Prompt at the end

"…which is why the son was there that day. Simple happenstance that saved three lives."

"Fortunate happenstance," I agreed. "Some might call it the blessing of Providence. I imagine that topic will renew itself often. Not many can claim such an occurrence."

He gave a quiet harrumph, obviously not willing to discuss the less than logical aspect of our most recent case. I relaxed into my chair, content to finish my book before supper.

Except I could not stop ruminating on this morning's case. Lestrade had called us to an attempted murder scene—"attempted" only because the son "had a bad feeling" and had managed to drag his parents and baby sister out of the house minutes before the killer's trap would have sprung. They had watched from the street as a rush of flames started at the open door, spread through the house, and broke every window before just as quickly dying. Anyone inside would have sustained major burns at the minimum, but the son's quick thinking had kept them safe, whole, and even with most of their belongings intact. The opened door that had sparked the gas had also done so early. The Gas Light Killer usually let the gas build up enough to explode on its own.

Which meant the son had probably not returned to his own flat tonight. So many what-ifs would maintain line of sight—or at least it usually did for Holmes and me. Holmes denied it aloud, but he did nothing to hide the tendency to busy himself somewhere nearby after one of our more harrowing cases. I usually did the same.

As had Mary, I remembered. While my wife had occasionally bowed out of helping with the case itself, particularly traumatic encounters had both taken us back to Baker Street for the night and kept her in the same room for a day or more. Holmes had silently noted the regular company more than once.

Mary. The name alone brought wave after wave of memories forward. Her bright smile over a surprise meal. Quiet evenings in the sitting room. Gentle nudges whenever my thoughts wandered too far. The surprising degree of stealth employed both in cases and the occasional mischief. Holmes had grumbled for days when she had sneaked up behind him to dump a glass of water over his head, but very few memories could match his surprise when she effortlessly picked a lock. How I missed her, even after so many years.

Wait a minute. How many years had it been? We had entered the new year just over a week ago. Which day this week should I plan to visit the cemetery?

Today. A mental check of the calendar easily recalled the date, and a leaden ball landed in my chest. Today was January eleventh. I had lost Mary on this date so many years ago, yet between that early case and an attempted ambush on the way home, I had not even thought of her until now. How could I have forgotten her like that?

I was a horrible husband.

"Watson?"

I had forgotten her. Completely. I did not have any sort of greenery available, nor did I have time now to visit her grave and return before supper.

Unless I did not want supper?

My stomach rolled at the thought. No, I did not want supper, nor should I stay here and destroy Holmes' post-case high. I had never been able to tolerate his doldrums on top of my own. Better to slip away quietly.

If he let me. Gaining my feet found another pair of shoes matching my pace. I glanced up to find him studying me. Quiet words carried a moment later.

"Alright, Watson?"

No, but I did not say as much. Would not say as much. I refused to voice that she had only just crossed my mind on this most painful of days. I would pick up some greenery and spend a few hours at the cemetery. Maybe there I could convince myself that she would not think any less of me for letting a case take temporary priority. She had always loved Holmes' work, and she had never begrudged the time and distraction that went into helping him, even joining me several times. She would have appreciated that I spent the morning busy instead of alone on a stone bench. Right?

Right. Maybe. I hoped. Another question reached my ears, but I paid him no mind, my thoughts already speeding backwards in time to when a blue-eyed beauty had merrily laughed at one of Holmes' unintentional puns.

I barely remembered to don my coat on my way out the door.

Prompt: Well, That Took a Turn. Create a work which starts out one way (fluff, comedy, light, etc.) and ends in the opposite (angst, tragedy, dark, etc., or vice versa), or otherwise contains opposite aspects.

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