debut

[yourprivilege]

Rousing into consciousness after being drugged isn't like waking up in the morning. There's a grogginess involved, moments during which Mary analyzes everything about her. The feel of the carpet on her cheek, the dress and trousers she wears rucked up about her far too large middle. She can't smell the fire any longer - a real fire, not one of the gas contraptions like they had in the city. The Holmes’ had a real fire in their lounge room and that was the first thing that made her realise something was very, very, wrong.

”I’ve thought long and hard about what I want to say to you. These are prepared words, Mary. I’ve chosen these words with care.”

She watches him from where she stands just inches from him, watches him turn the flashdrive over and over between his fingers. She doesn’t want to say anything, doesn’t want to know what he’s decided, but at the same time can’t not know. “Okay.”

He’s silent almost for too long. It’s too long for her and she’s considering asking him what he’s decided when he clears his throat and speaks. “The problems of your past are your business. The problems of your future ... are my privilege. It’s all I have to say. It’s all I need to know.”

It’s not what she expected, and not what she thinks she deserves, and she’s unable to stop the tears. Mary knows she’s done awful things and that there’s nothing in it that makes her worthy of John’s acceptance and forgiveness, but having it, she wouldn’t trade it for anything else.

She stays as still as she can on the floor, scanning the room around her. There’s no one here, and no obvious traps or trips. Could it have been Sherlock who drugged her?

It all seems safe for the moment, and Mary pushes up from the floor, wishing that she wasn’t so pregnant and that she had a weapon. A few seconds more and she’s grabbed the book she was reading before all of this started. Still groggy, she wouldn’t trust herself with a firearm, even if she found one.

”You don’t even know my name.” She’d cried through the words, thrilled by his statement, but still worried that she’d have to explain to him. That even after he’d thrown away the stick there would be questions.

“Is ‘Mary Watson’ good enough for you?”

It’s more that she’s hoped for these last few months. All she’s thought of is how they can make this work, and now he’s offered her the one thing she never thought of. Gulping in air, she nods, rubbing the tears off her face. “Yes! Oh my God, yes.”

Mary stands, putting her hand out to catch her balance. This isn’t the Holmes’ house, which means she’s been drugged and brought somewhere. Her thoughts that it was Sherlock are fading, thinking now that it’s something more sinister. Someone that Magnussen sent, perhaps, or an enemy she thought she’d lost. Mary feels her way through the rooms (someone’s flat obviously. She wonders where and how high up she is) until she finds a knife. Then when she hears someone, she’s at least prepared. She won’t let anyone keep her from John. Not now.

Comments

[nervesofsteel]

John had never been a heavy sleeper, and the insanity of Darrow had done nothing to change that. He is already half-awake when he hears what sounds like a scrambling in the living room. His eyes snap open, and for a moment in the darkness, he thinks he’s in his flat in London, think an invader has gotten in, and Mary-

But Mary isn’t beside him, and he isn’t in London.

And there’s still someone in his living room.

Careful not to make a sound, he slides out of bed and takes his gun out of his bedside table. His heart is beating fast, but John is tense and alert, every step silent as he makes his way down the hall. He can see a figure in the kitchen doorway. The sound of the gun cocking breaks the silence.

“Turn around slowly. I want to see your hands, and if you make any sudden moves, I will shoot you."

[yourprivilege]

It's a voice that she'd know anywhere, a voice she's barely heard these past few months. If he's here than maybe he's in the same situation that she is, she thinks, though he's at least found a gun. Slowly, she turns, her hands up though the knife is still in one of them.

"John," she says calmly and clearly, swallowing her worry and concern for the moment. Whatever has happened has happened to them both, making her think again of Magnussen. "It's only me."

[nervesofsteel]

He’s been craving her voice for weeks now, wishing desperately for those sensible, playful tones that have, a hundred times before, made everything all right, turned days that seemed impossible to handle into small victories worth winning. John has missed her in a bone-deep way that has sat in his heart, unarticulated and slowly festering.

He has missed her so much that now, he doesn’t dare trust his ears.

"Stay right where you are." Pistol still raised, he fumbles in the darkness for the lightswitch. The room is suddenly bright, but his eyes go wide at what he sees.

“Mary.” He drops his arm to his side and uncocks the gun in a practiced motion, but then he’s staring at her and blinking. His almost-fiance is really, incredibly pregnant.

“Mary?"

[yourprivilege]

She winces at the light, her eyes having adjusted to the dark. There's a million details to take in, this place seeming much more like a flat than a prison or safe house of any sort. John's in pyjamas when she knows he hadn't been before. Then there's the way he's looking at her, roughly akin to the way he looked at Sherlock that night he came back from the dead.

"Yes, it's me," she says as if she's thinking none of that. It's not hard to sound relieved to see him, because she is, and she nearly bursts into tears just seeing him there. Hormones, she thinks, to start crying when their lives could be in danger.

Mary lowers the knife, her smile wobbling as her concern for their safety wins through her relief at having him there. "How long was I out? Where've we been taken? Is Sherlock here? Is it Magnussen?"

[nervesofsteel]

“Magnussen? Who? I don’t know what- Oh, Jesus, you’re-“ John starts towards her and stops just in front of her. There are so many ways he could finish the thought. You’re here. You’re pregnant.

You’re not making any sense.

He swallows. “Mary, you should sit down. There are some things- some stuff I should explain to you. And they’re not gonna make much sense, but you’ll just have to bear with me. And then you’re going to have to explain a few things to me, too.” John tries very hard not to look at her belly. Naturally, he fails.

[yourprivilege]

She sees the looks he's giving her and there's no way possible that he doesn't know who Magnussen is. But Mary trusts him, and trusts that if he knows what's happening that he'll tell her. Even after all these months of distance between them, she knows from the way he looked at her and asked her if being Mary Watson was enough that he meant it. He loves her, and she loves him.

It's only when she holds her hand out to him so he can help her sit that she sees something that makes even less sense than all the rest of it. "Why aren't you wearing your ring? You never took it off. Not even-"

Not even when you couldn't bear to look at me.

It's this that sets off bells, more than the strange apartment, the looks he's giving her, the fact that she's been drugged. Those are all things Mary can explain. This isn't.

Her voice drops as she begins to pull back, grip on the knife tightening again, just in case she does need it after all. "I think I'll stay standing."

[nervesofsteel]

“My…” He swallows hard. No matter what Sherlock sometimes says, John isn’t an idiot. Connecting the dots isn’t difficult. He’s heard rumors, has come to understand (as much as one can understand) that sometimes, when a friend or loved one appears, they come bearing experiences that have not yet happened, or lacking the memories of things that had occurred. He hasn’t wanted to believe it, but now Mary is standing in front of him, pregnant and talking about rings, and-

When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth.

“Mary, please. Put the knife down. Here-“ Carefully, he sets his pistol on the floor. “I can explain everything, but for God’s sake, put the bloody knife down and sit."

[yourprivilege]

It's that surprising sternness that makes her decide to give him a chance to explain, even if she's still on her guard. Her breaths is short, but she nods tersely, putting the knife down on the edge of the table. It's still in reach if she needs it, though with her increasing girth that's a bit of a stretch.

"Fine," Mary finally agrees, her hand resting on her belly as she moves to the armchair. Their reunion is still too fresh and new and this is all too odd and hormones that she hates to admit having are all running through her system making her emotional. "But John, please tell me something first? Do you still love me?"

More than anything she needs to hear him say it. Needs to know that their reunion wasn't part of some strange plot of Sherlock's.

[nervesofsteel]

“What? My God…” Last time John had seen Mary, she had been leaving the office, asking for the fifth time with undisguised concern if he was sure he’d be all right. That morning, she had playfully read his blog aloud and teased him about Sherlock and that damn mustache.

Now, he searches her expression and finds suspicion, fear, and a dark, taunt guardedness that he has never seen before. And while he knows how appearing in this place can mess with a person, he’s a bit frightened to find that he can see none of her usual playful inquisitiveness about her, none of her steady warmth.

“Of course I love you.” His voice breaks a little. “Jesus Christ, I’ve been stuck in this place for weeks, sure I’d never see you again, and I’d got myself pretty well convinced that I’d just finally lost it, but you’re here, and holy God, you’re pregnant…” He takes a breath. “Why wouldn’t I love you?"

[yourprivilege]

He doesn't know.

It's the only thing she can think, the only thing that makes any sense. As much sense as anything can make right now. Should she tell him? Should she tell him that she's been lying to him all this time about her past, or should she keep it to herself? It's a decision to be made in a split second, and she makes it, deciding that she's had enough of lying. Mary wants nothing more than to fling her arms around him, to hear him say that of course he loves her again and again. But whatever is going on here, that's not the right path.

"Because Sherlock wasn't the only one keeping things from you." She says it as calmly as she can manage, cursing the tears she can feel welling up. "And the way you found out-"

She shakes her head. None of this is possible. Has she gone mad, because she's beginning to wonder. "But you know all this, John. You were there."

[nervesofsteel]

“No, I wasn’t.” Right now, that is one of the few things that John is sure about. It’s just like Tara was telling him - about her kids being the wrong age and her husband not being her husband - but in reverse. Now he is the one in the dark. He is the one who doesn’t know what Mary is talking about.

And it’s starting to scare him.

He swallows hard. “That’s one of the things that happens here. People show up from different timelines. Hell, people show up from different worlds. Like some bad comic book.” John just wants to hold her. He wants to press his cheek to her hair and whisper how glad he is to see her until he is hoarse, and he wants to hear her say he isn’t crazy, and he wants to ask her how many weeks along she is and oh my God-

But John doesn’t get to do any of those things because Mary isn’t making any sense, and since anger is one of the few emotions roiling in his gut that he can understand, that is pissing him the hell off.

His guard is up, his shoulders tense and his jaw tight. “So no, I have absolutely no fucking clue what you’re talking about. And I sure as hell don’t know what it has to do with Sherlock."

[yourprivilege]

It's been too long a day, and she's been carrying too much tension inside of her for too long. Adding to that is the fact that John's spouting nonsense about other worlds and Mary doesn't know what to think any longer. She sinks down into the chair, a hand on her belly and her lips pursed flatly. "We were at his parents' house. It was Christmas."

She says it flatly, reciting the events rather than feeling them. "You came and you told me- you told me that our future was what mattered, not the past. Only someone had drugged me. The world, it slowed down and I remember fighting it, but I must have passed out."

The tears come unbidden, in fact, she's furious at them and herself. How can she still need to cry, after all the tears she's shed today already? "Then I woke up here, and you- You're in your pyjamas and not wearing your ring."

[nervesofsteel]

Shit. John has never made Mary cry. This is not because she is adverse to emotion - Mary is as practical about the natural reactions of sadness and frustration as she is about everything else, and therefore not necessarily one to bury tears under carefully crafted layers of English stiff upper lip - but because he has never been its cause, despite his far-from-perfect behavior. His stomach drops out, and for right now, at least, he doesn’t care anymore what she’s talking about. Whatever secrets Mary Morstan might have kept from him, they cannot be so important to deserve the shouting and carrying on. Especially when he has missed her so utterly.

He squeezes his eyes tightly shut and pinches the bridge of his nose, taking a deep breath. “Please, Mary, I am sorry. I am sorry. God, I am in good form tonight.” John half laughs, and then he is by her side with his hand on hers, squeezing it tightly, and now he thinks he might never let go. “Let me explain, okay? It isn’t going to make any sense, but I can explain. The last time I saw you, you were leaving the office to go meet Janie for drinks. The night after Sherlock... well, when I hit him in the face a few times for interrupting our dinner and being a complete tit." He tried to smile. "I, um. I’m guessing a bit more’s happened since then."

[yourprivilege]

Her laugh is embarrassed, the result of taking a big gulp of breath whilst still having tears in her eyes, and ending in a sort of hiccup. She rubs at her face with the back of her hand, wishing that she could simply go back to sleep, and that when she opened her eyes she'd be back at the Watson's and that John - her John who remembered everything that he should - would be there.

Mary squeezes his hand back, leaning close so her forehead touches his. Eyes closed, she concentrates on all the little things to soothe and calm herself. His hand in hers, the feel of his skin and the sound of his voice. Those things are all real, even if what he's saying can't be. "That was months ago. Almost a year."

[nervesofsteel]

“Jesus.” He kneels in front of her chair so that they are close together, and with his other hand cups her cheek. “This is all going to sound insane, but you have to believe me. I was going to see Sherlock - wasn’t like you’d like me do anything else, anyway - and I was attacked, but when I came to, I was here. Well, out there. On a park bench.” John swallows. “Look out the window. That’s not London out there."

[yourprivilege]

Mary doesn't want to move from where she is, this place where at least she knows that something is real. But she does pull away, never able to overcome that common sense part of her that insists on having all the information. "Help me up?"

She doesn't need the help, but she wants it, her ungainly push out if the chair made better by his arm around her. What she sees out the window makes as much sense as any of the rest of this, and she has to blink and look again before she's sure. This really isn't London, and her instincts tell her John is telling the truth, as much as a rational part of her brain screams it's all impossible. They're instincts that have saved her life more than a few times and she knows to listen to them. "But how? Who?"

[nervesofsteel]

“Now that’s a mystery worthy of Sherlock Holmes.” He snorts. “Sorry. Um. I don’t know. I don’t think anyone knows. There are a bunch of other people here who appeared sort of like we did, and there are some who seem like they’ve been here forever. And sometimes people leave, but they just… disappear. No one knows why or how.”

His hand is at the small of her back, and he glances at her for a moment, and then away. John had never been very good at honest declarations, and even now he’s obviously uncomfortable. “I’ve been here a few weeks and I’ve been going absolutely crazy without you."

[yourprivilege]

"You're serious, aren't you?" Even with a certain amount of proof, Mary is still wondering and doubting them both; her mind and his. It's hard to not, as much as she wants to believe him, is desperate to believe him. "You're entirely serious. Damn."

More convincing are his words, and the way he's been looking at her this whole time. It's as if he thought she was a ghost, or lost to him. She understands, because it's what she's felt these past few months. "Of course you were," she says with a lightness she doesn't truly feel. "Even if you did get to miss all wedding planning."

[nervesofsteel]

“Serious as a hole in the head.” John offers a dry twist of a smile. “I’ll show you around tomorrow. It gets weirder, if you’ll believe that. But it’s okay, mostly. We’ll be okay.” I’ll be okay now that you’re here.

He laughs a little and slides his hand more closely around her waist. “God, I can’t believe- shit, I missed my own wedding. Was Sherlock there?” John has had a lot of time to think about what he was going to say to Sherlock if he ever had the chance. At times he has been even more angry than he thought possible, sure to lead to shouting things he can never take back; at others, relief sweeps over him because somewhere out there in the universe Sherlock is alive, and he wants to tell his best friend that of course he’s in the right and of course John forgives every stupid thing the consulting detective ever did. Now, he realizes that he hasn’t the slightest idea which response he might have gone with, back there in the real world.

Except… “Wait. You said we were with Sherlock’s parents? For Christmas?” John starts to laugh - and by God, he isn’t sure he is ever going to be able to stop.

[yourprivilege]

"He was definitely there. He was your best man, and he solved a plot to murder one of the guests," she adds, the cheer she's faking helping, in a way. It's hard to not feel relief to have John here and to have him not be angry with her. There's something to be said for focusing on those little things making her happy right now. She needs that, needs to not feel as if she's going mad. "He told us I was pregnant at the reception."

Mary can't help but add that, leaning against John and resting her head on his shoulder. It's been too long since she's held him and known everything was well between them. Now, more than explanations about this place, it's what she needs. "We were. Mycroft too."

[nervesofsteel]

John pinches the bridge of his nose, still spluttering with laughter. “One big happy Holmes family. And us. I must have missed even more than I thought." His grin has a little bit of a manic edge to it; there have been too many wild discoveries tonight, too much fear, too much relief. He still doesn’t know what had happened to Mary right before she ended up here, but for now, he isn’t sure he wants to. If they were with Sherlock and Mycroft for Christmas, God only knows what kind of trouble had been stirred up, what mystery had dragged him away from his wife (his pregnant wife), what insane thing Sherlock had done.

Better to leave it behind them for now. Or in front of them. Whatever.

There are more important things to find out, anyway. John takes a small breath. “How many… Ah- How many weeks, I mean…? What I’m trying to ask… How long…? Oh, Christ."

[yourprivilege]

"I like them. His parents. His mother's a genius, you know. I was reading her book on the Dynamics of Combustion before-" Before John had interrupted her and they'd talked. Before she'd ended up here. Mary shakes her head, trying to dislodge the thought. "She gave it all up to raise a family."

Which leads, rather nicely she thinks, to John's next question. Mary bites back a laugh, her mouth twitching still and her brow quirking. "It's your baby, you know. You're going to have to get better at this, and soon. I'd say even in the next eight to ten weeks?"

[nervesofsteel]

Mary speaks of the Holmes parents in such a normal sort of way that John laughs again. “Well, of course she’s a genius. They must have gotten it from somewhere. Does that mean Dad’s crazy, or do psychopaths skip generations?”

He closes his eyes then, and for a moment or two, he must concentrate very carefully on his breathing for fear of passing out then and there. “Oh, shut up,” he manages finally. “You have to give me at least an hour before you start making fun.”

[yourprivilege]

"His dad is sweet. I think he likes me," Mary confides, her eyes bright. She can ignore all that's wrong with this moment, ignore everything that shouldn't be, simply because she has John.

"Do you need to sit," she asks, teasing but not as well. It is a lot to take in, even though she has her own challenges right now> "I don't believe that was anywhere in the marriage contract."

[nervesofsteel]

“That doesn’t answer my question.” Sweet. Now there was a word John had never expected to hear associated with anyone related to Sherlock or Mycroft Holmes. Sweet. Huh.

He makes a face at her. “Sitting. Yeah, okay. Sitting would be good.” But before they can return to the sofa, suddenly kisses Mary - warm, and true, and full of every ounce of relief and worry built up over three insane weeks.

[yourprivilege]

She's missed those kisses, more than she missed nearly anything, other than the mornings they stayed late in bed and read books and the papers. It's reassuring and thrilling and she's been so on edge that she almost wants to cry again. But she won't, not now, her arms around his neck as she returns the kiss soundly. "That's a better way to greet your wife."

[nervesofsteel]

“Well, you see, there was this crazy woman with a knife creeping around my flat that I had to take care of first,” John shoots back with a smirk and a lift of his brows. Brushing his thumb over her cheek, he adds more softly, “You have got to be exhausted."

[yourprivilege]

She's more than just exhausted, she's still groggy and likely really needs an examination - for the baby's sake if not for her own sanity. Mary actually winces a bit as she speaks, "I think somebody drugged me. I don't suppose you have any equipment here? I'd feel better if I heard her heartbeat."

[nervesofsteel]

John’s heart leaps into his throat at the pronoun - her makes the whole thing seem a thousand times more real - but he has to shake his head. “I can take you to hospital?” he suggests, already pulling away. “Let me just change. The doctors are totally normal; I've even met a couple of them. This is Sherlock’s doing, isn’t it?” And John isn’t even the least bit surprised.

[yourprivilege]

"I don't want to, but we should. Who knows what effect ending up in a different world can have?" It's a concern, almost more a concern than the fact she's been drugged. Mary is sure that if Sherlock was behind it he would have known enough to ensure the baby wasn't damanged by what he'd done. But if it was someone else, Magnussen for instance? "Not entirely, but probably mostly."

[nervesofsteel]

"Always lean on the side of assuming it's Sherlock's fault," John advises with half a laugh in his voice, disappearing into the bedroom. He throws on jeans and a new shirt over his pajamas, doing his best to ignore the way his heart is beating hard in his chest. Some other John Watson, somewhere else in the universe, had months to get used to the idea of being a father, but he only has a handful of weeks.

Frankly, he isn't sure he can handle it.

But John isn't about to tell Mary about his simmering panic - certainly not now. He returns to the living room and smiles crookedly. "I'll fetch a cab?"

[yourprivilege]

Mary knows one thing, and it's that she's not letting him out of her sight. Not as far as she can help it, not tonight. "I'll come down with you. No point in me waiting here, is there?"

[nervesofsteel]

“Sure.” John doesn’t have much interest in letting Mary out of his sight, either, so he isn’t about to complain. He puts on his jacket, and then takes an extra one out of his closet and wraps it around her shoulders. “You’re going to freeze,” he tells her with a tiny grin.

[yourprivilege]

"Always the gentleman," she says, because honestly he is. Even when they weren't speaking, he'd never abandoned her, and it was that sense of rightness, of honour, that she'd fallen in love with.

[nervesofsteel]

“Hey, my mum taught me right.” With a wink he opened the front door for her and waved her out.

[yourprivilege]

"So I've heard you claim," she allows as she wraps the coat around her, smiling at him. There's still so much unexplained, so many things left unanswered. For now it's enough that they're both here, she thinks, and that there's nothing wrong with the baby.