We will meet back on this road, [1/2], part 1
Title: We will meet back on this road, [1/2], part 1
Fandom: Sherlock
Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock nor am I earning any financial gains from this work.
Pairing/Characters: John Watson/Mary Morstan, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Greg Lestrade, Molly Hooper, Mycroft Holmes
Word Count: 13,417
Rating: PG-13
Summary: John and Mary are married, Sherlock and John's relationship is almost back to the way it used to be but everything will change when Mary falls ill. Will John come through it again and how will it once again change his relationship with Sherlock?
Warnings: This first chapter deals a lot with cancer. I have tried to stay true to facts but I am not a doctor, so any mistakes are my own lack of knowledge. I should warn though that if this is a delicate subject to you, that you should perhaps avoid.
Author Notes: This is the third part of the series. The first was And I'm Five Years Ago and Three Thousand Miles Away about when Sherlock comes back after 3 years 'dead' and the prequel was Someone send a runner for the feeling that I lost today about those three years in between.
Cross posted to AO3.
Sherlock keeps crawling from pile to pile, switching crime scene photos to the wrong victims and back again. John refuses to rise to the bait and ask, ‘what are you doing?’
“I’m done with my essays, what about yours?” Mary asks as she comes out of the door to the study in the back corner.
John just points at Sherlock lying flat on his stomach with the three victim photos right in front of his nose.
Mary smiles. “Does the genius want tea?”
Sherlock grunts in reply and John clears his throat. “The normal mind does, if you please.”
“I please.”
“Yes, tea, sugar and milk,” Sherlock says suddenly so John tenses sharply with surprise.
Mary laughs and nods as she crosses the room then on into the kitchen.
“Must you?” John hisses at Sherlock.
“What, speak?”
“You know what I mean.”
Sherlock turns his head to the side to look at John leaning against the arm chair. “She did ask if I wanted tea.”
“Then answer her the first time!”
Sherlock gives John a withering look then turns back to the photos. John rolls his eyes then sits up and shifts closer to Sherlock. He peers over Sherlock’s shoulder to see if Sherlock’s changed anything, left any clues, because, as much as John tries to resist, he is so curious. Sherlock does not rise to John’s bait either of the ‘please tell me’ pose so John sits back, chewing the inside of his cheek.
“At least the carpet is more comfortable.”
“Hmm?” Sherlock pipes up, eyes still on the photos.
“Better than the wood flooring you’ve got back in at your flat.”
“Missing Baker Street, are we?”
“Are you?” John snorts. “With the amount of time you spend at our house do you remember what Baker Street looks like?”
“Oh yes,” Mary moans from the kitchen with a perfect long suffering tone.
Sherlock only cocks an eyebrow over his shoulder at John and smiles. “I can only imagine the terrible things which would happen lest I leave you two alone, possibly cleanliness or pregnancy; can’t have that.”
John hears Mary start to crack up as he sputters. “You… why would you…”
Sherlock smirks and turns back to the photos. He lies still for about ten seconds more then shoots up to sitting, legs crossed in front of him. He puts his hands palm together and twiddles his fingers under his chin.
“It is right in front of me.”
“Clearly.”
“Be serious, John.”
“You have a woman stabbed in her flat, a man stabbed in the first woman’s girlfriend’s flat, and the man’s girlfriend stabbed in…. where was it?”
“The first woman’s sister’s flat.”
“And this isn’t just some love triangle because -“
“Because that’s what Lestrade thinks and, thus, so do you?”
John scoffs. “Just because Greg says -“
“Oh yes, Greg.”
“You’re still mad because he and I got a pint and I didn’t invite you, aren’t you?”
Sherlock snorts. “Puerile.”
“You wouldn’t have wanted to go anyway, Sherlock, so you really shouldn’t be upset about it. I think you were on a case at the time so -“
“I wasn’t.”
“And you don’t even drink!”
Sherlock makes a ‘humph’ type noise and snatches his mobile off the couch on the other side of the photos. “It is not a lover’s quarrel turned to murder.”
“Then what?”
“Then tea.” John and Sherlock look up at the same time to see Mary standing beside them, tea cups in hand. “I would tell you not to put it on the floor but I doubt you’ll listen.”
“You could bring us a tray,” Sherlock points out.
Mary glares half-heartedly and John most definitely does not giggle.
“I could.” She hands Sherlock his tea and then leans over the taller man to give John his.
“Thank you.” John smiles and winks.
Mary just raises her eyebrows back then walks behind him toward the front door and out into the hall with an exaggerated sway of her hips. John watches her go and nearly spills his tea as she turns the corner and up the stairs out of sight.
“Try not to drool,” Sherlock says with annoyance.
John hums quietly and smirks. “What happens, happens.”
“Oh, do kill me again.”
John laughs. “Touchy tonight?”
“This case! The show is too obvious, too melodrama; someone jealous of someone else and too many clues with too many options. I could give you a case for murder for every family member and ten friends each.”
“Please don’t.”
“The sheer amount of physical evidence left could fuel an entire two hour comedy, complete with alternate endings to amuse the tittering crowd.”
“That doesn’t sound half bad…”
“John!” Sherlock groans.
“Drink some of your tea.”
Sherlock picks up his cup from where he’d placed it on the floor and downs the entire thing in three rapid gulps. He gasps loudly and grimaces as he puts the empty cup down, obviously burning his throat with such a display.
“Maybe it’s that thing you said once; the simplest answer is often the right one?”
“And often it is not.”
John sighs and rubs a hand over his face, picking up the evidence bag of business cards from the one flat. “Or maybe it is all a big mistake and the murders linking up is just some crazy happenstance coincidence, now that would be a film.”
Sherlock’s hands stop moving in the air where they’d been circling and his head snaps around toward John. John halts with his teacup at his lips and stares.
“What did you say?”
“Uh,” John blinks, “about the film?”
“Coincidence!”
“You don’t really think these three murders are just coincidences with each other?”
Sherlock grins. “Oh, they certainly are not.”
“Then what?”
“Dear John, as I have said before, your abilities as a source of inspiration are truly invaluable.” He grabs John’s face and kisses John’s forehead before jumping up to his feet, sloshing John’s tea all over John’s jeans.
“Fuck! Sherlock!”
“It’s not three murders, John, it is one!”
“Sherlock, you -“
“One murder disguised by others, so only one real murder!” Sherlock grabs his coat off a hook by the door and throws it over his shoulders with one of his insane cackles. “Just one!”
“Sherlock, I don’t -“
“Have no fear, John. Stay and play house -“
“Play hou- “
“I have a triple, single murderer to catch!”
“You’re insane!” John shouts as the door slams closed.
John stares at the closed door then sags back against the arm chair, further away now so he’s practically lying on the floor. He hears Mary’s footsteps come down the stairs until she is standing over him.
“Have a good time?”
“I have tea on my trousers.”
“Is that a yes?”
John chuckles. “I do not know.”
“Well, Sherlock did leave his entire case on our floor.”
John cranes his neck to look at the mess, papers and evidence (which Sherlock probably shouldn’t have) and photos taking up half the carpet space in the semicircle made by their couch and chairs.
John groans and looks up at Mary again. “Does that mean we need to clean it up now?”
“Who said anything about ‘we’?”
John pouts up at her until the corner of her mouth quirks up. Mary kneels down beside him then pulls John’s head away from the chair and into her lap. She presses her finger tips to his temple and massages slow circles. John’s eyes flutter closed and he slips into the feeling. He sighs happily as Mary keeps massaging and reaches up to absently touch Mary’s thigh under his head. She combs her fingers through his hair slowly then slides up again to rub the sides of his head, warm and soothing and perfect.
“Hmm,” John hums and opens his eyes, “are you real?”
“I believe I was real enough last night.”
John chuckles. “That sounds like a joke.”
“Do you think it is?”
“I know it isn’t.”
Mary laughs as well then leans over and kisses John’s forehead, just to the left of the spot Sherlock kissed.
“I love you, John.”
John smiles. “I love you too.”
----------------
“Great Expectations? Really?”
“It’s a classic.”
Lacy’s forehead scrunches. “Didn’t I read that in third form?”
Mary nods. “Yes, I remember you kept trying to make me summarize chapters for you.”
“You enjoyed it; I found it slow. Made sense to have you tell me about it.” Lacy sips her water. “It would have been quicker.”
“But then you’d never learn.”
“About dear Pup’s coming of age?”
“Pip!”
“I never get tired of hearing you two talk to each other.” Mary and Lacy turn to look at John. He smiles. “Just sounds nothing like Harry and I talking to each other.”
Mary chuckles.
John’s mobile buzzes in his pocket and he pulls it out down by his hip while Mary starts in on the importance of revisiting past literature at different ages.
[Sherlock]: Need your assistance on a case
John frowns and types with this thumb, At dinner, and sends.
“Do you ever make them write essays about what they thought about the book at fifteen versus twenty?” Lacy asks as John looks up again.
“That implies they read it before,” John cuts in, “a lot of assumption in that, right?”
“Hasn’t everyone read Great Expectations before eighteen?” Mary asks with distain. Lacy and John both stare at her. Mary chews her ravioli and looks everywhere but at them. Finally she sighs and shakes her head. “Oh, all right! But really, literature is wasted these days.”
“Spoken just like an English professor,” Lacy counters.
Mary sighs. “In the student’s defense my lecture today was horrible.”
“Oh?” John says
“Did you go off on one of your tangents about adverbs?” Lacy asks.
John snorts into his hand then tries to hide it in his wine glass when Mary shoots a glare at him.
“I was distracted; I’ve just been having bad cramps lately.” Mary shoots a look at John then continues more to Lacy, “all of it just longer, worse lately.”
Fortunately, John’s mobile buzzes again to save him from the ‘lady problems’ talk. He pulls it out to see another text from Sherlock.
[Sherlock]: Your point?
John chuckles and texts back, It’s with Mary and her sister. Can’t.
“…so I just turned it into a student led discussion,” Mary says as John tunes back in.
“Good save!” Lacy spears the last of her steamed vegetables with her fork. “I guess that’s why you get the big bucks.”
“Ha! Now there’s a joke.”
John smiles and kisses Mary’s cheek. “Like we really want money.”
“Oh yes, don’t need that.” Mary shakes her head, putting her fork down and picking up her wine.
“You gonna finish that?” Lacy asks, pointing with her fork at Mary’s half full plate.
“’Going to.’”
Lacy gives Mary a withering look. “Are you going to finish that, madam?”
Mary smiles and shakes her head again. “No, I am not.”
John frowns. “You didn’t have lunch though.”
Mary shrugs. “I’m just not hungry.”
“Hmm,” John narrows his eyes at her, “you’re not dieting or something ridiculous, are you?”
Mary snorts. “Perish the thought.”
“Mine then!” Lacy crows and snatches the plate.
John’s pocket vibrates again and he pulls out his mobile as Mary makes tsking noises at Lacy.
[Sherlock]: Surely you’ve eaten enough, come to Baker Street.
John rolls his eyes though he still grins; Never enough. Just call me later when you’ve passed the ‘brilliant’ phase into real mystery.
“So, question of the night,” Lacy says, “Should I go blond?”
Mary squawks. “What! The lone ginger in the family and you want to tarnish that?”
“Exactly, lone ginger. Might be interesting to blend in for a spell.”
John shrugs. “I could see it.”
Mary waves her hands at both of them. “Oh no, no, no. I forbid it!”
“Didn’t you dye your hair pink once in your past?” John asks.
“That’s not….”
“Exactly.” Lacy leans forward over her new plate. “Doesn’t everyone get a turn?”
John nods. “True.”
“Do not side with her.” Mary put up her finger in John’s face. “You are married to me.”
“Means he has to think like you do?” Lacy clicks her tongue. “Poor, John, no longer able to have an opinion with the shackles of Mary over his wrists.”
“And this is why you wanted to be a theater major when you were sixteen.”
John’s pocket vibrates yet again as Lacy sputters indignantly and says something like, ‘you love Shakespeare.’ John is beginning to suspect that Sherlock does not even have a case but just wants to disrupt John’s night.
“So, does he text more or less since his second birth?” Mary asks suddenly as John starts to sneak his mobile out again. John clears his throat awkwardly as Mary gives him the side eye. “Because if it’s less, then your mobile must have died twice a day before at the rate he goes now.”
Lacy chuckles but says nothing as she puts a fork full of ravioli into her mouth.
John smiles guiltily at Mary and pockets his mobile. “How about I make you a graph?”
“Oh, don’t you dare.”
“An essay?”
Mary smirks. “12 point font and due by Monday.”
John leans into her shoulder. “And is there a page number requirement?”
Mary laughs. “Not for you, love.”
----------------
“How long are we going to stake out this flat?”
“As long as it takes.”
“Is this even legal?” Sherlock snorts which only makes John sigh. “Right, yeah, of course you don’t let those sorts of things stop you.”
“Is it legal to commit fraud?”
John sighs again and lets his binoculars drop. He turns to look at Sherlock lying beside him on the rooftop. “Come on, Sherlock.”
Sherlock glances at John briefly then back through his binoculars. “John, this man has already stolen half a million pounds from our client’s cooperation.”
“The poor, poor corporation.”
“And he has left barely a trace of his computer hacks.”
John purses his lips. “It did take you near ten hours to finally get that code out.”
Sherlock nods and smirks. “Certainly worth a stake out to see him in action.”
“But, again, how do you know he is going to start more money hacking tonight?”
“I don’t.”
“Sher… do you mean we are just going to wait here until -“
“Yes.”
“I do have a job, Sherlock, a wife. Remember those things?”
Sherlock finally turns away from the binoculars and looks at John. He frowns dramatically and raises both eyebrows. “Yet here you are.”
“Because you tricked me,” John points a finger at Sherlock, “again.”
Sherlock smirks. “I believe I used the words ‘invaluable skills’ to tempt you.”
John clicks his teeth. “It was more around the lines of ‘possibly life threatening’ and ‘Mycroft advised against it’ where I came on board.”
Sherlock tilts his head. “Oh?”
“Well, anything to piss off Mycroft.” Sherlock chuckles then John shakes his head. “I couldn’t let you go without back up.”
Sherlock nods, that old soft look on his face which reminds John of the word ‘love,’ then he turns back to his binoculars. “Of course the word ‘danger’ implied there; always was your trigger word to jump on board, wasn’t it?”
John sighs and leans his head on his fist to get slightly more comfortable on the concrete. “Before, I suppose.”
“Still.”
John huffs and shakes his head.
Sherlock peers at John side long. “You disagree?”
“Before it was any case you had that I jumped up and came along, you know that. It’s not the same now, for me at least. People do change and I can’t come on every run and jump and chase you’ve got going on.”
Sherlock ‘hmms’ and shakes his head. “You could.”
“I can’t.”
“You won’t.”
“Sherlock…”
“But surely you miss it?” Sherlock turns and looks at John for a moment.
“We’ve had this conversation.”
Sherlock frowns and turns back to his binoculars. “Yes, of course. ‘Now’ is domestic bliss with Dr. Morstan and ‘before’ was your midlife crisis of adventure to clear out your system before settling into normalcy.”
“You’re being maudlin, Sherlock.”
Sherlock ‘humphs.’ “I mean only that underneath the ‘now’ there is part of you that misses what we had before, you and I, alone fighting against the tide.”
“Poetic.”
“Accurate.”
“Sherlock, I don’t miss before because it wasn’t better.” Sherlock’s head tips slightly in John’s direction though his eyes remain straight ahead in his binoculars. John smiles and touches Sherlock’s hair making the other tense slightly. “Life is perfect now because I have both of you; I have my perfect balance of what I need and want nothing else.”
At that Sherlock turns his head to stare at John. He opens his mouth once then closes it again. His eyes tick up and down John’s face, lips parting but still he says nothing. John snapshots this memory in his mind, Sherlock Holmes speechless. Then John drops his hand from Sherlock’s curls, lifts his binoculars again and turns back to their stakeout subject, now milling about the kitchen of his flat. He feels Sherlock watching the side of his head a moment longer but he lets Sherlock’s brain whirl with no more comment.
“At times, John,” Sherlock finally whispers, “you baffle me.”
John only smiles.
----------------
Mary and John stand side by side brushing their teeth and staring into the bathroom mirror. Mary shifts her feet as she brushes, left then right, left right. John brushes his tongue then bends over and spits into the sink.
“Don’t get your tooth paste on me,” Mary mumbles around her tooth brush.
“You should be so lucky,” John replies as he runs the water, cupping his hand under and sucking some into his mouth to spit twice more. He stands up straight and wipes the edge of his mouth.
Mary pulls her tooth brush out of her mouth and purses her lips at John which loses any attempted effect at mock offense due to the foam at the corners. John breaks and laughs, slipping a hand into her hair. Mary chuckles back in her throat and bats him away so she can rinse her mouth too.
John inches around her and walks down the hall to their bedroom. He pulls off his watch and puts it on the side table, nearly knocking the clock off in the process.
“God,” John mumbles as he sits down and shakes his head.
He yawns and sets the alarm for the morning. Why in the world he is awake at half till midnight when he has to be up at seven is beyond him. It’s probably Mary’s fault in some way.
“Don’t blame me.” John looks up as Mary comes in. “I can see your face doing that ‘Mary’s making me stay up late’ thing again.”
“Oh really?”
“You’re the one who said, ‘Just one more Top Gear,’ not me.”
John frowns then chuckles. He dips his head then looks up again. “Maybe.”
Mary nods and slips under the covers on her side of the bed. “Exactly.”
John rolls and pulls her up against him. “What was I thinking when I could have had such an amazing woman in my bed sooner?”
“Amazing?”
“Articulate?”
Mary laughs.
“Astute?”
“All right, all right! I am impressed by your complementary ‘A’ words you arse.”
“Ah ha, you see, it’s catching.”
Mary laughs again and rolls further into John, pushing him onto his back and her on top. She kisses his lips then cheeks and his lips again. “You are ridiculous.”
“Only because you make me so,” John says, kissing her back.
“I love it.” She scratches her nails through his hair and kisses him hard, sucks on his lip. “You are positively prolific.”
“Changing to P words?”
She chuckles. “I can think of a few.”
John rolls them again, tangling the covers. Mary laughs and kisses, pulls at his shirt and nips at his lips, teeth clicking. “Perfect and predatory.”
“Am I?”
“Oh no, I am.”
She kisses hard and grips his neck, arches up into him, still chuckling so the sound is like music. John pushes against her, one hand in her hair and tastes the mint in their mouths. Mary yanks the covers over their heads then puts both hands on his cheeks, kisses and kissing.
“My John Watson.”
She giggles quietly as she slides her shirt off between them, kissing down his neck. John grips her hips and holds on to the sound of her body with his lips on hers. All John thinks, Mary in his arms, laughter in her voice and sheets around them, is happy, so happy, happy.
----------------
John pulls off his gloves as he walks out of surgery, dropping them and his mask into a biohazard bin. Dr. Chowdhry steps into stride beside him and pushes the button for the double doors.
“Liz went to tell the family all is well.”
“Perfect,” John replies then looks at his watch. “Shit, Aziz, it’s four?”
“I know. I thought we’d been on time but….”
“Yeah, well, better surgery done right than fast.”
Aziz chuckles. “Spoken like a professor.”
John smiles. “I am married to one, rubs off.”
“I bet.”
They turn a corner and walk into John’s office. Patient folders are piled up on both sides of his desk though not high enough to be panic worthy.
Aziz shakes his head and taps the top of one pile. “Follow ups?”
John nods. “A lot of people like to hear back about physical therapy, things like that. I believe it’s called patient care?”
Aziz scoffs. “Oh, well that. I just cut the organs.” He makes a ‘snip snip’ motion with his hand in the air.
John chuckles and opens a drawer in his desk, pulling his mobile out. It buzzes in his hand just as he notices eight text messages waiting for him. It buzzes again and John holds up a finger to Aziz. “Yeah?”
“John?”
“Sherlock.”
“You are at work.”
“It is that time of day…”
Sherlock hangs up. John pulls the mobile away from his ear and stares at it before shifting his eyes back to Aziz.
Aziz raises his eyebrows. “Call lost?”
“You could say that.”
John clicks the screen and scrolls through his texts.
[Sherlock][11:42]: Case. Need you.
[Sherlock][11:50]: Promptly.
[Sherlock][11:55]: Please promptly.
[Mary][12:36]: At the shop, chicken tonight?
[Sherlock][1:05]: If not promptly then now.
[Mary][1:45]: After my Gyno visit and 4:00 Renaissance Lit class I am going to see Harry like promised, told you I would, win to me.
[Mary][2:15]: And when I say ‘see Harry’ you know I only mean 10 minutes, right?
[Sherlock][3:00]: Must I say ‘danger?’
Aziz leans over John’s shoulder as John scrolls and John hears a bad attempt a repressed laughter. “So which one is the wife exactly?”
“Ha ha.” Then John’s mobile buzzes again. He clicks answer with a shake of his head. “Yeah?”
“John, it is nearly five, you cannot give that as an excuse.”
“I hadn’t given any excuses before.”
“I could hear them in your tone.”
“You know, details beyond ‘come, John’ could help with that.”
“Danger, crime, dead body. There you are; are you coming?”
John rolls his eyes and watches Aziz’s smile climb higher. “I’ll call you back.” John hangs up before Sherlock can retort and holds up a finger. “Don’t start.”
Aziz shrugs. “I am just saying, maybe you should tell your boyfriend you’re married.”
John sighs. “If I had a pound for every time -“
“You would be rich beyond my dreams?”
“I’d take you out for a pint.”
“Oh, hey now,” Aziz holds up his hands and backs up toward the office door, “already looks a bit crowded over there, Watson, wouldn’t want to make it three significant others you had to juggle.”
John sits down in his chair and points at the door. “Get on then.”
“Oh, so now you’re not taking me out for a pint?” He frowns. “Shame.”
“Keep that up and I’ll tell Usha all about your flirting.”
Aziz grabs the door handle, “I’m going,” and snaps it shut.
John pulls a few files down into the middle of his desk to go through then stares at his mobile debating the pros and cons of calling Sherlock or Mary first. He very determinedly does not think in any way that Aziz might have a bit of a point.
----------------
John fumbles with his keys, Sherlock’s arm over his shoulder making them both awkward and slow but somehow John manages to fit key to lock. He shoves the door open with his shoulder and half drags Sherlock inside, both groaning as they stumble into the living room.
“What have you… oh no,” Mary says as she stands up shakily from a chair in the living room, some folder in her hand probably full of student papers.
“It’s not as bad as it looks,” John says as he deposits Sherlock into the armchair beside the couch.
“Do speak for yourself,” Sherlock grumbles and puts a hand against the blood still slowly coming from his nose.
Mary’s eyebrows fly up and John shakes his head, “He doesn’t have a concussion.”
“Oh, if only I did, perhaps I would be blissfully unconscious.”
“You’re so funny,” John snaps.
Mary clears her throat and clasps her hands behind her back around the folder. “So, what happened then? Bar fight? Car crash?”
“Now who’s funny?” Sherlock rasps.
“Uh,” John grimaces, “suspect smashed Sherlock’s face into a car hood.”
“What!” Mary shouts. “Why didn’t you go to hospital?”
“I have a doctor here,” Sherlock points at John, “and as he said, no concussion.”
“Have you noticed you are bleeding from your nose?” Mary says deadpan.
John shakes his head. “I can up fix him, just need to get my supplies.”
“See?”
Mary sighs distractedly. “Don’t bleed on the chair.”
Sherlock huffs then frowns. John just shakes his head again and walks over to the stairs. John jogs up and into the upstairs bathroom. He has to root around for a few things, gauze in the closet but eventually he finds everything he needs. Sherlock has a cut on his forehead too that might need suturing but probably just a bandage will do; would be good to have something for the bruising so Sherlock doesn’t end up looking like he was punched in both eyes.
When John comes back downstairs with his kit, Sherlock and Mary are standing facing each other in front of the couch. Mary’s hands are at her sides and the folder she’d been holding before is on the floor now, a few papers scattered. Neither of them speaks.
John stops at the edge of the one step down into the living room and cocks his head. “You two aren’t fighting again, are you?”
Mary’s head snaps to him in surprise and she crouches down quickly and gathers up all the papers and folder. She shakes her head and laughs airily. “No, uh, no we… we were -“
“Talking about another of her ridiculous Shakespeare courses which rely too heavily on Hamlet as God’s work,” Sherlock finishes still staring at Mary.
Mary straightens up again opens her mouth at Sherlock then turns to John again with a chuckle. “I, ha, well.”
John nods with eyes narrowed, looks back and forth between the two of them but then Mary turns and sits down making the air seem to expand again. John watches her a moment then glances at Sherlock. He finally turns to look at John and John sees the bleeding has stopped.
“All right,” John shrugs and steps over to Sherlock, pushing him back into the chair. “Let’s clean you up then.”
Sherlock frowns more but let’s John clean and tape him up, eyes staying on John and never once straying to the room or Mary behind John. Months later a light bulb will click on when John thinks of this moment and he will hate them both for it.
----------------
“Another case solved for your boys, Lestrade.”
Greg rolls his eyes while John suppresses a grin. Sherlock holds out the flash drive with the damning photographs for their suspect now sitting on the curb in handcuffs to Greg. After a beat Greg takes the flash drive with a gloved hand.
“Do I need to dust this for finger prints?”
Sherlock only snorts.
John clears his throat. “Best not.”
Greg sighs again. “Just in case?” John makes an apologetic face which only takes Greg twenty seconds to cave under. “Fine then. I assume you want to be well out of the credit for this?”
“Oh well, wouldn’t want your superintendent getting punched once more, would we?” Sherlock grins then flashes at look at John.
John shakes his head, expression completely innocent.
Lestrade sighs for the hundredth time. “I think I liked it better when you two were fighting.” Sherlock frowns and John snorts. Greg shoots John a look. “Don’t you have a real job?”
“Do you?”
Greg scoffs. “See if I ever buy you a pint again.”
“Ha!” John crosses his arms. “I bought last time if I remember right.”
“Socializing,” Sherlock grumbles.
“All right, all right,” Greg admonishes toward Sherlock, “Thank you, you’re a genius,” then turns to John, “and you’re a saint. Now both of you out of my crime scene before Anderson or someone comes to loudly complain.”
Sherlock smirks and turns on his heel, marching away. John smiles at Greg who rolls his eyes back. John laughs once, shakes his head, then turns and jogs after Sherlock. He catches up at the corner where Sherlock stands hailing a cab.
“Fun one that,” John says.
Sherlock turns to him with a small smile. “Glad you came along?”
“Oh yeah, just like old times.”
Sherlock frowns. “That phrase is erroneously generalizing. All my cases have very different elements, path ways and results and, thus, none really can be called ‘old times.’ Not to forget that such a phrase usually links so strongly to nostalgia as to warp any view of supposed ‘old times.’”
“And now this brings to mind the phrase ‘rain on my parade.’”
Sherlock frowns again but John cocks his head to the side and smiles until Sherlock finally breaks and smiles back at him; two for two tonight. Then a taxi pulls up beside the curb. They hop inside, John getting to the punch first so they go to his house and not Baker Street. Sherlock fixes John with a look but does not protest.
They ride in silence for a few minutes until Sherlock taps his phone on the edge of the window and John peers sidelong at him. “John, have you and Mary…”
John waits when Sherlock trails off and then presses, “What?”
Sherlock turns and looks at him, eyes running up and down twice then he shakes his head. “No, no I didn’t think so.”
John crosses his arms with a smile and huffs. “Do I want to know what you’re observing this time?”
Sherlock turns away. “No, you don’t.”
----------------------
John and Mary slide across the dance floor in some amalgamation of a ballroom dance, the twist and John wanting to look suave. Neither Mary nor he are exactly formally taught dancers but then everyone else at this club seems to be on the same page. It’s one of the few places that manages to straddle the line between hip and ‘old folk;’ no flashing epileptic seizure lights but also no elevator music and 80-something loners planted at the bar. Instead, one finds drinks, swing, and jazz music and enough dancing that John can pretend he is in a 1920’s era film. Call it a treat.
John and Mary do not exactly have ‘date nights.’ John always thought such a distinction was corny when one was married. Isn’t every night ‘date night?’ Then again that distinction is just as bad.
“Want to stop for a drink?” Mary asks.
“Why?” John twirls them to the left. “Am I no longer impressing you?”
Mary smiles. “You call this impressive?”
John does a quick cha-cha and turns them in a kind of Anglicized salsa back and forth. He grins. “I think so.”
Mary runs her fingers through his hair once and still smiles. “Okay, maybe.”
John turns them, twirls Mary once, then pulls her back into his arms and cocks his head. “Just maybe?”
Mary laughs though it cuts off in a strange way and she nods quickly. “All right,” she takes the lead and turns them in a graceful loop around another couple, “very impressive.”
John chuckles and nestles his face in her hair, chest to chest simply rocking to the saxophone music for a moment. She smells like shampoo and ink and he presses his fingertips into the skin of her back to feel bone underneath; complete and real under his touch because maybe sometimes he still doubts she is really here.
As they turn again, heels clicking, John leans back and suddenly notices tears in Mary’s eyes. He grips her a bit tighter and kisses her cheek. “Hey, you all right?”
Mary laughs breathlessly and makes a quiet sniffing noise. “Ha, yes.”
“But you’re cry-“
“I know, I’m just…” She sighs as she presses herself against him, cheek to cheek, and her voice soft in his ear. “I’m just so happy I met you, John.”
-----------------
Mary and John sit at the kitchen table eating dinner, John’s best attempt at chicken masala. John has made it before but that attempt ended in something akin to Harry’s cooking so he hadn’t tried again; this time the chicken appears quite cooked and nothing burnt. Neither of them are that good cooks but John thinks he can win this long game if he keeps at it.
John watches Mary, her fork mostly making circles on her plate instead of bringing food to mouth. “Don’t like it?”
Mary looks up and chuckles. “It’s fine, John.”
John purses his lips and raises an eyebrow. “Uh huh.”
Mary rests the tip of her fork on her plate then lets it go, laying her palms flat on the table. “I have something to tell you, John.”
John chews slowly and tilts his head. “All right?”
She pulls her hands off the table and rubs them together then puts them down again. John puts his fork down as well and sits up, waiting. Mary clears her throat and tosses hair out of her face. Then she looks John right in the eye. “John, I have ovarian cancer.”
John’s stomach drops in the most literal sense possible and he feels a shake in his one hand. John clenches his fist slowly and swallows. “Ah.”
Mary stares at him for a moment as neither of them speak. Then she breathes in slowly and shifts her chair closer to the table. “Did you hear what I said, John?”
John swallows and nods. “Yes, uh… I did.”
Mary slides her hand across the table and covers John’s. “I found out at my last Gynecologist visit -“
“That was over a month ago.”
“I know.” John opens his mouth again but Mary squeezes his hand and he stops. “I’m sorry. I wanted to get the biopsy to be sure before I told you.”
“But when did you -“
“When you went on that case with Sherlock that had you in Dublin a night.” John clenches his teeth but only nods. Mary smiles and rubs a pattern on the back of his hand. “So, it’s confirmed now and…” She breathes in again. “It’s…” She blows out a breath, closes her eyes once then opens them again. “It’s stage four.”
“Stage four…” John says like frost falling.
“I, uh…” Mary looks down at the table and their plates. “I have an appointment to figure out treatment options - you know when, where I should go, details, something about category and surgery - same stuff of course, and the doctor said we need to move quickly before -“
John sees her control starting to slip and John puts his other hand on top of hers. “Mary.”
She looks up at him suddenly and her jaw clenches. “John, I…”
“It’s fine.” John nods reassuringly. “We will figure this all out.”
“You can probably understand more of what they say anyway,” Mary whispers.
John nods again, “Yes,” keeping his voice calm and controlled as Mary is despite the pulse he feels in her hand. “I will.”
“Yes.”
“Mary, we will figure this out.”
“There’s no figuring out, John, we know what this is!” Mary snaps. John nods again as Mary sighs. “I’m sorry, I…“
“It’s all right, Mary, don’t apologize.”
She shakes her head and stares up at the ceiling. “I’ve just… I’ve been keeping this in….”
“You know you didn’t have to.”
Mary’s eyes tick down again. “Yes, I did, John. I needed to.”
John refuses to overanalyze and squeezes her hand like she did his. “We are in this together and I am going to pull you through, all right? Everything is going to fine.”
“You say that, but -“
“Mary, you are a fighter, we both are.”
Mary laughs. “Oh, don’t I know.”
John smiles and kisses her fingertips. “I love you, Mary.”
Mary breathes in sharply with a shake of her head then leans over and rests her forehead on their clasped hands, breathing slowly in time with John’s hand stroking her hair.
------------------
Sherlock is already looking at the doorway when John enters the flat after bounding up the stairs. John breathes in and out as Sherlock watches him, fingers still on the keys of his laptop. John swallows but it takes him another minute to form any words.
“Mary…” is all he can say.
“She told you.”
John sucks in a ragged gulp of air. “You knew?”
Sherlock stares back at John and does not answer. John breathes through his nose to calm his erratic pulse but it does no good. John shakes his head hard and clenches a fist.
“Why would you not fucking tell me something like this?” he barks.
“She asked me not to.”
John laughs harshly. “And since when do you listen to anyone but yourself?”
“John, sit down.”
“Sit down?” John snaps. “That’s what you say?”
“John, your reaction is -“
“My reaction is all mine, Sherlock, don’t you tell me what it is or what it should be!” John shouts, all his control with Mary, all his attempts at calm out the window now.
“John, please sit down.”
“My wife has stage four cancer and you say sit down!” John shouts so that it sounds like tearing in his throat, like an anguished scream.
“Sit down, now,” Sherlock commands sharply and this time John listens.
John sits on the couch and puts his head in his hands with a groan. “Oh god…”
Silence clamps down and for five minutes neither of them speak, tears dripping onto the carpet and John’s fingers fisted tightly in his short hair. He feels Sherlock’s presence across the room, knows his friend is there, but apart from that he could be alone in the flat.
“I…. do you…” Sherlock clears his throat and his voice is that attempt at ‘normal,’ ‘generic,’ proper’ he always fails at. “Do you want tea?”
John laughs but cuts it off with a gasp.
“Perhaps not…” Sherlock whispers.
“You’re right,” John shakes his head in his hands. “I know why she waited, why she didn’t tell me right away; takes anyone time to process of course, of course! But…” John groans and snaps his head up, swinging his body along so his head knocks against the edge of the couch. “I’m a doctor! I could…. I mean… Damn it!” John throws up both hands and protests the ceiling. “I know how this goes! It’s not my specialty, no, but I know how… How…” His voice drops in volume. “How it could go.” He breathes in sharply and sits up again, counting on his palm with two fingers. “I know all the steps, the stages, the symptoms as it progresses, the process, the treatments, who she should talk to, what we should do, where she should go - and why are you being so quiet?” John snaps the end and looks at Sherlock again.
Sherlock slips his hands slowly off his keyboard and threads them together. “You do not want to hear what I have to say.”
“No, I do.”
Sherlock sighs and tilts his head. “I am not a doctor, John, but I know you need to be prepared that the possibility is -“
“No, you’re right,” John interrupts, “I don’t want to hear what you have to say.”
“John…”
“I swear, if you say something like ‘it will all be okay…’”
“Why would I say that?”
“To have some fucking compassion, maybe!”
They fall silent again, the only sound John’s harsh breathing. He hunches over and clenches his hands, runs one palm over his knuckles then vice versa over and over. He shoots a glare at Sherlock then looks at the wood floor - the carpet gone as if Mary and he had never lived here in the time in between.
“You’re not angry with me,” Sherlock says finally.
“No?”
“No.”
John huffs a breath out and shakes his head. “No… no…”
He hears Sherlock’s chair move and then Sherlock is crouching down in front of him. Sherlock puts his hands on John’s shoulders and it makes John shudder. He looks up at Sherlock who only looks back him, does not challenge John’s emotional reaction now, does not over explain the situation or call him an idiot. John feels like he cannot breathe and he slides his hands over his face, shifts forward and into Sherlock. Sherlock does not move, only keeps his hands on John’s shoulders as John shakes and cracks and falls and spins away.
PART 2
Fandom: Sherlock
Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock nor am I earning any financial gains from this work.
Pairing/Characters: John Watson/Mary Morstan, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Greg Lestrade, Molly Hooper, Mycroft Holmes
Word Count: 13,417
Rating: PG-13
Summary: John and Mary are married, Sherlock and John's relationship is almost back to the way it used to be but everything will change when Mary falls ill. Will John come through it again and how will it once again change his relationship with Sherlock?
Warnings: This first chapter deals a lot with cancer. I have tried to stay true to facts but I am not a doctor, so any mistakes are my own lack of knowledge. I should warn though that if this is a delicate subject to you, that you should perhaps avoid.
Author Notes: This is the third part of the series. The first was And I'm Five Years Ago and Three Thousand Miles Away about when Sherlock comes back after 3 years 'dead' and the prequel was Someone send a runner for the feeling that I lost today about those three years in between.
Cross posted to AO3.
Sherlock keeps crawling from pile to pile, switching crime scene photos to the wrong victims and back again. John refuses to rise to the bait and ask, ‘what are you doing?’
“I’m done with my essays, what about yours?” Mary asks as she comes out of the door to the study in the back corner.
John just points at Sherlock lying flat on his stomach with the three victim photos right in front of his nose.
Mary smiles. “Does the genius want tea?”
Sherlock grunts in reply and John clears his throat. “The normal mind does, if you please.”
“I please.”
“Yes, tea, sugar and milk,” Sherlock says suddenly so John tenses sharply with surprise.
Mary laughs and nods as she crosses the room then on into the kitchen.
“Must you?” John hisses at Sherlock.
“What, speak?”
“You know what I mean.”
Sherlock turns his head to the side to look at John leaning against the arm chair. “She did ask if I wanted tea.”
“Then answer her the first time!”
Sherlock gives John a withering look then turns back to the photos. John rolls his eyes then sits up and shifts closer to Sherlock. He peers over Sherlock’s shoulder to see if Sherlock’s changed anything, left any clues, because, as much as John tries to resist, he is so curious. Sherlock does not rise to John’s bait either of the ‘please tell me’ pose so John sits back, chewing the inside of his cheek.
“At least the carpet is more comfortable.”
“Hmm?” Sherlock pipes up, eyes still on the photos.
“Better than the wood flooring you’ve got back in at your flat.”
“Missing Baker Street, are we?”
“Are you?” John snorts. “With the amount of time you spend at our house do you remember what Baker Street looks like?”
“Oh yes,” Mary moans from the kitchen with a perfect long suffering tone.
Sherlock only cocks an eyebrow over his shoulder at John and smiles. “I can only imagine the terrible things which would happen lest I leave you two alone, possibly cleanliness or pregnancy; can’t have that.”
John hears Mary start to crack up as he sputters. “You… why would you…”
Sherlock smirks and turns back to the photos. He lies still for about ten seconds more then shoots up to sitting, legs crossed in front of him. He puts his hands palm together and twiddles his fingers under his chin.
“It is right in front of me.”
“Clearly.”
“Be serious, John.”
“You have a woman stabbed in her flat, a man stabbed in the first woman’s girlfriend’s flat, and the man’s girlfriend stabbed in…. where was it?”
“The first woman’s sister’s flat.”
“And this isn’t just some love triangle because -“
“Because that’s what Lestrade thinks and, thus, so do you?”
John scoffs. “Just because Greg says -“
“Oh yes, Greg.”
“You’re still mad because he and I got a pint and I didn’t invite you, aren’t you?”
Sherlock snorts. “Puerile.”
“You wouldn’t have wanted to go anyway, Sherlock, so you really shouldn’t be upset about it. I think you were on a case at the time so -“
“I wasn’t.”
“And you don’t even drink!”
Sherlock makes a ‘humph’ type noise and snatches his mobile off the couch on the other side of the photos. “It is not a lover’s quarrel turned to murder.”
“Then what?”
“Then tea.” John and Sherlock look up at the same time to see Mary standing beside them, tea cups in hand. “I would tell you not to put it on the floor but I doubt you’ll listen.”
“You could bring us a tray,” Sherlock points out.
Mary glares half-heartedly and John most definitely does not giggle.
“I could.” She hands Sherlock his tea and then leans over the taller man to give John his.
“Thank you.” John smiles and winks.
Mary just raises her eyebrows back then walks behind him toward the front door and out into the hall with an exaggerated sway of her hips. John watches her go and nearly spills his tea as she turns the corner and up the stairs out of sight.
“Try not to drool,” Sherlock says with annoyance.
John hums quietly and smirks. “What happens, happens.”
“Oh, do kill me again.”
John laughs. “Touchy tonight?”
“This case! The show is too obvious, too melodrama; someone jealous of someone else and too many clues with too many options. I could give you a case for murder for every family member and ten friends each.”
“Please don’t.”
“The sheer amount of physical evidence left could fuel an entire two hour comedy, complete with alternate endings to amuse the tittering crowd.”
“That doesn’t sound half bad…”
“John!” Sherlock groans.
“Drink some of your tea.”
Sherlock picks up his cup from where he’d placed it on the floor and downs the entire thing in three rapid gulps. He gasps loudly and grimaces as he puts the empty cup down, obviously burning his throat with such a display.
“Maybe it’s that thing you said once; the simplest answer is often the right one?”
“And often it is not.”
John sighs and rubs a hand over his face, picking up the evidence bag of business cards from the one flat. “Or maybe it is all a big mistake and the murders linking up is just some crazy happenstance coincidence, now that would be a film.”
Sherlock’s hands stop moving in the air where they’d been circling and his head snaps around toward John. John halts with his teacup at his lips and stares.
“What did you say?”
“Uh,” John blinks, “about the film?”
“Coincidence!”
“You don’t really think these three murders are just coincidences with each other?”
Sherlock grins. “Oh, they certainly are not.”
“Then what?”
“Dear John, as I have said before, your abilities as a source of inspiration are truly invaluable.” He grabs John’s face and kisses John’s forehead before jumping up to his feet, sloshing John’s tea all over John’s jeans.
“Fuck! Sherlock!”
“It’s not three murders, John, it is one!”
“Sherlock, you -“
“One murder disguised by others, so only one real murder!” Sherlock grabs his coat off a hook by the door and throws it over his shoulders with one of his insane cackles. “Just one!”
“Sherlock, I don’t -“
“Have no fear, John. Stay and play house -“
“Play hou- “
“I have a triple, single murderer to catch!”
“You’re insane!” John shouts as the door slams closed.
John stares at the closed door then sags back against the arm chair, further away now so he’s practically lying on the floor. He hears Mary’s footsteps come down the stairs until she is standing over him.
“Have a good time?”
“I have tea on my trousers.”
“Is that a yes?”
John chuckles. “I do not know.”
“Well, Sherlock did leave his entire case on our floor.”
John cranes his neck to look at the mess, papers and evidence (which Sherlock probably shouldn’t have) and photos taking up half the carpet space in the semicircle made by their couch and chairs.
John groans and looks up at Mary again. “Does that mean we need to clean it up now?”
“Who said anything about ‘we’?”
John pouts up at her until the corner of her mouth quirks up. Mary kneels down beside him then pulls John’s head away from the chair and into her lap. She presses her finger tips to his temple and massages slow circles. John’s eyes flutter closed and he slips into the feeling. He sighs happily as Mary keeps massaging and reaches up to absently touch Mary’s thigh under his head. She combs her fingers through his hair slowly then slides up again to rub the sides of his head, warm and soothing and perfect.
“Hmm,” John hums and opens his eyes, “are you real?”
“I believe I was real enough last night.”
John chuckles. “That sounds like a joke.”
“Do you think it is?”
“I know it isn’t.”
Mary laughs as well then leans over and kisses John’s forehead, just to the left of the spot Sherlock kissed.
“I love you, John.”
John smiles. “I love you too.”
----------------
“Great Expectations? Really?”
“It’s a classic.”
Lacy’s forehead scrunches. “Didn’t I read that in third form?”
Mary nods. “Yes, I remember you kept trying to make me summarize chapters for you.”
“You enjoyed it; I found it slow. Made sense to have you tell me about it.” Lacy sips her water. “It would have been quicker.”
“But then you’d never learn.”
“About dear Pup’s coming of age?”
“Pip!”
“I never get tired of hearing you two talk to each other.” Mary and Lacy turn to look at John. He smiles. “Just sounds nothing like Harry and I talking to each other.”
Mary chuckles.
John’s mobile buzzes in his pocket and he pulls it out down by his hip while Mary starts in on the importance of revisiting past literature at different ages.
[Sherlock]: Need your assistance on a case
John frowns and types with this thumb, At dinner, and sends.
“Do you ever make them write essays about what they thought about the book at fifteen versus twenty?” Lacy asks as John looks up again.
“That implies they read it before,” John cuts in, “a lot of assumption in that, right?”
“Hasn’t everyone read Great Expectations before eighteen?” Mary asks with distain. Lacy and John both stare at her. Mary chews her ravioli and looks everywhere but at them. Finally she sighs and shakes her head. “Oh, all right! But really, literature is wasted these days.”
“Spoken just like an English professor,” Lacy counters.
Mary sighs. “In the student’s defense my lecture today was horrible.”
“Oh?” John says
“Did you go off on one of your tangents about adverbs?” Lacy asks.
John snorts into his hand then tries to hide it in his wine glass when Mary shoots a glare at him.
“I was distracted; I’ve just been having bad cramps lately.” Mary shoots a look at John then continues more to Lacy, “all of it just longer, worse lately.”
Fortunately, John’s mobile buzzes again to save him from the ‘lady problems’ talk. He pulls it out to see another text from Sherlock.
[Sherlock]: Your point?
John chuckles and texts back, It’s with Mary and her sister. Can’t.
“…so I just turned it into a student led discussion,” Mary says as John tunes back in.
“Good save!” Lacy spears the last of her steamed vegetables with her fork. “I guess that’s why you get the big bucks.”
“Ha! Now there’s a joke.”
John smiles and kisses Mary’s cheek. “Like we really want money.”
“Oh yes, don’t need that.” Mary shakes her head, putting her fork down and picking up her wine.
“You gonna finish that?” Lacy asks, pointing with her fork at Mary’s half full plate.
“’Going to.’”
Lacy gives Mary a withering look. “Are you going to finish that, madam?”
Mary smiles and shakes her head again. “No, I am not.”
John frowns. “You didn’t have lunch though.”
Mary shrugs. “I’m just not hungry.”
“Hmm,” John narrows his eyes at her, “you’re not dieting or something ridiculous, are you?”
Mary snorts. “Perish the thought.”
“Mine then!” Lacy crows and snatches the plate.
John’s pocket vibrates again and he pulls out his mobile as Mary makes tsking noises at Lacy.
[Sherlock]: Surely you’ve eaten enough, come to Baker Street.
John rolls his eyes though he still grins; Never enough. Just call me later when you’ve passed the ‘brilliant’ phase into real mystery.
“So, question of the night,” Lacy says, “Should I go blond?”
Mary squawks. “What! The lone ginger in the family and you want to tarnish that?”
“Exactly, lone ginger. Might be interesting to blend in for a spell.”
John shrugs. “I could see it.”
Mary waves her hands at both of them. “Oh no, no, no. I forbid it!”
“Didn’t you dye your hair pink once in your past?” John asks.
“That’s not….”
“Exactly.” Lacy leans forward over her new plate. “Doesn’t everyone get a turn?”
John nods. “True.”
“Do not side with her.” Mary put up her finger in John’s face. “You are married to me.”
“Means he has to think like you do?” Lacy clicks her tongue. “Poor, John, no longer able to have an opinion with the shackles of Mary over his wrists.”
“And this is why you wanted to be a theater major when you were sixteen.”
John’s pocket vibrates yet again as Lacy sputters indignantly and says something like, ‘you love Shakespeare.’ John is beginning to suspect that Sherlock does not even have a case but just wants to disrupt John’s night.
“So, does he text more or less since his second birth?” Mary asks suddenly as John starts to sneak his mobile out again. John clears his throat awkwardly as Mary gives him the side eye. “Because if it’s less, then your mobile must have died twice a day before at the rate he goes now.”
Lacy chuckles but says nothing as she puts a fork full of ravioli into her mouth.
John smiles guiltily at Mary and pockets his mobile. “How about I make you a graph?”
“Oh, don’t you dare.”
“An essay?”
Mary smirks. “12 point font and due by Monday.”
John leans into her shoulder. “And is there a page number requirement?”
Mary laughs. “Not for you, love.”
----------------
“How long are we going to stake out this flat?”
“As long as it takes.”
“Is this even legal?” Sherlock snorts which only makes John sigh. “Right, yeah, of course you don’t let those sorts of things stop you.”
“Is it legal to commit fraud?”
John sighs again and lets his binoculars drop. He turns to look at Sherlock lying beside him on the rooftop. “Come on, Sherlock.”
Sherlock glances at John briefly then back through his binoculars. “John, this man has already stolen half a million pounds from our client’s cooperation.”
“The poor, poor corporation.”
“And he has left barely a trace of his computer hacks.”
John purses his lips. “It did take you near ten hours to finally get that code out.”
Sherlock nods and smirks. “Certainly worth a stake out to see him in action.”
“But, again, how do you know he is going to start more money hacking tonight?”
“I don’t.”
“Sher… do you mean we are just going to wait here until -“
“Yes.”
“I do have a job, Sherlock, a wife. Remember those things?”
Sherlock finally turns away from the binoculars and looks at John. He frowns dramatically and raises both eyebrows. “Yet here you are.”
“Because you tricked me,” John points a finger at Sherlock, “again.”
Sherlock smirks. “I believe I used the words ‘invaluable skills’ to tempt you.”
John clicks his teeth. “It was more around the lines of ‘possibly life threatening’ and ‘Mycroft advised against it’ where I came on board.”
Sherlock tilts his head. “Oh?”
“Well, anything to piss off Mycroft.” Sherlock chuckles then John shakes his head. “I couldn’t let you go without back up.”
Sherlock nods, that old soft look on his face which reminds John of the word ‘love,’ then he turns back to his binoculars. “Of course the word ‘danger’ implied there; always was your trigger word to jump on board, wasn’t it?”
John sighs and leans his head on his fist to get slightly more comfortable on the concrete. “Before, I suppose.”
“Still.”
John huffs and shakes his head.
Sherlock peers at John side long. “You disagree?”
“Before it was any case you had that I jumped up and came along, you know that. It’s not the same now, for me at least. People do change and I can’t come on every run and jump and chase you’ve got going on.”
Sherlock ‘hmms’ and shakes his head. “You could.”
“I can’t.”
“You won’t.”
“Sherlock…”
“But surely you miss it?” Sherlock turns and looks at John for a moment.
“We’ve had this conversation.”
Sherlock frowns and turns back to his binoculars. “Yes, of course. ‘Now’ is domestic bliss with Dr. Morstan and ‘before’ was your midlife crisis of adventure to clear out your system before settling into normalcy.”
“You’re being maudlin, Sherlock.”
Sherlock ‘humphs.’ “I mean only that underneath the ‘now’ there is part of you that misses what we had before, you and I, alone fighting against the tide.”
“Poetic.”
“Accurate.”
“Sherlock, I don’t miss before because it wasn’t better.” Sherlock’s head tips slightly in John’s direction though his eyes remain straight ahead in his binoculars. John smiles and touches Sherlock’s hair making the other tense slightly. “Life is perfect now because I have both of you; I have my perfect balance of what I need and want nothing else.”
At that Sherlock turns his head to stare at John. He opens his mouth once then closes it again. His eyes tick up and down John’s face, lips parting but still he says nothing. John snapshots this memory in his mind, Sherlock Holmes speechless. Then John drops his hand from Sherlock’s curls, lifts his binoculars again and turns back to their stakeout subject, now milling about the kitchen of his flat. He feels Sherlock watching the side of his head a moment longer but he lets Sherlock’s brain whirl with no more comment.
“At times, John,” Sherlock finally whispers, “you baffle me.”
John only smiles.
----------------
Mary and John stand side by side brushing their teeth and staring into the bathroom mirror. Mary shifts her feet as she brushes, left then right, left right. John brushes his tongue then bends over and spits into the sink.
“Don’t get your tooth paste on me,” Mary mumbles around her tooth brush.
“You should be so lucky,” John replies as he runs the water, cupping his hand under and sucking some into his mouth to spit twice more. He stands up straight and wipes the edge of his mouth.
Mary pulls her tooth brush out of her mouth and purses her lips at John which loses any attempted effect at mock offense due to the foam at the corners. John breaks and laughs, slipping a hand into her hair. Mary chuckles back in her throat and bats him away so she can rinse her mouth too.
John inches around her and walks down the hall to their bedroom. He pulls off his watch and puts it on the side table, nearly knocking the clock off in the process.
“God,” John mumbles as he sits down and shakes his head.
He yawns and sets the alarm for the morning. Why in the world he is awake at half till midnight when he has to be up at seven is beyond him. It’s probably Mary’s fault in some way.
“Don’t blame me.” John looks up as Mary comes in. “I can see your face doing that ‘Mary’s making me stay up late’ thing again.”
“Oh really?”
“You’re the one who said, ‘Just one more Top Gear,’ not me.”
John frowns then chuckles. He dips his head then looks up again. “Maybe.”
Mary nods and slips under the covers on her side of the bed. “Exactly.”
John rolls and pulls her up against him. “What was I thinking when I could have had such an amazing woman in my bed sooner?”
“Amazing?”
“Articulate?”
Mary laughs.
“Astute?”
“All right, all right! I am impressed by your complementary ‘A’ words you arse.”
“Ah ha, you see, it’s catching.”
Mary laughs again and rolls further into John, pushing him onto his back and her on top. She kisses his lips then cheeks and his lips again. “You are ridiculous.”
“Only because you make me so,” John says, kissing her back.
“I love it.” She scratches her nails through his hair and kisses him hard, sucks on his lip. “You are positively prolific.”
“Changing to P words?”
She chuckles. “I can think of a few.”
John rolls them again, tangling the covers. Mary laughs and kisses, pulls at his shirt and nips at his lips, teeth clicking. “Perfect and predatory.”
“Am I?”
“Oh no, I am.”
She kisses hard and grips his neck, arches up into him, still chuckling so the sound is like music. John pushes against her, one hand in her hair and tastes the mint in their mouths. Mary yanks the covers over their heads then puts both hands on his cheeks, kisses and kissing.
“My John Watson.”
She giggles quietly as she slides her shirt off between them, kissing down his neck. John grips her hips and holds on to the sound of her body with his lips on hers. All John thinks, Mary in his arms, laughter in her voice and sheets around them, is happy, so happy, happy.
----------------
John pulls off his gloves as he walks out of surgery, dropping them and his mask into a biohazard bin. Dr. Chowdhry steps into stride beside him and pushes the button for the double doors.
“Liz went to tell the family all is well.”
“Perfect,” John replies then looks at his watch. “Shit, Aziz, it’s four?”
“I know. I thought we’d been on time but….”
“Yeah, well, better surgery done right than fast.”
Aziz chuckles. “Spoken like a professor.”
John smiles. “I am married to one, rubs off.”
“I bet.”
They turn a corner and walk into John’s office. Patient folders are piled up on both sides of his desk though not high enough to be panic worthy.
Aziz shakes his head and taps the top of one pile. “Follow ups?”
John nods. “A lot of people like to hear back about physical therapy, things like that. I believe it’s called patient care?”
Aziz scoffs. “Oh, well that. I just cut the organs.” He makes a ‘snip snip’ motion with his hand in the air.
John chuckles and opens a drawer in his desk, pulling his mobile out. It buzzes in his hand just as he notices eight text messages waiting for him. It buzzes again and John holds up a finger to Aziz. “Yeah?”
“John?”
“Sherlock.”
“You are at work.”
“It is that time of day…”
Sherlock hangs up. John pulls the mobile away from his ear and stares at it before shifting his eyes back to Aziz.
Aziz raises his eyebrows. “Call lost?”
“You could say that.”
John clicks the screen and scrolls through his texts.
[Sherlock][11:42]: Case. Need you.
[Sherlock][11:50]: Promptly.
[Sherlock][11:55]: Please promptly.
[Mary][12:36]: At the shop, chicken tonight?
[Sherlock][1:05]: If not promptly then now.
[Mary][1:45]: After my Gyno visit and 4:00 Renaissance Lit class I am going to see Harry like promised, told you I would, win to me.
[Mary][2:15]: And when I say ‘see Harry’ you know I only mean 10 minutes, right?
[Sherlock][3:00]: Must I say ‘danger?’
Aziz leans over John’s shoulder as John scrolls and John hears a bad attempt a repressed laughter. “So which one is the wife exactly?”
“Ha ha.” Then John’s mobile buzzes again. He clicks answer with a shake of his head. “Yeah?”
“John, it is nearly five, you cannot give that as an excuse.”
“I hadn’t given any excuses before.”
“I could hear them in your tone.”
“You know, details beyond ‘come, John’ could help with that.”
“Danger, crime, dead body. There you are; are you coming?”
John rolls his eyes and watches Aziz’s smile climb higher. “I’ll call you back.” John hangs up before Sherlock can retort and holds up a finger. “Don’t start.”
Aziz shrugs. “I am just saying, maybe you should tell your boyfriend you’re married.”
John sighs. “If I had a pound for every time -“
“You would be rich beyond my dreams?”
“I’d take you out for a pint.”
“Oh, hey now,” Aziz holds up his hands and backs up toward the office door, “already looks a bit crowded over there, Watson, wouldn’t want to make it three significant others you had to juggle.”
John sits down in his chair and points at the door. “Get on then.”
“Oh, so now you’re not taking me out for a pint?” He frowns. “Shame.”
“Keep that up and I’ll tell Usha all about your flirting.”
Aziz grabs the door handle, “I’m going,” and snaps it shut.
John pulls a few files down into the middle of his desk to go through then stares at his mobile debating the pros and cons of calling Sherlock or Mary first. He very determinedly does not think in any way that Aziz might have a bit of a point.
----------------
John fumbles with his keys, Sherlock’s arm over his shoulder making them both awkward and slow but somehow John manages to fit key to lock. He shoves the door open with his shoulder and half drags Sherlock inside, both groaning as they stumble into the living room.
“What have you… oh no,” Mary says as she stands up shakily from a chair in the living room, some folder in her hand probably full of student papers.
“It’s not as bad as it looks,” John says as he deposits Sherlock into the armchair beside the couch.
“Do speak for yourself,” Sherlock grumbles and puts a hand against the blood still slowly coming from his nose.
Mary’s eyebrows fly up and John shakes his head, “He doesn’t have a concussion.”
“Oh, if only I did, perhaps I would be blissfully unconscious.”
“You’re so funny,” John snaps.
Mary clears her throat and clasps her hands behind her back around the folder. “So, what happened then? Bar fight? Car crash?”
“Now who’s funny?” Sherlock rasps.
“Uh,” John grimaces, “suspect smashed Sherlock’s face into a car hood.”
“What!” Mary shouts. “Why didn’t you go to hospital?”
“I have a doctor here,” Sherlock points at John, “and as he said, no concussion.”
“Have you noticed you are bleeding from your nose?” Mary says deadpan.
John shakes his head. “I can up fix him, just need to get my supplies.”
“See?”
Mary sighs distractedly. “Don’t bleed on the chair.”
Sherlock huffs then frowns. John just shakes his head again and walks over to the stairs. John jogs up and into the upstairs bathroom. He has to root around for a few things, gauze in the closet but eventually he finds everything he needs. Sherlock has a cut on his forehead too that might need suturing but probably just a bandage will do; would be good to have something for the bruising so Sherlock doesn’t end up looking like he was punched in both eyes.
When John comes back downstairs with his kit, Sherlock and Mary are standing facing each other in front of the couch. Mary’s hands are at her sides and the folder she’d been holding before is on the floor now, a few papers scattered. Neither of them speaks.
John stops at the edge of the one step down into the living room and cocks his head. “You two aren’t fighting again, are you?”
Mary’s head snaps to him in surprise and she crouches down quickly and gathers up all the papers and folder. She shakes her head and laughs airily. “No, uh, no we… we were -“
“Talking about another of her ridiculous Shakespeare courses which rely too heavily on Hamlet as God’s work,” Sherlock finishes still staring at Mary.
Mary straightens up again opens her mouth at Sherlock then turns to John again with a chuckle. “I, ha, well.”
John nods with eyes narrowed, looks back and forth between the two of them but then Mary turns and sits down making the air seem to expand again. John watches her a moment then glances at Sherlock. He finally turns to look at John and John sees the bleeding has stopped.
“All right,” John shrugs and steps over to Sherlock, pushing him back into the chair. “Let’s clean you up then.”
Sherlock frowns more but let’s John clean and tape him up, eyes staying on John and never once straying to the room or Mary behind John. Months later a light bulb will click on when John thinks of this moment and he will hate them both for it.
----------------
“Another case solved for your boys, Lestrade.”
Greg rolls his eyes while John suppresses a grin. Sherlock holds out the flash drive with the damning photographs for their suspect now sitting on the curb in handcuffs to Greg. After a beat Greg takes the flash drive with a gloved hand.
“Do I need to dust this for finger prints?”
Sherlock only snorts.
John clears his throat. “Best not.”
Greg sighs again. “Just in case?” John makes an apologetic face which only takes Greg twenty seconds to cave under. “Fine then. I assume you want to be well out of the credit for this?”
“Oh well, wouldn’t want your superintendent getting punched once more, would we?” Sherlock grins then flashes at look at John.
John shakes his head, expression completely innocent.
Lestrade sighs for the hundredth time. “I think I liked it better when you two were fighting.” Sherlock frowns and John snorts. Greg shoots John a look. “Don’t you have a real job?”
“Do you?”
Greg scoffs. “See if I ever buy you a pint again.”
“Ha!” John crosses his arms. “I bought last time if I remember right.”
“Socializing,” Sherlock grumbles.
“All right, all right,” Greg admonishes toward Sherlock, “Thank you, you’re a genius,” then turns to John, “and you’re a saint. Now both of you out of my crime scene before Anderson or someone comes to loudly complain.”
Sherlock smirks and turns on his heel, marching away. John smiles at Greg who rolls his eyes back. John laughs once, shakes his head, then turns and jogs after Sherlock. He catches up at the corner where Sherlock stands hailing a cab.
“Fun one that,” John says.
Sherlock turns to him with a small smile. “Glad you came along?”
“Oh yeah, just like old times.”
Sherlock frowns. “That phrase is erroneously generalizing. All my cases have very different elements, path ways and results and, thus, none really can be called ‘old times.’ Not to forget that such a phrase usually links so strongly to nostalgia as to warp any view of supposed ‘old times.’”
“And now this brings to mind the phrase ‘rain on my parade.’”
Sherlock frowns again but John cocks his head to the side and smiles until Sherlock finally breaks and smiles back at him; two for two tonight. Then a taxi pulls up beside the curb. They hop inside, John getting to the punch first so they go to his house and not Baker Street. Sherlock fixes John with a look but does not protest.
They ride in silence for a few minutes until Sherlock taps his phone on the edge of the window and John peers sidelong at him. “John, have you and Mary…”
John waits when Sherlock trails off and then presses, “What?”
Sherlock turns and looks at him, eyes running up and down twice then he shakes his head. “No, no I didn’t think so.”
John crosses his arms with a smile and huffs. “Do I want to know what you’re observing this time?”
Sherlock turns away. “No, you don’t.”
----------------------
John and Mary slide across the dance floor in some amalgamation of a ballroom dance, the twist and John wanting to look suave. Neither Mary nor he are exactly formally taught dancers but then everyone else at this club seems to be on the same page. It’s one of the few places that manages to straddle the line between hip and ‘old folk;’ no flashing epileptic seizure lights but also no elevator music and 80-something loners planted at the bar. Instead, one finds drinks, swing, and jazz music and enough dancing that John can pretend he is in a 1920’s era film. Call it a treat.
John and Mary do not exactly have ‘date nights.’ John always thought such a distinction was corny when one was married. Isn’t every night ‘date night?’ Then again that distinction is just as bad.
“Want to stop for a drink?” Mary asks.
“Why?” John twirls them to the left. “Am I no longer impressing you?”
Mary smiles. “You call this impressive?”
John does a quick cha-cha and turns them in a kind of Anglicized salsa back and forth. He grins. “I think so.”
Mary runs her fingers through his hair once and still smiles. “Okay, maybe.”
John turns them, twirls Mary once, then pulls her back into his arms and cocks his head. “Just maybe?”
Mary laughs though it cuts off in a strange way and she nods quickly. “All right,” she takes the lead and turns them in a graceful loop around another couple, “very impressive.”
John chuckles and nestles his face in her hair, chest to chest simply rocking to the saxophone music for a moment. She smells like shampoo and ink and he presses his fingertips into the skin of her back to feel bone underneath; complete and real under his touch because maybe sometimes he still doubts she is really here.
As they turn again, heels clicking, John leans back and suddenly notices tears in Mary’s eyes. He grips her a bit tighter and kisses her cheek. “Hey, you all right?”
Mary laughs breathlessly and makes a quiet sniffing noise. “Ha, yes.”
“But you’re cry-“
“I know, I’m just…” She sighs as she presses herself against him, cheek to cheek, and her voice soft in his ear. “I’m just so happy I met you, John.”
-----------------
Mary and John sit at the kitchen table eating dinner, John’s best attempt at chicken masala. John has made it before but that attempt ended in something akin to Harry’s cooking so he hadn’t tried again; this time the chicken appears quite cooked and nothing burnt. Neither of them are that good cooks but John thinks he can win this long game if he keeps at it.
John watches Mary, her fork mostly making circles on her plate instead of bringing food to mouth. “Don’t like it?”
Mary looks up and chuckles. “It’s fine, John.”
John purses his lips and raises an eyebrow. “Uh huh.”
Mary rests the tip of her fork on her plate then lets it go, laying her palms flat on the table. “I have something to tell you, John.”
John chews slowly and tilts his head. “All right?”
She pulls her hands off the table and rubs them together then puts them down again. John puts his fork down as well and sits up, waiting. Mary clears her throat and tosses hair out of her face. Then she looks John right in the eye. “John, I have ovarian cancer.”
John’s stomach drops in the most literal sense possible and he feels a shake in his one hand. John clenches his fist slowly and swallows. “Ah.”
Mary stares at him for a moment as neither of them speak. Then she breathes in slowly and shifts her chair closer to the table. “Did you hear what I said, John?”
John swallows and nods. “Yes, uh… I did.”
Mary slides her hand across the table and covers John’s. “I found out at my last Gynecologist visit -“
“That was over a month ago.”
“I know.” John opens his mouth again but Mary squeezes his hand and he stops. “I’m sorry. I wanted to get the biopsy to be sure before I told you.”
“But when did you -“
“When you went on that case with Sherlock that had you in Dublin a night.” John clenches his teeth but only nods. Mary smiles and rubs a pattern on the back of his hand. “So, it’s confirmed now and…” She breathes in again. “It’s…” She blows out a breath, closes her eyes once then opens them again. “It’s stage four.”
“Stage four…” John says like frost falling.
“I, uh…” Mary looks down at the table and their plates. “I have an appointment to figure out treatment options - you know when, where I should go, details, something about category and surgery - same stuff of course, and the doctor said we need to move quickly before -“
John sees her control starting to slip and John puts his other hand on top of hers. “Mary.”
She looks up at him suddenly and her jaw clenches. “John, I…”
“It’s fine.” John nods reassuringly. “We will figure this all out.”
“You can probably understand more of what they say anyway,” Mary whispers.
John nods again, “Yes,” keeping his voice calm and controlled as Mary is despite the pulse he feels in her hand. “I will.”
“Yes.”
“Mary, we will figure this out.”
“There’s no figuring out, John, we know what this is!” Mary snaps. John nods again as Mary sighs. “I’m sorry, I…“
“It’s all right, Mary, don’t apologize.”
She shakes her head and stares up at the ceiling. “I’ve just… I’ve been keeping this in….”
“You know you didn’t have to.”
Mary’s eyes tick down again. “Yes, I did, John. I needed to.”
John refuses to overanalyze and squeezes her hand like she did his. “We are in this together and I am going to pull you through, all right? Everything is going to fine.”
“You say that, but -“
“Mary, you are a fighter, we both are.”
Mary laughs. “Oh, don’t I know.”
John smiles and kisses her fingertips. “I love you, Mary.”
Mary breathes in sharply with a shake of her head then leans over and rests her forehead on their clasped hands, breathing slowly in time with John’s hand stroking her hair.
------------------
Sherlock is already looking at the doorway when John enters the flat after bounding up the stairs. John breathes in and out as Sherlock watches him, fingers still on the keys of his laptop. John swallows but it takes him another minute to form any words.
“Mary…” is all he can say.
“She told you.”
John sucks in a ragged gulp of air. “You knew?”
Sherlock stares back at John and does not answer. John breathes through his nose to calm his erratic pulse but it does no good. John shakes his head hard and clenches a fist.
“Why would you not fucking tell me something like this?” he barks.
“She asked me not to.”
John laughs harshly. “And since when do you listen to anyone but yourself?”
“John, sit down.”
“Sit down?” John snaps. “That’s what you say?”
“John, your reaction is -“
“My reaction is all mine, Sherlock, don’t you tell me what it is or what it should be!” John shouts, all his control with Mary, all his attempts at calm out the window now.
“John, please sit down.”
“My wife has stage four cancer and you say sit down!” John shouts so that it sounds like tearing in his throat, like an anguished scream.
“Sit down, now,” Sherlock commands sharply and this time John listens.
John sits on the couch and puts his head in his hands with a groan. “Oh god…”
Silence clamps down and for five minutes neither of them speak, tears dripping onto the carpet and John’s fingers fisted tightly in his short hair. He feels Sherlock’s presence across the room, knows his friend is there, but apart from that he could be alone in the flat.
“I…. do you…” Sherlock clears his throat and his voice is that attempt at ‘normal,’ ‘generic,’ proper’ he always fails at. “Do you want tea?”
John laughs but cuts it off with a gasp.
“Perhaps not…” Sherlock whispers.
“You’re right,” John shakes his head in his hands. “I know why she waited, why she didn’t tell me right away; takes anyone time to process of course, of course! But…” John groans and snaps his head up, swinging his body along so his head knocks against the edge of the couch. “I’m a doctor! I could…. I mean… Damn it!” John throws up both hands and protests the ceiling. “I know how this goes! It’s not my specialty, no, but I know how… How…” His voice drops in volume. “How it could go.” He breathes in sharply and sits up again, counting on his palm with two fingers. “I know all the steps, the stages, the symptoms as it progresses, the process, the treatments, who she should talk to, what we should do, where she should go - and why are you being so quiet?” John snaps the end and looks at Sherlock again.
Sherlock slips his hands slowly off his keyboard and threads them together. “You do not want to hear what I have to say.”
“No, I do.”
Sherlock sighs and tilts his head. “I am not a doctor, John, but I know you need to be prepared that the possibility is -“
“No, you’re right,” John interrupts, “I don’t want to hear what you have to say.”
“John…”
“I swear, if you say something like ‘it will all be okay…’”
“Why would I say that?”
“To have some fucking compassion, maybe!”
They fall silent again, the only sound John’s harsh breathing. He hunches over and clenches his hands, runs one palm over his knuckles then vice versa over and over. He shoots a glare at Sherlock then looks at the wood floor - the carpet gone as if Mary and he had never lived here in the time in between.
“You’re not angry with me,” Sherlock says finally.
“No?”
“No.”
John huffs a breath out and shakes his head. “No… no…”
He hears Sherlock’s chair move and then Sherlock is crouching down in front of him. Sherlock puts his hands on John’s shoulders and it makes John shudder. He looks up at Sherlock who only looks back him, does not challenge John’s emotional reaction now, does not over explain the situation or call him an idiot. John feels like he cannot breathe and he slides his hands over his face, shifts forward and into Sherlock. Sherlock does not move, only keeps his hands on John’s shoulders as John shakes and cracks and falls and spins away.
PART 2