Sherlock FanFic: The Private Blog of Mary Morstan

Summary: Mary's perspective on events - in a form of her very own private blog posts. [Spoilers for Sherlock Season 3]

Rated: Fiction T - English - Romance/Drama - Mary M., John W., Sherlock H. - Words: 1,533 - Status: Complete

FF.Net: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/10038211/1/The-Private-Blog-of-Mary-Morstan

Also available on AO3: http://archiveofourown.org/works/1144754

Author's Note: The brilliant characters from Sherlock do not belong to me but to the show’s awesome creators. I love the addition of Mary Morstan into Season 3 but it’s a pity we don’t get to hear her thoughts; partially the reason why I wanted to do this story to take a deeper look into Mary’s thoughts and feelings about her relationship with John and his/their relationship with Sherlock. So do let me know your thoughts on this. Comments and constructive criticisms are welcomed! Don't forget to give your support follow/fav it if you like the story. Your support means the world. Enjoy =D 

8 November
The Return of Sherlock Holmes
What have I gotten myself into? That was the first question I asked myself the moment I had to acknowledge that my fiancé’s best friend, Sherlock Holmes, is in fact alive. Yes, I am talking about the same man whom John has lived with for the past two years before Sherlock committed suicide to save John. This is the very same man who actually thinks it was funny to dress as a waiter, adopting an almost comedic French accent, to surprise John and announced that he was...well…not dead. Surprise! Well...I suppose it would have been a tad funny if not given the circumstances of what John has been through.

Why am I saying all this? Because I need to let it out somewhere. John’s blog obviously being my inspiration, I decided to set up a private blog of my own. =) No one knows about it, not even John. There are some things that I have to write it down and see it clearly for myself. Writing helps me to gather my thoughts together. I blog whenever he’s out with Sherlock, running around solving the unsolvable. It’s exciting really, wish I could more involved with their cases, but I’m afraid in doing so would give Sherlock more opportunities to deduce my true nature.

Coming back to Sherlock’s surprise I’m-not-dead announcement, I could see the look on John’s face. Oh poor John! That look of shock, anger and betrayal all wrapped in one. I know that look too well. I have seen it before on countless faces in my previous line of work…right before I pulled the…I can’t write this down just yet. It was something I chose to leave behind eons ago, and then I met John.

As I listened to Sherlock babble his way, showing off his grandest trick ever, how Sherlock Holmes fooled the world into believing he was dead, he was so eager to share with his best friend. Well, at least I think Sherlock considers John his best (if not only) friend. As a master of his intellect and skill, I was not surprised with Sherlock but I think he forgot one very important point, John is not like Sherlock. John doesn’t give a damn on the how but the why.

Having said that, I can somewhat relate to Sherlock’s predicament. He did it for his loved ones. He faked his own death so that his loved ones, namely John in particular, may live a normal life. I think in some ways Sherlock sees himself the way I see myself, a sociopath, a magnet for danger to the people closest to me. That was why I ran, why I chose the life of a clinic nurse; but as fate would have had it, danger seems to like finding a way back to me.

That was also why I find Sherlock so amusing. I cannot help but suppress a smirk, for John’s sake, because as much as John is angry with Sherlock, I know he misses the bastard. I mean, come on, the way John threw a hissy fit (sorry, John, but you did) because Sherlock didn’t clue him on being alive? Okay, I know it’s a serious no-no in most cases but John was actually jealous of other people knowing! Those two act as if they are practically married. Hmm…perhaps Mrs. Hudson had a point there…

Strangely enough, as I’m typing this down, I don’t feel like the third wheel in the relationship. I know John loves me dearly and I love him with all my heart. I also know that he cares for Sherlock deeply despite him trying in vain to convince me that he “does not shave for Sherlock Holmes”. I should probably get that made into a shirt for John Xp

The point that I’m trying to make is that I understand how important Sherlock is in John’s life. For all the habitual routine life John is currently leading as a clinic doctor, he misses the unpredictable and exhilarating life he was force to leave behind. I still carry that adventurous and devil-may-care attitude with me, but it is not a life that Mary Morstan can provide.

Besides, how could I resist not helping the great detective Sherlock Holmes? I think their bromance is so adorable when one attempts to ignore the other while the other, being gifted with all that deduction prowess at his fingertips, can’t even figure a way to win his best friend back. Sighs…What will they do without me?

P.S: The best thing that came out of this reunion? John finally shaved off his mustache! Thank goodness!

12 August
The Wedding
My wedding day has finally come and gone. With Sherlock around, you can always count on the unexpected happening. I honestly don’t know where to begin, so much has happened within the day that is enough to send anyone on a roller coaster ride – I really like it. It’s so much better than the typical event where people make a few speeches, hugs, cry their hearts out, don’t you think so? I’m sure John will disagree with me on most of these, but these are my picks of the top 3 best and worst moments of my wedding in no particular order.

Top 3 Best Moments

1. I’m pregnant. I can’t believe it even when I say it out loud. I’m pregnant with John’s child. We are having a baby.
2. Yes, granted that John’s ex-Major almost died at our wedding, my life would not be complete without the man I married, John Watson. He means everything to me. I saw John telling Mrs. Hudson the other day how I was the one who saved him from falling into his own abyss after Sherlock was gone, how I picked up the pieces and shoulder his burden together as we pulled through together. The truth is John rescued me from my own hell. As much as I wanted a simple care-free life, I could not fully embrace the living the life of Mary Morstan the clinic nurse. She was too boring! I chose not to look back on my past but I yearned for the adrenaline to course through my veins once more. I’m a junkie. I was about to give up the Morstan life, that is until I met John. My husband (still feels strangely good calling him that) has kept me grounded to reality and had me fallen so deeply in love with him and life all over again. He was the key that was missing in Mary Morstan’s once hollow life. He says that I’m the best thing that has ever happened to him. I agree. But John Watson is the best thing that has ever happened to me.
3. Aside from John, there is one other person that I’m thankful to have in our lives. Even if Sherlock won’t be able to read this, I am so grateful for the support he has been giving us. I know that he personally does not believe in “silly things” like marriage and children but the fact that he has made a vow to protect all three of us…that is something that you do not take lightly from Sherlock Holmes. For good or for bad, Sherlock will always be a part of this family.

Top 3 Worst Moments

1. Being pregnant is a joy but it’s my wedding and it’s one of those few that I’m ever going to savor really expensive wine. It tastes bloody awful! >(
2. That MayFly Man actually crashing our wedding to kill Major Shalto. I believed for a moment that the good Major was going to give up and take off the belt. Thank goodness nobody died.
3. “Mary, lots of love, poppet. Oodles of love and heaps of good wishes from Cam. Wish your family could have seen this.” This telegram message that Sherlock read out earlier somehow still bothers me. I checked with John and neither of us have any friends or relatives named Cam. And no one addresses me as poppet. Maybe I’m over imagining things with John’s previous abduction, the cryptic coded messages. What are the odds that it’s not Cam but C.A.M? I shudder to think at the possibility. No, it cannot be…

You’re thinking too much Mrs. Watson. Now log off and go back to preparing dinner.

13 September
Untitled
He has finally emerged. It has to end.

I hope John never has to find out what I am about to do.

I love you John.

Forgive me.

Credits: valeriabald @redbubble

Sherlock FanFic: 30 Moments ~ Mycroft Holmes and Greg Lestrade ~

Summary: 30 moments in the lives of Mycroft Holmes and DI Greg Lestrade (Mystrade).

Rated: Fiction K+ - English - Romance - Mycroft H., DI Lestrade, Sherlock H. - Words: 1,261 - Status: Complete 

FF.Net: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/9328125/1/30-Moments-Mycroft-Holmes-and-Greg-Lestrade

Also available at AO3: http://archiveofourown.org/works/817995


Author's Note: The characters of Sherlock (BBC) do not belong to me. The prompts were randomly selected from the list provided here - http://kathrineroid.wordpress.com/2011/09/25/100-themes-challenge-writing-prompts/


#01 – Introduction: He was “Sherlock’s older brother” and a nameless voice on the phone, and Greg was very tempted to slam the phone down on him because he really hadn’t needed another Sherlock-obsessed person in his life.

#02 – Complicated: Mycroft and Greg had had sex because they were attracted to each other before they decided to make it official because that attraction had evolved into emotional attachment, and they had both been willing to give it a try; Greg had no idea why everyone found that concept so hard to grasp.

#03 – Making History: Mycroft had a reputation for kidnapping people he wanted to meet; Greg returned the favour by kidnapping Mycroft and spiriting his bemused lover away from Whitehall to have lunch with him, sending Mycroft’s entire security team into a frenzy because he had done it right under their noses and succeeded.

#04 – 33%: Greg was amused – and slightly resigned – when Mycroft said that he took up 33% of his life, but was unusually flattered when he found out that, aside from Sherlock’s 50% - which included the people connected to Sherlock, so technically Greg could be counted as having a slice of that – everything, and everyone, else took up 1% or less.

#05 – Dead Wrong: Greg often wondered why he tried so hard to prove Mycroft wrong when his lover was even more likely to be right than his younger brother, but he just couldn’t help himself; Mycroft needed a reminder that he still made mistakes, that he was still human.

#06 – Excuses: It’s not that they were trying to make excuses for each other’s faults; it’s just that those faults paled in comparison to what they did love about each other, and they just accepted it.

#07 – Fork in the Road: Mycroft and Greg were never officially together, and they hadn’t realized how much they needed that solidarity until Mycroft met Greg, after a long absence, with Sherlock standing in between them, examining a corpse.

#08 – Everyday Magic: Gregory often teased Mycroft for being a “little miracle worker”, but Mycroft thought that it was a title more suitable for his lover; who spoke for the dead and gave closure to the living simply by dedicating himself to his job.

#09 – Challenged: Gregory was always arguing with him, playing the Devil’s Advocate even when Mycroft knew with absolute certainty that he was right; Mycroft loved him for it because it meant that even when being wrong meant huge repercussions, there was still somebody who would not hide the truth from him and who he did not have to hide the truth from.

#10 – Cold Embrace: ‘Gregory, you are not coming to bed in those wet clothes!’

#11 – Dangerous Territory: Sherlock learnt that his brother and Lestrade were in a serious relationship when Lestrade punched him for taunting Mycroft about his weight; Lestrade annoyingly maintained that he didn’t regret it even when Mycroft assured him that this was perfectly normal for the both of them.

#12 – Boundaries: Not that they would ever tell Sherlock, but technically, Mycroft and Greg were in a phone relationship with Sherlock in the middle long before they ever became lovers, and Greg found it to be an amusing, if disturbing, thought.

#13 – Unsettling Revelations: Loving Gregory wasn’t the epiphany that shook Mycroft’s world; it was the sudden thought of how utterly dignified Gregory would look when all his hair turned grey.

#14 – Shattered: Their respective jobs often left them worn, weary and utterly exhausted, and both hated for the other to see them when their faces were lined with stress and marred by fatigued; both never realized that the other thought them to be even more beautiful because this meant that they had survived another dangerous day.

#15 – Bitter Silence: Mycroft and Greg never fought; they just avoided each other, which was a whole lot worse.

#16 – The True You: It wasn’t that Mycroft didn’t care; it was that he cared too much, and it became a disadvantage when he needed to be clear-headed to save Gregory, but his heart was screaming that nobody could possibly survive after losing that much blood.

#17 – Pretense: Mycroft simply stood there in silence, allowing Gregory to handle the entire hostage situation, even though he really could’ve resolved the situation by himself.

#18 – Patience: Greg pretended to be long-suffering whenever he had to remind Mycroft that caring was not a disadvantage, but, in truth, it was something he utterly enjoyed, especially since Mycroft often wanted physical evidence.

#19 – Shadows: Mycroft worked in the shadows, so it was only appropriate that Greg did not fear them.

#20 – Summer Haze: Greg blamed it on the summer haze when he and Mycroft were nearly caught snogging in a dark corner of Buckingham Palace; at least, he consoled himself, neither of them had been naked the way Sherlock had been.

#21 – Change in the Weather: Having a lover who carried an umbrella with him all the time definitely came in handy, especially with London’s unpredictable weather.

#22 – Only Human: Mycroft clung on to Gregory like he wanted to disappear into his lover, all the while trying to escape the reality that he just destroyed an entire village – had made the decision to seal the village away from the rest of the world to contain the outbreak of a highly infectious and deadly virus – for the good of his nation.

#23 – Advantage: Greg often wondered why people thought that he would leave Mycroft; like anyone else could compare to having the most powerful man of Britain willingly making himself vulnerable because he loved Greg, and who Greg willingly surrendered to because he loved Mycroft just as much.

#24 – Breakfast: Mycroft wasn’t often home in the mornings, but Gregory would pop by with coffee and donuts – or whatever food Anthea prescribed for the day – when he was on the way to the station.

#25 – Falling: Mycroft found it hard to sit back and not swoop in with all his extensive resources when Gregory was in trouble, but he does it anyway because he has faith that Gregory can handle himself, and because Gregory would want no less of him.

#26 – Picking up the Pieces: Greg loved Mycroft because his lover understood that Greg didn’t need a savior or a knight in shining armour; he just needed someone to accept him after he had saved himself, even if he wasn’t quite as whole as he once was.

#27 – Possession: ‘The criminal has been caught, but, uh, Donovan, would you please bring me my keys? I’ve accidentally handcuffed myself to Mycroft Holmes.’

#28 – Twilight: Other people made breakfast in bed for their lovers; Greg tended to return home to a meal cooked by his lover because Mycroft had left for the office to handle another emergency that “couldn’t wait a few more hours until tomorrow”.

#29 – Friendship: Mycroft and Greg didn’t start as friends; they became friends only after they had become lovers.

#30 – Endings: Other lovers promised each other forever, Mycroft and Greg didn’t; they just enjoyed the time they had with each other because they understood that forever was an illogical fantasy, but today – everyday – was the reality they lived in.

 Credits: patatomato @ DeviantArt

Sherlock FanFic: Proof in a Password

Summary: 'This is your heart, and you should never let it rule your head. But, you just couldn't resist, could you.' Pot. Kettle. Black. Because Irene isn't the only one to have fallen; she's just the one to have realized it first (One-sided Irene Adler x Sherlock Holmes; Sherlock Holmes x Dr John Watson).

Rated: Fiction K+ - English - Romance/Angst - Irene A., Sherlock H., John W. - Words: 1,890 - Status: Complete

FF.Net: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/9289887/1/Proof-in-a-Password

Also available at AO3: http://archiveofourown.org/works/801910


Author's Note: The fascinating characters and brilliant series do not belong to me. Spoilers for "A Scandal in Belgravia" (Episode 1, Season 2) from "Sherlock".
 
Info:

[1] A quote taken from "A Scandal in Belgravia" (Episode 1, Season 2) from "Sherlock".

[2] A quote taken from "A Scandal in Belgravia" (Episode 1, Season 2) from "Sherlock".

[3] A quote taken from "A Scandal in Belgravia" (Episode 1, Season 2) from "Sherlock".

[4] A quote taken from "A Scandal in Belgravia" (Episode 1, Season 2) from "Sherlock".


I AM SHER LOCKED.

When we first met you told me that disguise is always a self portrait – how true of you. The combination to your safe, your measurements. [1]
His name was Sherlock Holmes.

But this, this is far more intimate. This is your heart. And you should never let it rule your head. You could have chosen any random number and walked out of here today with everything you worked for. [2]

Names were important in her profession. In a vocation where the bodies were faceless tools of self-gratification, without memorable identity, names – real, honest, genuine – meant knowledge, emotional intimacy, emotional attachment.

Irene Adler was well-versed in this game; people knew her, they loathed her, they feared her, they loved her, they needed her.

They thought of her.

They remembered her.

She existed in their minds; her name an indelible mark on their memories.

To her, they were just clients; instruments she played her composition on, looking deep into their hearts, their souls, and using their pleasure to give herself pleasure.

They were replaceable.

But you just couldn't resist it, could you? [3]

Then, Sherlock Holmes came along, and she had changed her password.

I AM SHER LOCKED.

He had become an existence in her mind that she could not forget; his name an indelible mark on her memories. Irene didn't quite know why she had done what she did.

Why had she changed her password to his name?

Why had she stolen his phone, and changed her own personal text tone in it? Why had she texted him? Why had she waited for his reply?

Why had she been ecstatic when he finally did reply?

Why had her thoughts turned to him when her end had been near? Why had she instantly believed that he had been there, amongst the terrorists, not because he had wanted her dead, but because he had come to her rescue?

Why had she wanted to be able to trust him?

Why had she wanted his name on something that belonged to her?

On something that was intimate and close to heart?

Because he was right; she had not been able to resist it.

The detective had matched her - wit for wit, technique for technique, blood for blood – stirring in her veins a passion she had not felt since she stopped being just a woman; since she had become The Woman. He had fascinated her, intrigued her, aroused her – mentally, physically.

Emotionally.

She hadn't been lying when she had mocked Sherlock's accusations that she had had feelings for him; she, herself, hadn't realized.

At least, not the true extent of it.

Because I took your pulse. [4]

His words had hit her like a sledgehammer; revealing to her what he suspected, what she had only begun to recognize.

And, the answer – there was only one – to her questions was simple.

Sherlock Holmes had made her – Irene Adler, serial professional seductress, proud distant dominatrix, The Woman – fall in love; deeply, passionately, irrevocably in love.

Names meant emotional intimacy, emotional attachment; she had changed her password to his name because her body, her heart, had already recognized the desire she had not even known.

She hadn't been able to resist it.

She hadn't been able to resist him.

That was why she changed her personal text tone – because she wanted to be different from everyone else.

That was why she had texted him – because she wanted to leave him proof of her existence.

That was why she was overcome with delight when he texted her back – because it meant that he acknowledged her existence.

That was why she had wanted to believe that he was there, not as an enemy, but as someone she could rely on, someone she could trust – because it meant that he cared enough to chase her, to save her.

And, the reason why she had wanted his name on something intimate, something close to her heart?

It was because she wanted him to see how much she loved him; that she had loved him enough for his name to be the key to her phone.

I AM SHER LOCKED.

The password to her heart.

The younger Holmes boy had been right – the phone was her heart. It kept all her secrets; it was her protection. She couldn't live without it; she would die to protect it. Taken from her, it meant her death, her destruction.

Taken from her, it would break her.

But, you see, she was right too. Sherlock had something just like that phone of hers – it was his heart. It kept all his secrets – it knew things that Sherlock would have never told anyone else, had seen things that Sherlock would have never let anyone else see; it was his protection – reliable and trusted in a way Sherlock never trusted anything, anyone; it had watched his back, protected Sherlock in a way that nobody else could.

He had not realized it yet, but she knew; he had come to need that heart of his, couldn't live without it. Still, he was making progress; he had already realized that he would die to protect it – of that she had no doubt.

Because taken from him, it meant his death, his destruction.

Taken from him, it would break him.

The one thing – the only thing – that could break Sherlock Holmes.

And, it wasn't her.

Irene knew that Sherlock Holmes wouldn't forget her; she was The Woman.

But, though Irene knew she had made an impression – he had mourned her death; he had risked his life to rescue her, spirited her away from his country, under the nose of his own brother – she also knew that what she wanted of him, she could never have.

He would never forget her.

But, he would never be hers.

She looked pensively at the phone.

I AM _ _ _ _ LOCKED.

Four letters; the password that unlocked the phone, chosen and selected by the user.

The password that had been a symbol for her; a symbol that she knew could also be applied to the man of her thoughts.

Sherlock, for all his act and bluster, wasn't all that different from her; a detective and a dominatrix, careers that allowed for no emotion, no weakness.

It, however, did not mean that they were indifferent, that they couldn't feel, couldn't be tempted by what they both scoffed at as said weakness.

I AM _ _ _ _ LOCKED.

It may not have been the key to Sherlock's phone, but it was the password to his heart.

A name; just as his name had been the password to hers.

A name; a password that she knew.

And, he had had the gall to call her out on her disguise; her self-portrait.

On how she had proven him right; that love was a dangerous disadvantage.

What did it then say about him; about the man who knew of such danger, and yet had allowed himself to fall into that very trap?

Just as he recognized the signs in her – because he was a detective, the best of his profession, the only one of his kind, who made a living reading people – she recognized the signs in him.

She was a seductress – the best of her profession, the only one of her kind – who made a living reading people, knowing their secret desires – even the ones that they did not see in themselves, the ones that they themselves did not know – and she recognized the signs in him.

Just like her, his body and his heart had already recognize that, and though he, himself, had yet to realize it, there was simply no denying it.

Sherlock Holmes could never be hers because he already belonged to someone else.

Irene also knew who that person was, and she could see the attraction.

I AM _ _ _ _ LOCKED.

She had been attracted to Sherlock because they had been similar, so similar; two strong forces that pushed at each other, hard and challenging in a way that both had never encountered in anyone else.

This person that Sherlock was attracted to was different, so very different, from him, from them; soft where they were hard, warm where they were cold, completely ordinary and unmemorable where they utterly conspicuous and unforgettable.

But, there was also a core of steel beneath the softness – forged and dangerous – a brittle iciness when the warmth melted, and a soul that was extraordinary, different, when all that was ordinary was stripped away.

Irene was not a renowned dominatrix for nothing, and like how she could see into the deepest desires of her clients, she caught a glimpse of what had attracted the detective so.

This person was different from them, quite the opposite.

But, more than that, this person was their mirror opposite; similar enough to understand, to accept, yet with enough differences to intrigue, to fascinate.

To complete.

The half that made them whole.

Or, maybe, that was why he had been so thoroughly ensnared?

Even more so than she had been.

Irene was a dominatrix; she loved power.

She was also drawn to it; drunk on the emotional intensity, addicted to the power of the game.

Sherlock was a detective; he loved that which was not known.

He was also drawn to it; drunk on curiosity, addicted to the need to see what nobody saw, the need to know what nobody else knew.

She loved Sherlock, the emotional intensity from their battle of wits, their battle for control, the want to control him, to bend him to her will; a dangerous, intriguing sentiment that made her pulse flutter.

Sherlock loved danger, the curiosity of not knowing what the future held; he thrived on the thrill of gambling against the odds, of risking his life, his blood pulsing with adrenaline.

She loved the secrets her phone held, secrets that gave her power over the most powerful; an insurance that ensured her personal and professional survival.

He loved the secrets people kept from him, secrets that he relished in knowing even as he unveiled them; puzzles that his mind needed to survive the mundaneness of life.

But, the phone itself? It was just a device.

And, her love for Sherlock? It was completely different matter.

But, the one thing that combined the all of Sherlock's greatest loves? It was a person.

And, his love for that person? It was greater than all his other loves combined.

No, Irene had not been able to resist it.

But, neither had he.

And, what he had, it was far more intimate.

Far more dangerous.

Irene had not given him the final proof – she had escaped, survived.

She wondered if he would.

I AM _ _ _ _ LOCKED.

 Image Credits: Abby Taylor @ Pinterest

Sherlock Fanfic: Reunion InTENsity

John’s reunion with Sherlock told from One to Ten. Numbers used either carry literal or figurative significance. [Spoilers for 3x1]

Rated: Fiction T - English - Romance/Hurt/Comfort - John W., Sherlock H. - Words: 1,457 Status: Complete

FF.NET: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/9995337/1/Reunion-InTENsity

Also available on AO3: http://archiveofourown.org/works/1122623

Author's Note: The brilliant characters from Sherlock do not belong to me but to the show’s awesome creators. This is my first time writing a Johnlock Fanfic so do let me know your thoughts on this. Comments and constructive criticisms are welcomed! Don't forget to give your support follow/fav it if you like the story. Your support means the world. Enjoy =D

No words could describe the grief and anger I felt when I saw him jump off that roof. I could not believe that he was gone. I refuse to believe in what everyone else was saying. He was many things but a fraud was not one of them.  I believe... no, believed... no, still believe in Sherlock Holmes. Despite being an arrogant, know-it-all bastard, Sherlock brought me back from my darkest depths. And now I fear that I would now descend further into the abyss. I could not feel anymore. Not the tears. Not the sleepless nights. Not having him by my side anymore. Facing his grave, Sherlock’s grave, I asked him for one more miracle - Stop Being Dead.

In the two years that he was gone, I grieved for him in silence. I moved out, got a job as a normal clinic doctor and lived my normal boring routine life. I even grew a moustache to change my appearance. A sign that I am no longer the youthful John Watson who loved the thrill of chasing down psychotic criminals, together with my very own high functioning sociopath. I could never bring myself to pick up the phone to see Mrs. Hudson, neither did I keep in touch with Lestrade or Mycroft. It was better for me. That the very thought of seeing anything associated with Sherlock would rip open the tightly sealed lid of screwed up emotions, which I had shoved down so deep within me. In large part, Mary, the woman whom I now plan to propose to, saved me from falling down into the pit. Mary has always been so understanding and patient about what happened. She picked me up when I was completely shattered. She’s not him, but she understood my nature. I sometimes catch myself unconsciously thinking – how would Mary and Sherlock react if they met each other?

I had absolutely no idea he was the waiter taking my order - in that tuxedo, holding the menu with that silly moustache and over-the-top French accent. My mind was so focused on how do I go about proposing to Mary. She playfully gazed and smirk as I stumbled and babbled my way into my proposal, confidently concurring that she was indeed the best thing that has happened to me. So far, the proposal sounded a lot more romantic in my head but at least she was smiling. The night was going well. The one time where I had completely wiped him off my mind, he shows up. I stood up the moment I recognised that same face which has been haunting my dreams for the past two years. I ignored Mary’s confused queries and continued staring at him. It can’t be him. It can’t. I have wished and wished that he was not dead and just when I was ready to accept that, he stands in front of me saying the two words I wanted to hear the most – Not Dead. Sherlock was alive. I could not contain the anger erupting inside of me. How could he?? After all this time and he has never said anything, not even a whisper of a word that he was alive??!! And...and...the nerve of him, after randomly showing up from the dead, appearing back into my life just as I finally had the courage to move on... and all he asks if I’m keep going to keep my moustache?? Screw you Sherlock Holmes. That was the first time that night that I wrapped my hands tightly around that smug arrogant bastard’s neck. Later on, upon learning that I was one of the few who were intentionally kept the truth, I took out all my anger, frustration and grief onto him. Three times I attacked, tackled and punched him in the face within the last 24 hours of reuniting with Sherlock Holmes.

I was determined to never speak to him. Not after how he treated me - as if this was all a joke. Mary kept me grounded but surprisingly enough she favours him. Why? Nobody likes him. He is the most egotistical know-it-all that I have ever met. And they feel like I’m overreacting?? Am I the only sane person around anymore? Does he not realize the wrecked state he left me in? How hard it was for Mary to hold on to me crawled out from despair? I barely made it out the last time. That is why I know that I can never go through that ever again. Holding myself together, I went through my daily work routine of seeing patients. I believed with work as a distraction, I could keep my mind off this whole issue. But the more patients I saw, the harder it became for me to focus on them. My heart and soul kept returning to him. As the clock struck four thirty, I found myself wishing that I was seeing him instead of a patient.

At that point, I decided that I had to see him once more. I began looking forward to leaving work on that faithful day of the fifth of November. Off course, the moment I went to see him, I had to be drugged, kidnapped and stashed under a Guy Fawkes commemoration bonfire to burned alive. As I felt the flames licked with their fiery tongues onto my skin, my thoughts was not of Mary but him. As crazy as it was, Sherlock was right. I still missed the thrill of the chase, the blood pumping my veins, just the two of us against the world. More importantly, I realised how much I miss him. Damn you Sherlock, you bastard. Just when I thought I was never going to see him again, he comes along with Mary, saving my life just as he has always done.

That ordeal was enough for me to tag along on one of his crazy adventures as we attempt to decipher the mystery of Sherlock’s missing ‘rat’, which was supposedly linked to a terrorist attack on London. We began pouring through the possibilities of how the passenger, Sherlock’s key ‘rat’, would have possibly got off the train when there were no stops in between whatsoever. God, I miss watching him work as he paced around, his mind never stops analysing like machine, with that mad glint in his clear blue eyes. Like he always does, he eventually figured out that it was only six train cars arriving at St. James’s Park, when seven train cars left the Westminster station. Brilliant deduction as always but I could not help but wonder why he could not solve this one on his own. Why did Sherlock Holmes, of all people, need my help in solving the case?

Thanks to some good old research, we, or rather Sherlock, deduced that the last train car was intentionally split and left in an unknown and abandoned Sumatra Road station in between the two stops. The bomb in the train car was placed under the House of Parliament to vote on the new terrorist law.  I raced on with Sherlock to the site as we attempted to diffuse the bomb that actually turned out to be the whole car. It was only us and even to the best of his abilities, Sherlock claimed that even he could not dismantle the bomb. For the second time tonight, I, together with Sherlock, was going to die. Funny how this morning I was trying my best to convince Mary that I don’t sha(eight) for Sherlock Holmes, yet here I am, risking my life and future for this brilliant fool.

He looked at me with tears streaming down his face, giving me those blue puppy dog eyes. He said: “I’m sorry”. As the genius and selfish bastard that Sherlock was, he asked for my forgiveness. For all the hurt he caused and the future he was about ruin for me. In that moment, I saw how much I meant to him in his eyes. He would jump off that building and fake his death nine times more if it meant keeping me safe. Even if it meant that both of us got hurt in the process. But at least, this way, he knew that he would see me again someday. I too, realised that I would die for him ten times over and still forgive my Sherlock Holmes.

Image Credit: ocfan27@ Fan Forum