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For all the time Mary had known John, Sherlock had been a fairy-tale hero, a larger than life figure from the past, like a story-book knight who did impossible things to help ordinary people. Mary had never expected to meet Sherlock Holmes, never expected to come face to face with the man John had placed on a pedestal in his heart, a place she could never even touch, much less dream of usurping. She was completely fine with that. She did not want to be John’s God; she wanted to be his wife.
The man had then materialized out of the ether in flesh and blood, ignoring her presence, desperate for something only John could give him. And Mary had known that it wasn’t simply forgiveness that Sherlock Holmes wanted, even though that was all he asked for.
Despite all her doubts, she had liked him. She liked Sherlock because she understood that just like her, he was a part of John and John was a part of him in ways that could not be explained. She had no choice in the matter. If she truly loved John Watson, she had to accept his heart too. And the ‘spectacularly’ ignorant, vulnerable, nearly childish reality of Sherlock Holmes made it really easy to ‘fall for him’. It happened to her exactly the same way it had happened to John. She wanted to protect Sherlock, save him, mostly from himself and those feelings had arisen in the span of an evening.
Then she had instinctively rushed to Sherlock to save John, without calling the Police. It didn’t register at the time but when she stood beside the paramedics loading a still drowsy John into an ambulance while Greg berated Sherlock in the background, it hit her with the force of a truck. She believed in Sherlock too, without second thoughts, beyond rational logic, just like John.
It felt like a baptism.
***
She was still a bit numb to the events of the evening. So when the ambulance had drawn up to the door of a clinic and not the A/E of a busy hospital, she had just assumed that Sherlock was involved. She had been grateful that they would not be spending hours waiting for a doctor. Medically, she knew that John needed cleaning for the cuts on his head and to sleep off whatever he had been dosed with. He did not show signs of smoke inhalation, so when the doctor finished, she could probably take him home. Sherlock had been detained at the scene by Greg. She had nothing to do but wait.
It was only twenty minutes before someone came to speak with her. Mary got up blinking exhaustion from her eyes. The doctor’s voice was reassuring, “Hello, I’m Dr. Sarah Green. Sorry, I didn’t catch your name.”
“Mary Morstan, I’m John’s fiancée. How’s he doing?”
Mary almost thought she had imagined the considered look the doctor gave her momentarily before it was masked by a professional veneer. “He’s sleeping it off. The injuries were mostly superficial, didn’t even require sutures. He’ll be fine. This time.”
It was the delicate emphasis on the last two words that made Mary snap out of her exhausted daze and pay attention. “Excuse me, what?”
Dr. Green now looked slightly embarrassed and reluctant, as though she was regretting her choice of words. She back-tracked hastily, “I’m sorry, that was not my place to say. Just ignore me. You can go in now. You can take him home when he’s more lucid.”
Mary had too many secrets in her life already and was not the type to allow new ones in so easily. “No, please Dr. Green, what did you mean?”
The doctor sighed and took the plastic seat beside her with an equally weary air. “Just call me Sarah. I’m sorry, it was inappropriate of me. It’s just that seeing John like this brought back some unpleasant memories. I couldn’t help myself. I… knew John. He worked here a couple of years back. Before the whole…”
She trailed off and Mary filled in the blanks, before Sherlock ‘died’, when he and John had been as thick as thieves. The Before.
Then it struck her where she had heard the name before. This was the ‘Sarah’, the one from the Blind Banker case, the one who had been abducted with John and almost killed.
John’s ex-girlfriend, Sarah.
Now Mary couldn’t help but notice the white-coat, the pretty brown hair and large blue eyes in a kind face. He’s marrying you, her brain chided her. But jealousy was seldom rational and almost always stupid.
Sarah seemed oblivious to her internal turmoil as she continued. “When Sherlock died, John was in a really bad shape. He quit his job here and left Baker Street. I had thought it would be good for John to move on. And now it’s all a mess again, isn’t it? It was all over the news since morning. That Sherlock Holmes has ‘returned’. I never expected him to ever call me though. He had never noticed my existence when… when John had been working here.”
“I have read John’s blog, you know. That you and John were dating at the time isn’t exactly private information,” Mary added wryly.
Sarah had the decency to look a bit mortified, before she continued. “Yeah, sorry for that. But, all I wanted to say is that I can understand how you must be feeling right now. John is a great guy and it is very easy to fall in love with him without Sherlock Holmes in the picture. A soldier, a doctor and all the stories he writes, his real-life adventures, everything presents an enticing picture, till you are the one in the story watching someone pull the trigger on him or digging him out of a bonfire. The reality is so much more sobering. Sherlock returned…today…and John is in the hospital again. And the way Sherlock treats him, takes him for granted. It…it takes a toll.”
Mary just looked at the beautiful, intelligent doctor in front of her, who genuinely felt sorry for her because Sherlock Holmes had returned among the living and wanted nothing more than to scream at her well-intentioned pity. She just did not know where to start.
It had not been easy to fall in love with John. He had been grieving, broken, in mourning still, for his friend. She had been drawn to the depth of his feeling for someone dead and gone. An orphan like her had never experienced the kind of regard John had for Sherlock, no matter what the world thought of the dead detective. It was John’s capacity for loyalty, for love that had drawn her to him. She had known that if she won this man’s heart, he would stand beside her, no matter what.
But if John mourning a dead Sherlock had still been a beautiful albeit a bit broken human being, a John Watson with Sherlock Holmes in his life was a magnificent one. And she only ever had had ‘photographs’ of that John in the form of his old blog posts. Even she had missed Sherlock Holmes without ever knowing him because an important facet of the man she loved had died with him.
Yes, John was hurt today and it would probably happen again tomorrow, but it was hardly Sherlock’s fault that John wanted to be his friend, that he embraced the battlefield that was being Sherlock Holmes’ best friend.
John was truly happy with her. But he was brilliantly, vibrantly alive with Sherlock Holmes back in his world. How could Mary blame Sherlock for anything, if he was the reason why John could be himself in every way that mattered?
And Sarah had known that John, had been with that John and let him go.
All her jealousy fizzled out like a damp squib as she found herself feeling sorry for Sarah instead.
Before she could voice her thoughts, the door to the waiting room slammed open and his nibs strode in like he owned the place, before he caught sight of the two of them huddled together. As Sherlock’s gaze swept over Sarah, Mary could swear she saw all the walls around the man go up like drawbridges. Sherlock stood an inch taller and slammed both gloved hands in his coat pockets as he addressed the doctor, “So, Dr. Sawyer, I assume John’s all better, now that you’re out here, chatting.”
Sarah exhaled tiredly, “It’s actually Dr. Green now, Sherlock. And yeah, John’s fine. He should be able to go home in a couple of hours.”
All the camaraderie Sherlock and Mary had shared earlier while rushing to rescue John seemed to have disappeared as Sherlock didn’t even acknowledge her. He simply retorted in her direction, “Very well then. If you need any further assistance, you know where to find me.” He whirled to leave. He hadn’t even asked to see John.
Mary was shocked to find that she wasn’t fooled one bit. Sherlock’s regard for her was all the more precious for it to not be revealed to someone like Sarah. Sherlock constantly armoured himself against the world, it was meant for people like Sarah. Sherlock was treating her like a stranger, because he was afraid, afraid of what he knew Sarah must have told her. Ever since disrupting John’s almost-proposal, he had made no attempt to get in touch. He had already assumed that he had ‘lost’ John to her.
He was walking away because after tonight, if he revealed any more of his ‘feelings’ for John, Mary would not want him anywhere near her would-be husband. It was a sound deduction. Women like Sarah had reinforced it for him.
Making things even worse was Sarah’s knowing, apologetic eye roll at Mary, the universal gesture for ‘I told you, so!’
So Mary did the only thing she could. She stood up and used her firmest, most authoritative tone, “Sherlock Holmes, get back in here this instant.”
Sherlock froze at the door and turned, no doubt steeling himself for the blame about to be heaped on him for his role in what had transpired that evening.
She simply walked up to him and said in her calmest voice, “Hands out of coat pockets, now.”
Sherlock blinked rapidly as though he had never imagined that was what would come out of her mouth. Taking advantage of his momentary confusion she tugged his left hand out of his pocket and gently peeled off the leather glove. She didn’t miss the pained gasp as it came off. His beautiful musician’s fingers and palms were marred by angry red blisters.
Mary swallowed the sudden upwelling of tears and the immediate urge to simply hug the man as she turned to address Sarah. She had to clear her voice before speaking, “Sarah, I’m afraid, you have one more patient who requires your attention and if he knows what’s good for him, he’ll cooperate quietly.”
It was very satisfying to see Sarah look at her like she was completely mental. Good! Take that, you witless ignoramus!
More heartening was the shell shocked look on Sherlock’s face as he quietly followed Sarah.
“And Sherlock,” Mary added so that there wouldn’t be a shred of doubt, “After you’re done, come and sit with John for a bit. We can take him home together.”
She picked up her things to go and sit with John, feeling oddly light. She loved Sherlock Holmes, just like John did. And this was something she accepted, eyes wide open. After today, she knew exactly what she was gambling by throwing their lot in with Sherlock. And if that meant she was a bit crazy, so be it.
She was all in.