-ooo-

'Mary, it's time to come clean to John, I can't cover for you anymore.' He looked worried for a second. 'I probably shouldn't have done so in the first place.'

'This is hardly the time to develop a conscious, Sherlock', she talked him down, rolling her eyes. 'And besides you can't tell John about me without telling him you've known all along and kept it a secret from him.'

They were standing at a cashier line of a take away restaurant, the closest one to Baker Street. They were surrounded by people, but no one seemed to pay attention to them. Anonymity by numbers, as it were. And none of the spectators seemed to be playing attention to the arm raised to the detective's chest by a protective fabric support.

'John must understand.'

She smiled coldly. 'Only he won't, and he'll pull back from both of us, and we'll lose him both. All the while with a shooter coming after all of us. Is that what you really want?'

'You're blackmailing me, Mary', he said casually, keeping up with the look of one more casual conversation among so many others.

'Yes, I am. And I've been very clear about that from the start, too', she replied in honesty, her big blue eyes rounding in an amiable light.

'So, you just expect me to keep covering for you?'

'Yes. Look, Sherlock, I'm not dragging this situation any longer than it must', Mary tried to sooth.

'You'll really do anything to keep John in the dark, won't you?'

'I guess so.'

'I mean, shooting me yesterday...' Sherlock pondered casually.

There was shock in her expression, than a slight distrust. She gave the restaurant a fast calculating glance.

'The great Sherlock Holmes figured it out... So, what did I do wrong?'

'No poison coating on the bullet.'

'I see... Well, the bullet the real shooter was aiming at you or John had the full trimmings I imagine. That's why I had to break it off.' Her voice was steady and self-assured.

'And you had to shoot me.'

'It's hardly the first time', she faked a smile. 'Though in fairness this time I made sure it wasn't serious.'

'Why not aim at the shooter like it was your original plan?'

She sighed, tiredly. 'The shooter went to the cafe area to look for me. I had a decoy set in place. But I had to give a story to the decoy, I had to make her stand there and look for a specific face in the crowd. She was making her move on you and John, and I couldn't have her describing me to the two of you. The shooter must have spotted you both when she did. Now there was the real danger that he'd shoot John before I could stop him. I had no good angle, I had to improvise... Sherlock, I didn't mean to cause you pain. Instinct kicked in, and that was the only solution I came up with... What would you have done?'

He faked a cold smile.

'I'd have shot the lamp on the ceiling, pulling everything dark, no blood loss.'

She nodded respectfully. 'Well, I wasn't that clever.'

'And the all the rest of the bullets you collected at the train station?' he recovered.

'I'm making a deal to sell them. Hopefully our shooter will be interested. Want to join in the fun?'

Sherlock grimaced. 'You just want me to keep quiet from John.'

'Well, yes, isn't it obvious?' she smiled. 'I'm manipulating you, Sherlock, but I'm not lying to you. I like you too much for that.'

-ooo-

'There you go, Mrs Hudson', John announced, as he insisted on picking a heavy jar of water with his right hand. Again he seemed to be feeling that need to prove that he was absolutely fine, and no one should care to mention the recent events, as he always did. She tried to keep him at bay, fussing over him like a mother. Together, they were setting the meal to everybody, in Baker Street's living room, where the table was now centre stage.

'You just sit down, John Watson, you've done enough for a day already, dear', she repeated.

'Well, I can do more and fetch glasses for everyone...' and he went back into the kitchen.

'John, don't you dare...!' and he almost burst out giggling. (Next would come the vain threats.) 'John, if you don't sit down, I'll... I'll donate all the old stuff you left here to the charity shops!'

'Perhaps you should!' he replied light-heartedly.

'And I'll rent your room upstairs so you can never come back to spend a night!'

'I'll just sleep on the sofa!'

'And I'll never bake you a cake for tea again!'

'Oh, that one actually gets me worried', he told her with a smile.

As John finally took a seat at the table (there was nothing else to be done, really), Mrs Hudson was watching him with a smile. There was her John back. She had missed that John, more open and light. She had no idea what was going on in his head, but she was glad to see him happier.

'Just at the right time!' she realized as they heard Sherlock and Mary's return, downstairs.

They'd come up with a light-hearted attitude that complemented that family-like reunion.

'Oh, Sherlock, you didn't get yourself tired, did you?' Mrs H worried at once, hurrying to reach him, to John's fun and Sherlock's (faked) annoyance. Mary followed the scene with a smug smile.

'It's nothing', he minimised, 'and they gave me extra stitches. John would have done a better job', his friend looked stunned, 'if he wasn't too busy getting the attention for himself...'

John was going to say something, but then he held his breath. Instead, he said, flatly: 'Yeah, sorry about that.' There was some resentment on how childish his friend was.

'He does this double knot thing on the stitches that...'

'Shut up', John interrupted, not meeting his eyes. 'Please.'

Sherlock glanced at John, confused. 'I imagine it's what doctors do in the battle field because it's sturdier and patients need to be moved around often and...'

'I said "please".'

Sherlock glanced again at John and wrapped it up: 'So, basically, John and I could have taken care it all ourselves, which means it wasn't that much to start with', he'd finished proudly.

Mary frowned and questioned back, like he wasn't really human: 'You're not serious, are you?'

'Sherlock!' John demanded silence, looking at him straight. His friend finally faced him.

'Nooo...' he dragged the word slowly, giving it a slight dubious quality. Sherlock lied to appease John, but only because he realized that was what his friend wanted, not really because he understood his need to disguise his abilities. Mary appeared confused. John sunk his head a bit – one of the best minds in the world, and socially a misfit.

'Potatoes, anyone?' Mrs H came to the rescue.

'Yes, please, let's seat down', John played along, glancing at the table, checking yet again if anything was missing. They took their seats at the table enjoying themselves.

'Oh, it's so nice to have my boys back here again', Mrs Hudson started, with a deep smile. Sherlock smiled as well, disguising a wink for her to see, and John glanced over at her as if surprised and then pleased.

'It's nice to be a part of this', Mary said, and John smiled at her, proudly. 'We need to do this more often, and not just when these two get themselves into trouble, Mrs Hudson, right?'

'Mary, dear, those two are always in trouble!'

'She meant us being shot', Sherlock translated too fast, without checking with John.

'I know she did', Mrs H said patiently. 'Just that it's a bit rich coming from her...' she shook her head sadly. 'She shot you before.'

John chocked on a piece of potato, bursting out in coughs to clear his throat.

'Let's just say it wasn't the first time for either of us', Sherlock resumed with a cat-like smile, as John gathered his breath. 'These things happen...' he added like it wasn't important.

'Getting shot happens?' John couldn't contain himself, staring at his friend.

'You should know, it wasn't your first time either...' He got up abruptly, explaining himself: 'I heard Greg Lestrade's footsteps outside, I'm going to open the door to him.'

'I'll go', John immediately interrupted him sternly, 'you sit down and eat, you just got shot.' And to insist, John gave him a heavy look as he got up. Mrs H tried to take his place in her turn but he placed a soft hand on her shoulder to assure her he was sure he could do it. Taken a bit by surprise, John was always so controlled that the soft touch was really out of character for him, she actually accepted. She turned back to Sherlock, making sure he was comfortable.

As John descended the stairs, Mary snapped at Sherlock: 'What are you trying to do?'

'Giving you a chance to cough up', he answered calmly.

'Don't you dare', was all she said, as Mrs Hudson followed their conversation.

'Oh, dear...' Mrs Hudson said at last. 'Oh, Mary, not again...' Mary rolled her eyes at Sherlock, who remained motionless. Most of all, Mary was waiting for all hell to break loose from the other part of the table. 'You need to tell John at once. He's not going to like it...' advised Mrs H, and she shook her head sadly.

Mary was stunned. Mrs Hudson's reaction couldn't have been further from what she would have imagined.