John gently closed the door to the flat. It was only a little after midnight, but at this late stage in her pregnancy, Mary had been retiring earlier and earlier to bed. He took off his black jacket and hung it on the coat rack standing in the entryway, one of Mary's many attempts to make the flat homier. It just never looked like home to John without Sherlock's long wool coat hanging next to his jacket.

John settled on the sofa after using the loo to wash up and change into a long-sleeved t-shirt and striped pajama bottoms. There was a book on the side table and his laptop on the coffee table, but he had no inclination to pick up either. Instead, he sat with his head in his hands until he heard footsteps in the hallway. He sighed, really not wanting to talk to Mary after the night he'd had.

Mary entered the room and greeted him with "You're home earlier than expected."

"The suspect was apprehended. The case is over." John hoped his curt response would shorten their interaction.

No such luck.

Mary slowly lowered herself into her rocking chair, and as she adjusted pillows to get comfortable, she said, "Usually you go out with Sherlock to celebrate after. Sometimes you don't even come home til the next day. Don't tell me you decided to ditch Sherlock to spend time with your wife."

John had once found her biting wit attractive, but it put him on edge now. "Don't. Just don't."

"Oh, I hit a nerve."

Mary narrowed her eyes as she scrutinized the tension in John's body, the strain in his jaw. "What happened?"

John maintained his stony silence. He had no desire to talk to her.

"If we're ever expected to get through this, John, you at least need to talk to me as if we were friends." Mary spoke with her usual confidence, but a note of pleading crept into her words.

John grudgingly admitted to himself that Mary had a point. He had chosen to return to her, to return to their marriage. He did not trust her any longer, but he also missed the friendship they'd once shared. If it had been real at all. Still, it was obvious Mary wasn't going to let the matter slide, so John finally said, "I kissed Sherlock."

Mary laughed. "You what?"

John crossed his arms over his chest. "It was for the case. To give us cover in an exposed location. It was the first thing that came to mind. I kissed him, and then he ran off without going after the suspect."

"I can't even get a peck on the cheek, much less have you share my bed, in months, but you can make out with your boyfriend for a case."

The hurt and frustration in Mary's tone was genuine, and it enraged John. "For fuck's sake, Mary, he's not my boyfriend. And it was just a simple kiss, Jesus. It isn't like he's never kissed anyone for a case before."

"For a case." There was a hesitation in Mary's voice that hadn't been there before.

John said, "Yes, it wasn't like it was his first kiss or something."

"Perhaps it was his first kiss with…" Mary paused, her lips forming a silent oh.

"With what?"

"With someone he loves." Mary spoke quietly, almost a whisper. The she grabbed her knitting off of the side table, and for a few moments, the clicking of her needles was the only sound in the room.

Surprised by the pause in the discussion, John asked, "You alright?"

"What?" Mary was clearly distracted by her thoughts. "Yeah. It's just a bit much to take in."

Despite himself, John smiled. "The idea of Sherlock being in love with me is quite a shocker."

Mary snorted and shook her head. "Oh, John, please."

Yet again that night, John's world tilted. "What? Seriously? You suspected Sherlock was in love with me?"

"Suspect? John, I knew. Everyone knows."

John's head hit the back of the sofa with a thud. "Yeah, I'm getting that, thank you."

"You really didn't know?" Mary leaned forward, still knitting, but with her concentration on John.

"Why would I have thought he was in love with me? He never said. He planned our wedding. He encouraged me to go back to you after you shot him. He left me behind for two years, thinking he was dead." John's voice had risen to the point of shouting. "Sorry."

Mary appraised him thoughtfully. "So you did see it, see all the ways he cares about you. How he put your happiness above his own, time and time again."

"That isn't what he…"

Mary interrupted. "Isn't it?"

John slumped forward, elbows on his thighs, head in his hands. He exhaled loudly. "I don't know. I don't know anything anymore."

"Was Sherlock upset?"

"That would be putting it mildly."

"I'm sorry."

John bit back his instinctive I bet you are. After his argument with Sherlock, he knew he couldn't handle more conflict that night. Instead he found himself focusing on something Mary had said earlier.

"So, if you weren't surprised by the idea of Sherlock being in love with me, what shocked you before?"

Mary fidgeted with the knitting on her lap. She looked distinctly unhappy, and John suddenly felt worried for whatever shoe was about to drop.

"John, when you returned to me, we promised to be completely truthful with each other."

"Yes."

"But you also didn't want to know about my past, so I decided to be completely honest from that moment forward, and I have been. Ever since Christmas Day, I have been living a truthful life with you." She paused, chewing on her lower lip. "However, in light of tonight's conversation, there is something I should tell you now."

"Okay."

"There is a possibility this baby is not yours."

A roar filled John's ears. He had never imagined this.

Mary sniffed, fighting back tears. "From the way you were mourning Sherlock when I met you and from all of the stories about the two of you in the media, I always assumed you'd been lovers before he jumped."

"Well, you were wrong."

"Yes, but I only just realized that tonight. I mean, he was so clearly in love with you, and you..." Mary trailed off.

"Just say it."

"You have been in love with Sherlock for years. Since before I knew you. And right this very moment."

John honestly had no response to that. And even if he did, he wasn't sure he could make his words louder than those echoing through this head. Everyone knows. In love with Sherlock for years. Not yours. Not yours. Not yours.

Mary continued, sounding almost as if she were talking to herself. "I knew you'd be faithful after we exchanged vows, that's just the kind of man you are. But from the way the two of you looked at each other, I assumed you'd given in, at least had one last fling. So, I decided to have one, too."

Something suddenly clicked for John. "David?"

"Yeah."

John seethed. "And you were never going to tell me?"

"How could I? The baby was the only reason you were willing to come back to our marriage!"

"And it could possibly be based on a lie!"

Mary did not bother to hide her disbelief. "It already was. Our marriage is a lie. I am a lie! And you, you have spent so much time lying to yourself that you don't even realize you're doing it!"

The pain of old accusations stung John. "I am not gay."

"But you're in love with Sherlock Holmes, you have been for years, and you're terrified."

"I'm not…" John's chest was heaving, like the onset of a panic attack. He concentrated on controlling his breathing, and Mary took the opportunity to say something she'd obviously been holding in for some time.

"And you don't have the guts to admit our marriage is the lie you're more comfortable with than the truth."

So many lies, John thought.

"Our marriage is a lie I'm not willing to live anymore, Mary. I'm sorry. I should never have come back."

Mary smiled sadly. "I know."

John recalled how similar David's appearance was to his own, how he'd joked with Sherlock that Mary clearly had a type. And he knew if the baby were David's, he likely would have never guessed.

"Thank you for telling me about the baby now."

Mary put her knitting back on her table and folded her hands over her belly. "We can get a paternity test done as soon as possible."

"Yes, good, right."

The two sat in awkward silence for a few moments before Mary pushed down on the arms of her chair to provide the leverage needed to stand up. John felt a brief pang of guilt for not rushing over to help her, but his body seemed made of lead. He shot her a look that stopped her in the midst of reaching out to touch his shoulder. Instead, she timidly said, "I do love you."

John looked up at Mary's tear-stained face. "I loved who I thought you were, I really did, but I don't love you. I'm sorry."

"I knew, deep down. I just hoped..." Her lower lip trembled as her words trailed off.

They shared an awkward silence, until finally Mary said, "I'm going back to bed."

"Call out if you need anything." John may not love her anymore, but he had a doctor's compassion for a woman near the end of the third trimester.

She gave him a small, grateful smile, and then she turned and walked to their bedroom.

John remained on the couch, next to the bedding he had been using to sleep there since moving back at Christmas. He doubted he'd get much sleep that night. He needed to decide what to do next. Even if the baby were his, the marriage was over. He and Mary could share custody, like any cordial divorced couple. If the baby was not his, leaving Mary would just be that much easier. The disappointment over not being a father would be harder to get over. John knew he needed a safe place to work through that pain, although where remained to be decided.

If he forced himself to be completely honest, his instinct was to run to Baker Street. However, Sherlock did not want him there. He'd made that clear just a few brief hours ago. He'd asked John for space, and John must give it to him. John did not know when Sherlock would want to see him again. John was not sure Sherlock would ever let him come home.

Home.

A single tear dropped from John's eye as he realized his decision had been made long ago.