly and gave a curt nod of the head. "Please, let me take your coats."
Mary watched as John busied himself, enabling him to turn away from the assembled guests, away from Sherlock.
Molly and Greg introduced themselves and then Harry said, "This is my girlfriend, Olivia Ikemoto. She's an architect."
As Olivia blushed at Harry's pride in her, she shook Sherlock's hand. Victor interjected, "As in Ikemoto and Associates?"
"You've heard of us?"
"Oh, yes," said Victor as he clasped her hand. "I've admired your work on Fenchurch Street, and I was planning to approach you about a future expansion of the offices of Trevor Oceanic." He turned to Sherlock and Harry, "You won't mind if we talk shop, if Olivia is willing?"
"Not at all," responded Sherlock. He preened under Victor's attention.
Olivia said, "Did you know that Harry here took the photos of the project that got so much notice in Architectural Digest?"
Victor beamed as he shook Harry's hand. "You're Harry Watson? John's sister, right? Oh, this is so exciting." He shrugged his shoulders in a self-deprecating fashion. "I must admit, I always thought you were a man."
"I get that a lot," said Harry, chuckling.
Victor turned to Sherlock and caressed his upper arm. "You know, when we decided to get together for dinner while I was in London, I didn't know you'd be introducing me to so many luminaries."
"Oh, you know better than to underestimate me." Sherlock smiled confidently at Victor.
Feeling enraptured, Mary observed this scene play out. Sherlock was flirting. His posture, his words, his countenance. He was definitely flirting with Victor. She checked Molly's expression. Intrigued, slight jealousy. Greg's face showed curiosity and amusement. Confirmation, yes, this was an actual date. Excellent.
Victor and Olivia pulled chairs near each other and began to chat. John wandered off to the nursery, ostensibly to check on the baby, more likely just to escape. His actions were disappointing at first glance, but Mary was heartened by the idea that the baby presented a haven for John. Good girl.
Then Mary heard Sherlock's deep voice. "Harry."
"I can't believe we finally get to meet," said Harry as she took Sherlock's outstretched hand.
Sherlock responded, "Likewise."
This was an unexpected development. "What do you mean?" Mary felt a knot of dread grow in her stomach. "The two of you have never met each other? After all this time?"
"No," said Harry. She cast a sharp look at Sherlock. "I'm convinced John was hoping we'd never meet."
Oh, no. Miscalculation.