He didn't think he'd be happy to return home and find that Mary was not there. But he found himself actually hoping that she was not, and finding the flat empty relieved him immensely.

John forced his mind to stay blank as he slowly made his way into the silent flat. Even the simplest thought he forced from his mind. Too many things were bidding for his attention at once, and it was better to shove everything out. To have a blank mind and a blank face and act like nothing happened when something so clearly had.

But the thoughts weren't held at bay for long, not when they seemed insistent on plaguing him until he felt he were going to literally lose his mind all together.

After about a minute of this silent struggle with himself, John took a shower. And it was only during this nearly forty-five minute long period that he allowed himself to think.

He thought about Mary, first, and what he would tell her. He couldn't lie to her, but he seemed to have no other ready alternative. Telling the truth was out of the question.

Of course there was hiding the small nick on John's lip, which Mary would hopefully not notice. But in the event that she did...

I cut myself. Accidentally nicked myself on some – some ice? No. She wouldn't go for that... Then a fall? A punch? Once again his ideas were illogical at best. He went through an entire story of how his meeting with Sherlock didn't go well and they'd got into a row before he shook his head and realised it was ridiculous thinking.

Mary wasn't stupid. She wasn't blind. Of course she would see, if John wasn't careful. He didn't want some stupid incident to ruin what he had with Mary. One stupid act – an act he should have been able to prevent, an act he should have seen coming, an act he should have defended himself against.

So it wasn't really a matter of lying. It was a matter of preservation. Yes. Preservation.

But in order to achieve preservation he'd have to lie first.

John was growing sick of the lies. And thinking of that reminded him of Sherlock.

But he still managed to fight off thinking about...what had happened with Sherlock. He hated thinking about that more than he hated the idea of lying to Mary. He didn't want to think about what he was feeling, or, more, what he was doing.

John closed his eyes, suddenly feeling very tired as the hot water streamed down his face.

He told himself repeatedly he didn't, couldn't, possibly enjoy what had happened. He wasn't like that. Never once in his life had he fancied a man. He had Mary. He was marrying Mary. If that weren't proof enough...

It was shock. Shock that made him feel so dazed and strange. But the fact John had to tell himself this...

He forced himself to stop thinking for a moment to get out of the shower, his skin tingling from the scalding stream. He wasn't going to reach any definitive answers drowning himself (though he could certainly try).

John felt certain the flat would still be empty, so he only wrapped a light robe around his body before stepping out of the bathroom. He was at once greeted with the sight of Mary in the living area.

She didn't notice him at first, and for a second John considered fleeing to their room in order to avoid speaking to her. But he instantly felt like a coward for even thinking that when he saw the look on Mary's soft face. It was clear she had been crying, her eyes swollen and red and her face still wet with tears.

"Mary?" John's voice at once made her jump a little, turning her head up to meet John's eyes. She smiled a small smile, and John could tell it was a forced smile.

"Are you all right?" John asked her, taking a few steps closer to her. He felt certain he knew the answer.

"Oh, I'm...I'm fine," Mary said, not at all convincingly. "Since...since last night I've just had a lot to think about..."

Mary tightened her smile; maybe in an attempt to make it a more convincing one, but John still only saw a pained face hidden behind a mask.

Was this what it was like for her? For Mary to look at John, who promised and promised he was "okay" when in reality he was breaking. Did she feel an unexplainable, immeasurable amount of guilt, the guilt that John felt now?

He really must be a terrible man for not seeing that sooner.

"But...But are you all right, John?" Mary asked, and John's guilt increased at her ability to always turn a situation back to others. "I...got your text about going to see Sherlock...Is everything okay?"

No. No it's not okay. It's not okay because I essentially snogged someone I'm supposed to hate, all the while betraying you. It's not okay because I think I may have enjoyed it. It's not okay because I'm about to lie to you about it, because I'm selfish and don't want to lose you. No. Everything is the very opposite of okay.

"I think so," John said out loud.

Mary smiled; it was a genuine smile this time. "You sorted things out, then?"

How could John find it so easy to lie? With only the smallest amount of guilt, guilt so easily ignored it was almost inhuman.

"Yeah, I think so," he said again, and he wished he had something more to say, but didn't.

Now Mary no longer looked sad at all. Her eyes brightened to the strength of a thousand suns, almost causing John to remember why he fell in love with her. Until he remembered Sherlock. And the terrible things he did. Mary didn't deserve him, but somehow, she still wanted him?

"I'm...I'm proud of you, John." Mary took John's left hand, and John sat down on the couch next to her, suddenly unable to meet her eyes. This didn't stop Mary from kissing him lightly on the cheek. It was an act that was meant to be comforting, but it stung. How long did John think he could go on like this?

"Please," John murmured, his eyes closing.

Mary tightened her grip on John's hand, and even that hurt. The circles she traced on the back of his hand felt the very opposite of soothing.

"What is it?" she asked softly. She still had no idea, did she? Somehow he'd thought that maybe she would see through the lies...or maybe he had hoped.

"I – I can't do this, Mary." The words nearly choked him, and he opened his eyes to stare straight ahead. He felt Mary's hand slide from his own.

"Can't do what?" Her voice only held confusion.

"I can't do this," John repeated, his hands reflexively curling into fists.

"John...can't do what?" The softness and the innocence of her voice was enough for him to snap.

"I can't keep lying to you!" He nearly shouted, but kept his voice as controlled as he could. "I...I can't lie anymore. Nothing's changed between Sherlock and me, all right? If anything it's gotten worse. I'm sorry I didn't tell you that straight away, but I didn't want to...to lose you. Because we didn't fix anything. He kissed me –" – he added this as almost an afterthought – "- and now I don't know what to do, because I still love you but you don't deserve someone who will go behind your back and lie straight to your face."

He hadn't realised he'd stopped breathing halfway through his speech. He let out a deep breath, and risked a glance over at Mary.

She was no longer smiling. But John expected her to look...a bit more upset than this. She didn't look angry, just confused. She didn't seem hurt. And John couldn't understand why she didn't seem angry or hurt.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have lied, but...but I didn't see any alternative..."

Still Mary was silent. John could only wait for her to speak, all the while having more to say. But saying more wouldn't change what Mary was about to say. Anything John said now would be filler words.

"You and Sherlock kissed?" Mary said finally, and John inwardly flinched to hear her say it. All the while he wondered why she said the words with only mild curiosity.

"Sort...sort of," he said vaguely.

Mary paused for a moment, taking in the words. She sighed heavily, and John saw that her eyes were beginning to water.

"Okay...my turn," she said. "There's only one thing that bothers me, John, about everything you just said. It's not the fact he kissed you. I can't lie and say I never saw what was between you two. I had barely known him and I could see clearly he cared for you more than you deserve. More than I ever could."

"That's...That's not true," John blurted out. "We're not – he doesn't –"

"You have to know somewhere in your heart that you care for him too," Mary stopped him. "Just...just reason with yourself to see the truth. You're blinded by a hatred you think you need to feel."

"You can't know that."

"I've been with you long enough to be able to know. Sometimes to know things you don't yet." Mary smiled slightly. "You know you love him, John. It didn't take a kiss, or even him coming back, for you to know that. And...and I can see that as well as anyone in London. And that doesn't bother me. I want you happy. That's all I've ever wanted. And you haven't been completely happy the three years we've been together. And he can give you that sort of happiness I can't."

"What is it then? What...what do I need to do, to show you I only care about – I only need you?"

"I know you care about me, John, you always have," Mary assured him sadly. "But it's not me – normal, innocent me – that you need. I could've been fine with that...but you lied to me about it. You've always lied to me, John. You say you're fine, you say you're 'done' with Sherlock. And suddenly you lie to me about everything being 'fixed.' You lie to me about not caring for him, about not wanting him in your life. It's the lies, John..."

"I'm sorry, I don't know how many more times I can –"

"I'm not the one who needs your apologies, John." Another sigh, and John felt as though the worst was yet to come. "I...I can't do this. I can't...be with someone who loves someone else. Especially if I know. I...you don't need me. You need someone who can figure you out. Someone who understands your moods and what you say. Someone who understands that when you lie that's when to leave you be. But I'm not that person. I don't think I ever was."

John could only stare at her. He felt strangely numb. "So...what are you saying?"

"I don't think we should continue with this. With the wedding, with...with the two of us. I can't be with someone, for the rest of my life, who...who has a heart that belongs to someone else."

Now John felt a strange blow to his stomach, a blow that made the room spin.

"I will always love you, John," Mary whispered. "But not like this."

He didn't remember much of what happened next. He doesn't remember trying to reason with her. He doesn't remember stooping as low as to beg. He only remembered silence. Sleeping for the last time without her. He remembered feeling empty. Cold. As though the warmth Mary brought to the world had been taken away. Which, he guessed, would soon be true.

What he did remember was going out in the middle of the night. He didn't remember how he got to Baker Street, but he was there, at nearly three in the morning. He didn't remember how he got into the flat.

He remembered finding Sherlock awake, playing his violin, staring out the window. John had seen him do this so many times. But this time, and this time only, it enraged him beyond anything he'd ever felt before.

Combined with this, and everything that had happened to him, everything that Sherlock had caused, when the taller man turned around, John did what he should have done a long time ago.

He landed a punch straight into his jaw.