I'm still not sure why I'm here, waiting for Mary to come. I'm not even sure if Mary would come, and yet, here I am, sitting at Notting Hill, at a restaurant known as ' The Shed', eating fish and chips. Sherlock, as usual, ran away to complete one of his cases, promising to meet me back at Baker street soon (something that I doubt thoroughly), leaving me with too many hours to kill, and too little time with him.

I sigh, taking a break from the incessant munching of the chips. Two months and twenty nine days. Two bloody months and twenty nine days, and we are wasting our time, trying to be nice and telling every person.. That. About the news. We agreed on calling it that, "The News", for it sounded more like a tabloid rather than nature's death sentence, making things a little easier for us to digest. I honestly do not know how Sherlock is taking it, frankly, for since I handed him the notepad yesterday, he has been awfully quiet. I don't blame him, though. If I were in his place,I would have probably lost my marbles by now, crying and cursing this world for its cruel and frankly ridiculous choices. And now, here I am, all alone, breaking the news out to my ex-wife. Bloody brilliant work, Sherlock.

I look down at my phone, wondering why it is so unusually silent, and wondering if Sherlock was alright, when I hear the chair scrape. Looking up, I see Mary, smiling at me as she took her seat.

"Hello John." She greets, quietly, just as always, flashing a smile at the waiter as he offers her a menu card. Thank goodness that we had separated on amiable terms. Else god knows that the three months would have ended almost a year ago, along with the divorce.

"Hello Mary." I greet back, giving her a half smile she had once called 'adorable'. Honestly, though, that made me feel like a stuffed toy.

"So, how have you been? You look tired." She tells me after taking a sip of the water. I give a small snort of amusement, before replying to her query.

"I've been good. Tired yes, for the cancer does that to you. Make you feel and look tired. In fact, you should see Sherlock. He looks like a ghost now, all dark, bruised eyes and thinner than before." I tell her, matter of factly, as she nearly chokes on her water.

"Cancer?" She asks, putting her glass down and looking at my face, searching for the signs that I was joking.

So, sighing, I tell her the entire story. Of the sudden coughing bouts, the wheezing, the pain in breathing.. All of it. And she sits through it all, listening, not interrupting even when I stop midway. I cannot help it, for the part when I remember Sherlock's face, trying to hide it's horror at seeing blood from just a mere cough, made my throat close up, every time. Being a doctor, I know about death, seeing it every and nearly experiencing it once. But its difficult to see someone close to you, someone who you are ready to protect with your life, lose theirs. The experience is traumatizing, both for the patient and the people close to them, and it fills me with more sadness, that a person such as Sherlock should have to go through all this.

After my monologue, Mary reanimates herself, reaching out to pat my hand. She had small tears in her eyes, and the salad she had ordered was untouched beside her.

"If either of you need anything, and I mean anything, don't hesitate to tell me." She offers, her voice muted, choked. I suppress the urge to gape. For never before had I seen Mary look so sad, not since our confrontation in Baker street over her allegedly false attempt at taking Sherlock's life. Ironical now, that she is succeeding in some way.

I smile and nod, my mind racing while blatantly ignoring her false reassurances. I'm thinking about too many things right now, such as the will, the medicines required, the doctors whom can ask for help, for just plain advice. We had agreed on no chemotherapy, for frankly, it was a horrible way to go, slowly wasting away, just counting out days, being in that much pain. So thre-no, two months and twenty nine days, and then it'll all come crashing down.

"John, I must go now. Susan is becoming cranky, and her nanny has an exam tomorrow." Mary's last words bring me back to reality, and I turn my attention to her. Susan, our child. Well, hers now, since she fought for custody. But nevertheless..

"Of course. Give my love to the little one, will you?" I tell her, flashing a smile as I notice the ring. A plain band of gold..

"Mary?" I ask, eyes stuck on the gold ring.

"Are you seeing someone?" I look at her face, waiting for an answer, while she looked away, fidgeting for a few seconds before replying.

"Yes. Goodbye John. I wish you both well. Truly." She tells me, bending low once to give me a peck on the cheek, and then moving away, walking, just going out of the restaurant, leaving me with my now cold plate of fish and chips. I sigh, the third time today, and reach out to take a bite when my phone vibrates.

' Sherlock passed out. When was the last time he ate? Area between the bridge and embankment. Come quickly.- GL'

I wipe my mouth quickly, calling for the waiter to give the bill as I text back with one hand. That bloody idiot! I told him to eat today morning when we were leaving for our respective destinations, as he was swaying lightly on his feet, while standing. Look what he got himself into now. Bloody oaf.

' Four days ago. Call the paramedics, give him coffee, and threaten to put him on the IV. I'll be there in half an hour.- JW'

Swearing under my breath, I put in the rounded amount for the food, and then I run, catching the nearest tube to the Embankment. I swear to god that I am going to kill that nincompoop one day, with my bare hands.