John Watson is a nice man, a very nice man.
Dark blond hair, so soft it makes her want to touch it. Eyes of blue that can darken almost to black. Quirky sense of humor. Smile that could light a city. Dirty, dirty mind, and not too bad a shot at darts. Honest. Too honest. Much too honest ... for her.
Mary was never afraid of dangerous situations. She was clever, a planner. She knew what would happen long before it did. She planned contingencies, but rarely had to use them. Usually her plans worked right the first time. She knew how to manipulate people to get what she wanted. She knew how not to give anything away, and she never wore her heart on her sleeve.
John wore his heart on his sleeve. He held his pain out for everyone to see, right out in the open. He didn't hide his sadness, and yet he somehow seemed the more stoic because of it. John Watson had a beautiful soul.
There was something about his eyes. The way that they looked at you that made you feel that he really saw you. That he wanted to see more of you. They pulled you in.
And his lips. He licked his lips quite a lot. Sometimes he stuck out the tip of his tongue, and your eyes were drawn to it. Your mouth parted a bit leaving space for that tongue to enter, if it wanted to. Why didn't he want to?
That night at dinner, she had watched his eyes. They had looked at her with desire. She had watched his hands. They absentmindedly stroked the side of his leg as if he wanted to touch her. She had watched his lips. He licked them again and again. She was riveted. She had watched his eyes, his sad, sad, eyes, and she couldn't look away.
"Good night," he'd said as he took her hand in his and squeezed it. "Thank you for a beautiful evening." Then he'd turned away and left.
Once she'd got over her disappointment, she'd followed him at a discrete distance, watching as he went back to his flat. Looking up at his silhouette in the window until the lights went out. Then she'd turned away and walked slowly back to her place.
She lay back on the bed and touched her own lips rolling her head back and running a finger down her neck the way that she had hoped that he would have done. She rose then and unzipped her dress, dropping it to the floor. She was wearing a plain white slip, with a bit of lace. She lay back on the bed and put her foot on the edge of the headboard as she reached down to touch the hem of her slip, pulling it up to expose the top of her white stockings. She had wanted his hands on her tonight.
Mary was not a virgin. At her age, no one would expect her to be. Sex was something that she was very experienced in. The fact that she had sex more often than she wanted to. The fact that she used sex to get closer to men, to get what she wanted. That was just something that she accepted. It wasn't until she lifted the edge or her skirt and ran her finger down her leg imagining that he had done it, that she realized how much she had wanted tonight to go according to plan.
How long had it been since she had actually felt attraction for a man? She had faked it for so long that she hadn't noticed that her sexual desire had all but gone away. John Watson was not her type, or at least not what she had thought her type was. She wasn't attracted to nice men. She liked men full of danger and passion, the kind to have sex on a train, with the dead victim in the next car, and the police waiting for them at the station. She liked men who wore black and drove expensive cars, not men who wore fuzzy cardigans and rode the tube, and yet, here she was wanting him, needing him, and he wasn't here.
She sat up and reached for her purse pulling out her phone. She rang his number. He picked it up on the second ring, he couldn't have been asleep despite having the lights out.
"Hello?"
"Hello John, it's Mary."
"Mary, it's late, are you all right, did something happen?"
"Oh, no, I just called because ... I need your help." Mary ran her fingers through her hair.
"My help? What is it? Is it something that will wait until Monday?"
"Oh no, it certainly won't wait until Monday, do you know where I live?"
"You pointed out the building to me once, but I don't know your room number."
"I'm in flat number 512. I'll text you the address."
"Is it that urgent?"
"Yes, it's urgent."
"Alright, Mary, I'm putting on my coat now. I'm on my way, so tell me, what do you need help with?"
"Well, it's a bit of a delicate situation, I don't want to talk about it over the phone."
"I don't understand. Did you have an accident? Get your toe caught in the bathroom tap or something like that?"
"Something like that."
"Do you want me to call emergency, or one of your friends?"
"No! Just you." Mary reached out to snatch a cube of ice from her drink. She ran it down her neck. It slipped and fell between her breasts. She squealed.
"Mary! Are you okay? Mary?"
"I'm fine. Just...please hurry." Then she closed the phone.
She placed the phone on the table and then fell back on the bed. "Stupid stupid stupid! You were supposed to play the good girl. Why are you rolling on your bed fantasizing about a man in a woolen jumper, have you gone mad? Menopause has finally caught up with you. He will see you and be totally turned off. He will never talk to you again, and the mission will be over."
Mary rose to her feet and staggered over to the closet reaching up to take the gun out of the shoe box. She walked back to the bedroom and stood on the bed pushing up a ceiling tile to place it overhead. Then she lowered the panel into place before leaving the room to unlock the door to her flat. She walked into the kitchen then and drank a glass of water from the tap.
"Hot flashes. Mom had had them young. The young man from the sandwich shop used to send her into fits of fanning, that is back when I had a mother. I should call John back, tell him that it was a false alarm. Make up some excuse. Use your head. Damn it Mary! Use your head!"
She put on her shoes and reached down for her dress. She knelt on the bed, raising her arms and lifting it over her head. Then she paused. She sat back on her heels and lowered her arms. Then she threw her dress down onto the floor before falling on her back on the bed. Looking up at the ceiling tiles she imagined that she could see the outline of the gun. The gun that she would use to kill John if he was lying about Sherlock. The gun that she had been hired to use to kill Sherlock if he were still alive, but only after she had killed John. Why was she here? Why had she called him, The man who wore his heart on his sleeve?
Sherlock wasn't alive. At least, if he was, John knew nothing about it. This she was certain of. She was good at seeing things, and John was hiding nothing. He had loved a man, and the man was dead. So John didn't want to live anymore. He didn't want to love anymore. Maybe this was what had attracted her to him. His heart echoed her own. She didn't want to love either. Not since everything that she had ever loved had been lost.
She hid her pain, because that was what you did with pain. How could he wear it so openly and survive?
She heard the front door open and shut. Mary turned and watched as John Watson slowly entered her bedroom. She looked at him, her face full of surprise, even though she had been the one to call him.
"Mary? Mary? Are you okay?"
"John."
"I'm here. You said that you needed my help?"
"Yes, I needed you." She crossed her arms over her chest, suddenly shy. He walked forward and sat on the edge of her bed.
"What do you need me for?"
So many thoughts ran through her head. What she should say to be sexy, to be clever, to look vulnerable, to look attractive. She forgot them all and threw her arms around his neck burying her face into his shoulder. The words came out without her planning them, without conscious thought.
"I was alone, and I needed you."
Somehow they were exactly the right words to say, because the next moment his mouth was on hers, and his hands were on her waist. They fell back, and he pressed down on her, his belt buckle catching on the nylon of her slip. His hands running up and down the length of her white stockings.
"Yes, John, Yes! I needed you. I have needed you for so long. For so very, very long!"
