ShErLoCk oNeSiEs

Heroes

I plunge my hands further into my coat pockets as the bitter fingernails of winter attack every exposed bit of skin on my body. Walking down the pavement, the cold breeze, the empty cemetery - everything seems so much more relevant to my life, now that I know how it feels to lose something.

Someone, to be exact.

I keep my head down as I step into the cemetery, the gate creaking as if moaning about how it should already have been dead. My feet break the silence of the dead with the crunch of brittle autumn leaves as I make my way to the gray headstone.

I clench my fists beneath my trench coat. I find this difficult. I do.

I stare at the headstone, trying not to look away from the name engraved on the stone. It was like looking straight at the sun, blinding, not impossible, but deeply, deeply, scarring.

That was how it felt to look at Mary Watson's grave.

"You wouldn't believe the traffic," I begin. "It's almost like you took it with you. Not that I'm complaining, the ruckus nearly drove Mrs. Hudson to pack up and move out, which she would have, save for the existence of two madmen under her landladyship. Mrs. Hudson leave Baker Street? God, no. England would fall."

I take a seat on the ground next to her, spotting a single yellow daisy laid on the ground. I pick it up gingerly, as if one action could snap its bleak stem in two.

"I don't think you'd have wanted me to bring you flowers and such," I say disapprovingly. "You might've even asked me if I was alright. Which," I add hesitantly, "...I am not sure how to answer."

The graveyard is silent.

I enjoy it.

"You know, we were so similar, you and I," I continue, focusing on nothing in particular. "We think the same way, although I'm infinitely more suave and mysterious. All you needed was a mildly un-horrible coat and you'd have been my other Watson."

The words leave my mouth and evaporate into the dry winter air, untraceable wisps of emotion curling into the wind. My other Watson.

Interesting.

"John was right," I find myself smirking, despite myself. "You and I should have gotten married. Would've been fun." I pluck at the grass next to my shoe. "The sociopath and the assassin. It does have a ring to it. Although, admittedly, both of us in one flat would drive Mrs. Hudson to the point of insanity." I chuckle.

Mary. Mary, Mary, Mary.

"John...hasn't fully recovered, not yet," I ignore the shard of pain worming its way into the kinks in my armor. "He misses you. Quite a bruise he left on me, though. Occasionally lashes out, blames me, that sort of thing, but..." I shrug, wincing at the memory of John's fist connecting with my jaw. "...I'm trying. I'm working on it. I will save John Watson."

"It's dramatically unfair that I can't ever repay you for what you did for me," my eyelids shut, and I feel the whole nightmarish memory replay all around me in slow motion.

Gun raised.

Shot fired.

Acceptance.

A blonde blur.

Confusion.

Spurt of red.

Sharks.

Shock.

John.

John.

My eyes snap back open, finding the letters engraved on the headstone of Mary's grave. I can't keep them open for long, and the tracks of unnaturally cold air from my eye sockets downwards tell me more than enough. I drag the heel of my palm under my eyes to catch the salty moisture and inhale.

Exhale.

Inhale.

And I'm back.

"Do you know," I said suddenly to apparently no one. "You were brilliant, Mary Watson."

I smile. The shard of pain in my heart has made its way through to my soft core, embossing the name "Mary Watson" next to John's. It feels gratifying.

"There's no point in questioning whether I was worth it or not," I say, standing and brushing my trousers. "So I won't waste energy on that. But please, know this, Mary Watson." I place two fingers on the headstone, as if trying to detect a pulse in the lifeless slab which holds a bleak candle to the blazing flame that was Mary Watson. One of the strongest women I knew.

"You might have done it to save my life," I say. "But you saved my life for him. You knew." I clench my other hand, curling my slender fingers into an unfamiliar fist. "And you also knew..." I stare at the name on the grave with an immense amount of respect. "...that I would've done the exact same thing, had our roles been reversed. Without hesitation."

Inhale.

"Because we're similar in one other way, Mary," I feel my voice shake with the effort of being honest to no one but a corpse. "We both fell in love with the same person. Excellent taste, as would be expected from us."

I retract my hand, now slightly numb from so much exposure to the harsh cold. "I tend to avoid the entire 'Rest In Peace' charade, it's terribly falsified. But I will say that you may rest assured that John is safe. He's safe with me, Mary."

I turn to leave her. The ghost of a whisper flutters through the gap in my teeth, a vague "thank you" to her, for everything and more.

What incredible character she had.

John once told me I was a hero. I'm not. But I would know one if I was asked.

I stride towards the creaking gate of the cemetery and shut it behind me, making my way back to 221B.

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Not a lot of actual Johnlock here, but :)