A/N: Chapter 5, in which Mary "enters the stage". I suppose a warning should already have been made that I wrote myself into a corner when it came to post S3 Mary. On a bad flu and a recent S3 hangover at the time I was writing this, my Mary is post S3 reveal, not pregnant or a mother (I offer no detail on reasons but it caused unspoken strain), and much darker than the average take on her (for 2,5 episodes out of 3 we only had access to sweet smart Mary - this is my take on the full Mary). She does love John deeply, but in a very feral and protective way that sometimes bends ethics.

'Because John can't ever know that I lied to him. It would break him, and I would lose him for ever, and Sherlock, I will never let that happen.' -Mary Watson

PS: I kept my disclaimer (I own none of the characters here) in the summary, but it applies throughout this story.

-ooo-

'It's customary', Molly explained bluntly to Sherlock as she handed him the get-better flowers that she had brought for John Watson.

'He'll be... hm... delighted', Sherlock Holmes patched up some words. He then dropped the flowers on the desk.

'So, he's sleeping?' she asked, looking over at John.

'Yes, sorry about that, he really needs to sleep...'

'He's really sleeping?'

'Yes', Sherlock confirmed solemnly. 'He really is.'

'And you're tracking down the shooter. Had any luck yet?'

'There's a list, I'm narrowing it down.'

'Of people who want him dead?'

'No, not much luck there. People actually seem to like him. I guess they never had him hid their cigarettes from them for weeks in a row... No, of people who had the ability to do it. The shot, it was a good shot, an expert shot.'

'John's short, but he's not that small of a target, Sherlock.' She reproached him with a hint of a smile.

'The shooter aimed specifically to the left shoulder, I'm sure of that. And he left by the route he had planned in advance. He...'

Their conversation halted suddenly with a newcomer pacing up the stairs. Sherlock rolled his eyes. Everybody kept coming there and talking about how John should rest and Sherlock should catch the shooter, all the while interrupting them.

Sherlock stepped forward. 'Mary, he's alright.'

She grabbed him by the arm and brushed him aside by force, on her way to John. She completely ignored Molly Hooper, and halted at the sight of John in the chair by the fireplace. Mary knelt by the chair and placed her hand over John's right hand.

'He really needs to rest, Mary, but I can tell you that...'

She interrupted him, with little care for his feelings: 'Shut up, Sherlock, you stop talking now... John, John, please wake up!'

Molly looked over at Sherlock, seeing a slightly guilty expression in his face. John had been shot in his place, after all. And Mary was clinging to that, and waking John up to hear him say he was okay, in a lopsided love. 'John.' Mary looked relieved when he woke up, and focused on her through the exhaustion.

'Mary.' He smiled. 'You're here.'

'I came as fast as I could. How are you?'

'I'm alright now, Mary, I really am, please don't worry.' He looked around the room and saw Sherlock and Molly there as well. 'You look tired, have a seat. Sherlock, would you mind?' he directed her to his friend chair. She refused it, she didn't want to let go. He then re-accommodated himself in the chair slowly to have her seat on the chair's arm, by the warm fireplace. He was possibly less comfortable now, Molly noticed, as she decided to take the chair in front of them, Sherlock's chair. Sherlock himself went into the kitchen to bring some coffee for Mary.

Molly had been at the wedding, her invitation had come from John (and Sherlock) not as much as from Mary. She still felt as if she didn't really know Mary, and sometimes there was something in Mary that put Molly off. Some sort of egotistical love for John Watson, that was more of a love for the love in itself than for the object loved. One moment she was sweet, and John needed someone sweet to balance his stiffness (worse now that he was vulnerable), the next she was a bit abrasive in her conversations with John and Sherlock. Not that they saw it like that. They treated her as one of the guys. And John loved her, but in a different mechanism all together than Mary seemed to be loving him back. That evening, Molly decided to turn her attention to John, in a way she had never really done before. And to protect him, because Molly would stand up for anyone who wasn't standing up enough for themselves (more than she'd ever be able to stand for herself, really).

Possibly because she was looking at John, sharing his chair with Mary, and it reminded her of another time, a Christmas party John had set (even if Sherlock's pretended to complain the whole time) with all their friends. John was the one making sure everyone had drinks and was happy all around, then he sat down with his girlfriend at the time, a tall brunette, sharing that same chair. He gave her the seat and took the chair's arm. He had sat there, having her back, including her in the party by having her take his position while he laboured to make it all perfect. Why had Molly thought of that? That party hadn't turned out for the best, even with John's efforts. And today Molly watched John with his wife. The opposite positions at the moment. But Mary's attitude was not of caring protection, she was hovering over John, dominating him. Could it all be in Molly's head? After all, it had been quite a shock to Mary, maybe she needed all that fierceness to assess her control over the situation...

'Thank you for taking care of John, Sherlock. I'll handle it from now on', she stated, coldly despite her smile. John looked up to her, surprised.

'He's safer here, Mary. He should stay. You can both stay', Sherlock negotiated.

'He was shot here.'

'We made sure it won't happen again.'

Molly wondered who else was "we". It was all Sherlock doing. Maybe a bit of help from his brother. Definitely not John, he hadn't the head in the game yet. Mary seemed convinced he meant himself and John, though. And she hesitated. Did Sherlock just strategically put Mary in a position of having to accept Sherlock's offer to stay in Baker Street or to openly go against her frail health husband? All in front of John, who had hardly noticed any of this interaction?

'Okay, at least for now', Mary conceited. 'I can go home and grab an overnight bag for the both of us.'

'Sherlock,' John started, kind-heartedly, 'she shouldn't go alone. I mean...' he looked over at Mary again, 'I know you can take care of yourself, still...'

Molly stepped in the conversation. 'You can give me the keys. I can take care of that. I'm quite different from Mary, no one will mistake me. And you won't have to leave John, Mary.'

'Well, Maddie...' Mary started, maybe on purpose.

'Molly', John corrected, at once, innocent.

'Yes, Molly, I...'

'We...' John corrected, patient. 'We really appreciate it, Molly, but maybe you can go with her, Sherlock?'

Molly noticed: 'Then there would be no point in me going at all.'

'Sherlock packs the most outrageous things and forgets the basics, really', John fixed it. And it was actually true. 'Don't let him go alone, please, or there'll be nothing right in the bag.'

She smiled softly, she understood what he meant. He couldn't go and protect Sherlock, Mary was pissed at Sherlock because of where it had happened. And John saw it all as it unfolded. He might not have said a word as he could help it but he saw it. John's heart had been the reason Sherlock had developed his own since they met.

'We can do that', Molly assented, looking at Sherlock. He nodded, tense. Leaving John was not a grateful thing for him to do. And he knew Mary could protect John in ways that poor Molly would never really suspect.

'Anything in particular you two need?' Molly asked them, as she grabbed her coat.

'My gun', John answered calmly. 'Sherlock can easily guess where it is.'

'You won't be able to shot it', Molly pointed out his wrapped up arm.

Sherlock cut in: 'Actually he's a great right handed shooter. For some strange reason he decided to learn to shoot with both hands. Came in handy, I suppose.' Molly faked a smile to accompany the comment and left just behind Sherlock.

-ooo-

'Of course you can both stay in the spare bedroom upstairs!' Mrs Hudson agreed at once, John had just got up to ask her that, she had just come upstairs to the kitchen, hovering over all those similar cups of tea. As John listened, Mary was smiling sweetly behind him. 'Are you sure you're going to be comfortable there, John? I'll get you both extra blankets, I just got the heating on upstairs...'

'That is perfect, it really is', he assured her honestly, and behind him Mary went upstairs for a second. After all, she had never been upstairs.

'Your old bedroom, John. Remember all those times you used to come down and watch telly with me?' She gently laid her hand on his arm, and he smiled. She smiled too. He was less tense now. More like the John she was used to. Ever since that business in Saint Bart's... she couldn't still name it out loud... he had become different. Then Mary had come along. She thought Mary would set him right again. But he hadn't changed. Then Sherlock came back, and she thought maybe then he would let his guard back down. But she had been wrong both times. There was a soft heart in John Watson, one he fought to hide under the soldier façade. Now he had been shot, he was struggling to keep up with the act. She could see his hurt more openly, but also his kind heart.

'Don't tell Sherlock, but I miss watching those soaps.'

She smiled to him. 'How about some dinner. I can fix you up something, John.' He tried to refuse but she wouldn't let it go. She had him sit back down on his chair and then left to go downstairs. He stood there watching her leave with half a smile and a pensive mood.

-ooo-

The Watson's house was simple, modest, clean, unpretentious. Sherlock and Molly entered it with John's keys and went straight to work.

Molly hadn't quite realized that John had spoken truthfully when stating that Sherlock's way of wrapping up an overnight bag was unorthodox. Or maybe he did that to mess with John. She made sure he had a clean change of clothes as he gathered whimsical nonsense pieces into the bag.

Sherlock was distracted, and he knew it. Usually he could focus his mental process better than anyone else, but today it felt lost in a multitude of directions. Multiple thoughts about different things all darting across his brain in every direction, he could hardly catch up. Maybe he needed to give himself a break, to have some rest. But how could he, when he still recalled so well how John's warm blood felt drizzling though his fingers. He couldn't stop just yet. Not until the memories washed out a bit...

'Sherlock, he doesn't need his alarm clock, what are you doing?'

Molly was there, kind Molly, but she couldn't really understand.

'I can't stay here any longer.' (I need to go back, Molly. I need to be there.)

'Have you got the gun?' she asked him after a moment's silence.

'In my pocket.'

'Then we should go now.'

'The bags' not ready.'

'It doesn't really matter', she assured him, confusing him.