They are in a moderate-sized airport when she makes the switch. Confessing a whim to see a different Island than the one where they had booked reservations, Mary switches the tickets at the last minute and they board a different plane. She looks on in satisfaction as the man in the Hawaiian shirt with the far-too-neat haircut stares through the glass at them as they taxi toward the runway.
She uses John's sense of adventure to lead them on a winding, impossible to trace course that ends in a quaint little hotel, not too far from the beach, where they still keep paper records instead of the ubiquitously traceable computer ones. She picks a time when the desk is busy to check in, switching keys with another couple so that even if someone recognizes John's messy signature they won't be where the register says they are.
It's only when the door is closed behind them that she sighs with relief, finally free. Too much was known about her in London. Her cover was so close to being blown. Here they are just faceless tourists in a crowded island town.
The room is small. Just a bed and a couple of chairs. She sits on the edge of the bed and slouches as she hasn't let herself do in months. "You okay, honey?" John asks putting his hands on her shoulders and giving her a back rub.
She leans into him with a low moan. "I am now," she says enjoying the feel of his hands. Wishing it was just her skin beneath his fingers without the barrier of her blouse.
"You've had so much tension in your shoulders these last few days. You need to relax."
"Well that's certainly helping," Mary says, eyes closing as she melts up against him. John reaches over and opens her top button, then he pulls the shirt over her head. She smiles. She likes it when John reads her mind like this. He takes off her bra with a practiced ease, and then gently kisses her neck before pulling her close to him. Her bare back touching his bare chest. When did he take off his shirt?
"Mary?" he asks in a low voice.
"Um hummm," she purrs back at him.
"I know you like to see the sights, But would you mind at all if we just stayed here for a bit."
"Here? You mean in this town?"
"I mean in this bed."
She smiles wider as he lowers her down onto the sheets. "Why Mr. Watson. I think that is an excellent idea."
"I do too, Mrs Watson."
Their lovemaking this time is slow and carefree. John worships her body, and she lets him, lazily spreading herself before him as he tenderly kisses her skin, methodically making his way around her body until she feels completely relaxed. This is pleasure, decadent and selfish. This is bliss. John is hers, without question or opposition. John loves her, and is making love to her, and it is wonderful. She could get used to being Mrs John Watson. No, she doesn't mind it at all.
She wakes suddenly after dark to find the other side of the bed empty. She freezes, glancing at the side table. She had forgotten to put out her book with her knife in it, and so she has no weapon at hand. She raises her head cautiously to look around the room and find what has woken her. Then she hears John's chuckle. He is seated in a chair. The light of his phone illuminating a bright smile on his face.
"John, what are you doing?"
John jumps guiltily, hiding his smile. "Just reading my blog."
"Your blog?" Mary asks, "You're on the internet? But I didn't think they had service here?"
"Apparently we are close enough to the Hilton to get their guest wifi," he says.
Mary rolls over to pick up her purse, and pulls out her phone. She types in the address for John's blog and begins to read it.
John has posted an entry about the wedding. A strangely enthusiastically one, but no...It seems that it was Sherlock who posted the entry in in parody of John. How did he get his password?
Her eyes scan across the words that show that Sherlock is feeling sulky and depressed that they are away on their "Sex Holiday" as he calls it. "He's upset he didn't get pictures of the attempted homicide!" She says with a smile, "He says maybe at the next wedding."
John types furiously, and after a moment she reads.
'STOP POSTING ON MY BLOG! AND THERE WON'T BE ANOTHER WEDDING! John Watson'
Mary sucks in a breath. John, her John, really means that. He doesn't plan to ever love another. Mary grins surprised to find a tear on her cheek.
Mary doesn't like to think very far into the future. She doesn't think of growing old, because she never expects to. Certainly a bullet will find her long before then. Long term relationships never work. She only need remember her parents to know that. Forgiveness is a myth. Happily ever after is for other people, if it ever happens at all. But John loves her. He honestly doesn't think that they will ever part. She wipes the tears away and reads the post again only to find that Sherlock has replied to it.
'Does your wife know you're on the Internet when you're supposed to be enjoying your Sex Holiday with her? Sherlock Holmes'
'Yes. Yes, she does. Mary Morstan' she types back before putting away her phone and going over to give John a big kiss. He holds her in his arms as she rests her head on his shoulder closing her eyes.
"Sherlock says that you should avoid seafood."
Her eyes fly open. "What?" She turns her head to find that John is still reading his phone. She peers at the screen. Sherlock has typed it onto the comments where anyone can see it.
The baby. She hasn't decided what to do about it yet. She had planned to make the decision later, but if everyone knows….if Magnussen knows. If he sends people after her while she is incapacitated, fat, sedentary, and unable to run away..."
"John. Shut him up will you. Please, don't let him keep typing about the baby."
"What's wrong? Are you okay, Mary?"
"PLEASE John. Stop him!"
"Okay, okay," John says quickly composing a text.
Mary runs over and fishes her phone out of her purse typing a comment before Sherlock can post again,
'SHERLOCK! SHUT UP NOW! Mary Morstan'
Mary is breathing heavily now. Her eyes glance around the room checking the exits, as she does when she feels under threat. She looks at the screen to see a new post.
'I've just had a text from John. I'll shut up now. Sherlock Holmes'
Mary stares at the screen, watching to see if anyone responds to his post, when the phone is pulled from her hand. She looks up to see John putting it down on the side table. He sits beside her and puts an arm around her shoulder pulling her against him.
"Mary, what's wrong?"
"It's just… It's OUR baby. We are the ones who should be announcing it, not him."
John pulls her close and gently touches her abdomen. "Would it really be so bad if everyone knew that you were going to have our child? It's not like the child will be born out of wedlock, and even if it is, in this day and age who cares about such things. I want to tell people. I want everyone in the world to know how happy you've made me, because you have. Mary, you have made me the happiest man on the Earth, and I can't wait to start a family with you."
Tears roll from her eyes again. John picks one up with his finger. "Are you alright, Mrs Watson?"
She smiles a huge, ugly, tear covered smile so big that she thinks her mouth might break. "Yes, I am, Husband." He kisses her then making her forget all of her worries.
The next morning, she makes plans to leave. Phone and internet records can be traced. While John is in the bathroom, she pulls out her phone to see if anyone else has commented about the pregnancy.
There is some speculation, but nothing solid, and Sherlock has started insulting the people posting on the blog again. She smiles reading…
'But haven't you got better things to be doing? You're spending all your time on the Internet. Sherlock Holmes'
'Is this why most of you are single? Sherlock Holmes'
As she's watching, a post pops up.
'Sherlock. You're being rude again. John Watson'
Anger rises up in her and her face turns red. Last night, John had told her that she and their children would be all that he would ever need to have a happy life. But even here on their honeymoon he can't spend a day without talking to Sherlock! Suddenly all of the anger, all of the jealousy that she had repressed in London spills out of her. She types.
'John. You are reading your blog again. Mary Morstan'
Her mouth curls down at the last two words. It seems a personal affront that the computer has signed her maiden name instead of her married one. She is Mary Watson, and John is hers now, and hers alone.
The bathroom door opens, and John steps out a bit sheepishly without his phone. Mary rushes past him and picks up his phone from the counter. She pulls out the battery, throwing it into the tub before fishing out the sim card with her fingernails and crushing it underfoot.
"Mary!" he cries, "What's got into you?"
She turns then and pushes John back onto the bed, forcing him down and jumping on top of him.
"Mary?" he asks confused.
"You are MY husband, John Watson, not the husband of that big baby back in London. I am your bride, and you will remember that on OUR honeymoon."
"But Mary, I was just...Whahhh!" he cries as Mary leans forward and bites him at the place where his shoulder and neck meet. Mary was never one for marking before, but something has struck her down deep and she needs everyone to know that he's hers. It doesn't matter that Sherlock is hundreds of miles away. It feels as if he is in the next room trying to lure away her husband, and she can't take it. She won't take it anymore. She opens John's belt and pulls down his pants taking him quickly into her mouth as he cries out...
"JESUS!"
She drops all pretense of being mild-mannered Mary. A small part of her mind panics telling her that now she has broken cover, he will recoil from her and leave her for good, and she thinks it's happening when he pulls her off of him holding her firmly by the arms as he hauls her to her feet.
He stands, glaring down at her darkly, with a smirk on his face which always means danger. She considers flight, only then realizing the strength of his hold on her. She frowns at him determined to win at all costs. His grin widens to show his teeth, and then he mashes his face against hers, tongue probing as he reaches up to rip the shoulder of her sensible dress. He pulls the remains down her body and she kicks it off along with her shoes which fly across the room as he grabs her arms twisting them up against her back.
Fear begins to kick in as her body senses threat, and she lifts her knees to press against his chest levering them farther apart. His trousers drop to his ankles and he falls back on the bed releasing her arms. She leans over him, hands on either side of his head, both of them panting hard. Then he reaches up and unhooks her bra. She takes out one arm and then the other, and then he rises up and takes a nipple in his mouth and bites it. She slaps him, and he falls back onto the bed, her fingernails dig into his shirt, and she pulls, ripping some of the buttons. He rises, flipping her over so that she is under him, torn shirt billowing as his eyes rove over her naked breasts.
"Take off your clothes, now!" she orders, and John's smile grows truly dangerous.
"Oh God ,Yes!" he says opening the last of the shirt buttons before flinging it and the rest of his clothes away as fast as he can while she removes the rest of hers. He sits back down on the bed and she climbs on top, sheathing him in her warmth and wrapping her legs tightly around him as her fingernails cut into his back. He moans loudly and then grabs her buttocks climbing to his feet and carrying her across the room to slam her back up against the wall forcing himself deeper inside and causing both of their heads to fall back as he cries out again.
Their lovemaking is quick and hard. She cries out his name "John! John! Harder!" and he tries, getting frustrated when he can't get the angle right. He carries her back to the bed dropping her down on her back as he repositions himself, bracing one hand against the headboard and pulling one thigh across his chest as he pounds into her not caring, for once, what the people in the next room might think as the bed crashes against the wall repeatedly.
Mary feels freer than she has ever felt. She thought John would reject her if she let out this side of herself, but he has surprised her. She didn't realize that he was holding back as well. She's finally broken past that facade of reserve that John holds over his heart and gone to some place deeper. The place where John doesn't hold back. The place where John can no longer lie. He is a wild thing, and she laughs as she feels his climax approaching.
"Oh, Oh God!" John cries unable to hold himself back. He stills with one hand on the headboard, his eyes tightly shut. He shudders above her. She can feel him pooling into her now, and her smile widens only to leave her face a moment later when she hears him cry out...
"Oh God! Oh God Sherlock!Yes!"
Checking out is a solemn affair. John tries to make excuses, but she tells him to stop. She's made up her mind now. John convinced her to have the baby. Mr and Mrs Watson will have their happy family. It doesn't matter that John secretly lusts after his best friend. He's married to her, now. Once the baby is born, things will fall into place. She's seen it hundreds of times. The responsibilities of parenting tames a man. And if Sherlock ever does get up the courage to ask him to come back, she knows what to say. "You're a father now. It wouldn't be right for you to put yourself in danger. Think of the child!" And good, old, responsible John Watson would. He would suppress his personal desires and do what society expected of him. That's what he had always done, after all.
Some small thought in the back of her mind tells her that if she wasn't there, Sherlock and John might have found happiness together, but she quashes it. Who cares what the world might be like if she were gone. She agrees with Moriarty on that score. Once she is dead, let the world burn.
Now, she has her prize. She won him fairly. Before long they will have a child together, and Magnussen will be dead. She pulls out her phone to buy the tickets to their next destination, a little place that she knows where a black market dealer can sell her some bullets and perhaps a new gun with a silencer. She climbs into the taxi, John following sheepishly behind, and away they go.
