Title: A Promise

Chapter: 5/5

Rating: T

Warnings: Discussion of difficult topics such as shooting someone. lying, and historical drug use, minor alcohol consumption, discussions of pregnancy, discussion of an affair

Pairings: John/Mary

Spoilers: For all seasons of Sherlock, especially "His Last Vow"

Summary: "Love is patient; love is kind..." But John and Mary Watson have some serious martial issues to work out. So love might not be enough. A companion piece to "Baby Makes Three" and "His Last Vow".

"Because love, it's not an emotion. Love is a promise."

Steven Moffat, Doctor Who: Death in Heaven

"There is no fear in love, but perfect love casts out fear. For fear has to do with punishment, and whoever fears has not been perfected in love.We love because He first loved us."

1 John 4:18-19 (NIV)

Her judge spoke.

Mary felt a thrill move through her to finally hear him speaking to her again, even if it was to issue her condemnation.

"I've thought long and hard about what I want to say to you."

His words were low, his voice tight. As he took in a deep breath, Mary dared to lift her eyes to catch his expression. It was not cold or angry as she expected; but it was still tense and neutral. Every word looked as if it pained him to say it.

"These are prepared words, Mary," he told her.

She grimaced, each passing moment growing more excruciating. Why did he not just say it? She could tell he was fighting against some inner turmoil; but beyond this she could read his intentions.

John ducked his head for a moment, taking another breath and then looking up at her.

"I've chosen these words with care."

"Okay." Mary wanted to scream. Or cry. Or perhaps both. She felt he was leading her on, intentionally putting her through misery. It was agonizing, but she held her ground.

John cleared his throat and looked away again, toying with the pin drive between his fingers almost like he was toying with her heart. Then he glanced up at her again, this time meeting her eyes and holding her gaze earnestly.

"The problems of your past," he pronounced quietly, "are your business.

"The problems of your future – "

There was an extended pause.

" – are my privilege."

Mary trembled, unable to comprehend what was being said to her. Her head spun, disbelieving every single syllable; but her heart told her otherwise. Emotion flooded her features. Her imbalanced hormones were unable to keep them in check this time.

John was still speaking. "It's all I have to say. It's all I need to know."

She watched as he examined the drive in his hands contemplatively and wondered what he was thinking. Her lips started to tremble as they sought to hold back the sob rising in her throat. She did not know what to do or what to say. Her entire body ached to explode in an outpouring of emotion; but she strove to fight it back, all the while trying to understand what had just happened. Had he really said the words she had longed to hear? Had the impossible suddenly became so intimately tangible?

John looked at her again, as if trying to gauge her reaction. Then he bent over the fireplace and tossed the drive into it. In a matter of seconds, her former life became charred in the flames. The drive was no more.

"No, I didn't read it," he admitted.

Then Mary broke, feeling so exposed, naked, vulnerable. She felt so overwhelmed.

"You don't even know my name," she gasped incredulously. It was all too surreal. He could not go on not knowing. Surely he could not love her not knowing what wicked things she had done? It seemed too fantastical to be true.

"Is 'Mary Watson' good enough for you?" he had quipped in reply instantly.

A sob escaped before she could control it. "Yes!" she cried. "Oh my God…"

God, is this really happening?

"… yes."

"Then it's good enough for me, too."

John gave her a small yet encouraging smile; and she melted under it.

She hastily stepped into his embrace. Her facade had crumbled under the weight of this redeeming grace, and she allowed herself to feel it. She relished the warmth and comfort of being in his arms again, her swollen stomach pressing into the small of his. His mercy had been too much. She clung to him as sobs convulsed her body.

"All this does not mean that I'm not still basically pissed off with you," he chided her gently.

Yes, this she could handle. "I know, I know," she reassured him. She knew very well things could not go back to the way they once had been.

"I am very pissed off, and it will come out now and then," he warned, still holding her tightly.

"I know, I know, I know." She knew her place now. She understood the weight of her sins. And she would endeavour every moment to deserve the grace she had been needlessly shone.

He pulled her back slowly to meet her gaze, giving her something of an amused grin.

"You can mow the sodding lawn from now on," he commanded good-naturedly.

"I do mow the lawn," Mary retorted, almost laughing herself.

"No, I do it loads," he argued.

"You really don't."

"I choose the baby's name," John offered.

"Not a chance," Mary asserted.

"Okay." She had won that verbal spar.

Mary allowed John to just hold her; she was unable to speak. "Thank you," she found herself whispering. "Thank you."

She had not intended John to hear it. No, her gratitude right now belonged to Someone greater.

"Thank You."

When he finally approached her, he was not the least bit surprised to find her initial reaction so cold and sarcastic. Neither did her reluctance to comply with his mode of conversation catch him off guard. No, what shook him was when she moved to get to her feet, and she struggled. He instantly moved to help, but she refused. Then the pangs of guilt twisted in his stomach. He should have been there for her. He remembered with surprising clarity every grainy scan Sherlock had shoved his way. He recalled every intentional mention by the infuriating patient to her advancing pregnancy. And then one time Sherlock had admitted to feeling baby kick. But John had not; and that shame seared in his chest. If one had not known better, one might have thought the child was Sherlock's, not John's. John deeply regretted his inexcusable behavior. He had abandoned her to face this alone.

He still had things to work out with her. He wanted to know why she kept her identity from him for so long. He definitely felt reluctant to even trust her again, his old issues surfacing. Nevertheless, his foremost priority was to make up for all the time he had lost. He was going to be a father. And if they were going to be parents, they were going to do things properly.

Together.

He grappled with his words initially. Though his walk had been long and labourious, the only words he had settled on consisted of two central phrases. Finally, he said them, seeing as their anticipation was causing her much undue pain.

"The problems of your past are your business. The problems of your future are my privilege."

He had struggled against his emotions, attempting to keep them controlled; but it was all in vain. It was not a violent outpouring of emotion like Mary's. As looked at her though, long and hard, he felt grateful that this was woman he had chosen. His Mary was strong and brave. Now, she was crying; and he had to steel himself and blink to hold back his own tears. He loved her. He honestly did. Nothing was going to change that. Then he pulled her into a loving embrace.

They talked, confirming future issues to address and muttering utter nonsense to one another, Mary occasionally incoherent through her tears. He held her until she calmed. Then, they lapsed into silence, rocking slowly side-to-side as they stood together, enjoying the sensation of their physical contact after all this time deprived of it.

"So you realise that, er, Sherlock got us out here to see his mum and dad for a reason?" Mary finally commented, her voice even once more.

John nearly laughed. Sherlock must have known his parents would be the key to this entire predicament. It had all been too coincidental. And he knew what the Holmes said about coincidences.

"His lovely mum and dad. A fine example of married life. I get that." He only hoped he and Mary could be half that one day.

Mary sagged against him a bit; but John continued sharing his mirth.

"That is the thing with Sherlock – it's always the unexpected."

As if it had been a stage direction in a play, his words became ironically exemplified. John panicked as Mary slumped against him. He laid her down as gingerly as possible in the armchair; but her weight had been unexpected. She was completely unconscious. He instantly began checking her airways, her pulse, the baby, terrified something had gone horribly wrong.

Suddenly, the door to the sitting room swung open.

"Don't drink Mary's tea," the rich baritone commanded.

Then Sherlock was gone as quickly as he came. John made sure Mary was comfortable before quickly following after him.

"Oh, or the punch," Sherlock added from the interior of the cottage, only serving to infuriate John. What was the man playing at? In the other sitting room closest to the kitchen, Mr. Holmes was on the couch completely motionless and seemingly tranquil. He had been drugged, John instantly knew.

They all had been drugged.

"Sherlock?" John called out. Then he continued on, hoping to get some answers. The consulting detective needed to have some cast iron explanations for pulling such idiotic stunt. If Mary…or the baby…

"Did you just drug my pregnant wife?" he shouted, storming into the kitchen to find Mrs. Holmes slumped comfortably in a chair and Mycroft fallen haplessly over the dinner table, having face planted atop his computer. If the situation had not been so dire, John might have laughed at the spectacle.

"Don't worry. Wiggins is an excellent chemist," Sherlock assured him. John repressed a sarcastic retort, uncertain whether or not to take comfort in the fact that a former druggie had just administered a potentially dangerous compound to his wife and unborn child. He glanced at Billy Wiggins inquisitively.

"I calculated your wife's dose meself," Wiggins assured him proudly. "Won't affect the little one. I'll keep an eye on 'er."

Still, that was not the least bit comforting.

"He'll monitor their recovery," Sherlock confirmed as he sashayed his scarf around his neck as if preparing to step out into the cold. "It's more or less his day job."

John stared at him incredulously and then swore, demanding to know what was going on. This time he was not being left in the dark.

Sherlock paused as if uncertain how to proceed. Then very tentatively, he replied, though it seemed as if his mind was elsewhere.

"A deal with the devil."

That could only mean that things were about to take a drastic turn. Had this been the reason Sherlock had requested he bring along his gun? Did this have to do with Magnussen and the power he still potentially held over Mary? In that split second of silence, John had a chilling premonition.

Things could not go well.

And, for once, John Watson wished he had been very, very wrong.

Author's Note: I believe everyone knows what happens next.

That is the end, folks. Any further comments would be most welcome. I hope the ending was not a bit of a drop-off for you. It seemed the most appropriate place to end it.

Thank you SO much for reading and reviewing! I enjoy hearing feedback and that people are enjoying reading. It is definitely encouraging.

Now off to work on the next one!