Unbelieving (A Johnlock Fanfiction)

Water

Mary had never seen John smile like he did that day. The day he came back.

Mycroft had informed Sherlock about a certain Ms. Morstan who had been helping John out but he hadn't accounted for her becoming such an uncannily integral part of John's days.

Sentiment.

Water kills the purpose of adhesives, but when the paper is just too wet, it sticks anyway, right?

That's what Mary was to John. He didn't want her; he didn't need her; he just had her and he had too much of her.

~

"Sir, will I get to visit him again?"

Mycroft chuckled. "Since when did you start giving in to outbursts of compassion, Morstan?"

"Since it cut me open." She replied, mostly to herself.

"Well," Mycroft took a breath, "I don't see why you're needed there just a day after my brother made his appearance into the soldier's life, but you may do as you please."

She smiled quietly.

"Also," he added, "please be sure to not involve me in any of this sentimental mess," he spat. "I've had too much of it." He stated almost weakly, pouring himself a glass of Scotch.

"Rough day?" She asked, mostly rhetorically.

"Rough times, Morstan," he sighed, "sometimes I have to sink myself to even see."

"I see."

"Do you, now?"

"Oh, yes." She said, not meaning it.

~

"He's gone. Yes, I know. No he just had a full glass of Scotch in front of me. No, he should be falling asleep any time, but please do it later. Just to be safe- yeah. The Junior is back. He's with Watson," she grimaced at the last line.

"He'll never know. I'm sure

because it takes Sherlock Holmes to fool him."

~

"Sherlock Holmes." He extended a hand, "Pleased to meet you miss-"

"Morstan," she smiled tightly, "Mary Morstan."

"Ah. Mary.." he mused, as he returned the gesture,"How are things with Mycroft?"

"He trusts me." She replied.

Sherlock smiled challengingly, "And I trust that you won't break it."

"I won't."

"John mentioned you."

"He mentioned you, too."

"Mycroft didn't."

"Maybe you haven't broken that ice yet "

"Oh, John is a furnace." He said, piercingly.

"I'm not talking about John." She said, as her breath rattled.

"I know. I'm saying you haven't broken the ice."

"Maybe."

He smiled. "Let's break the ice."

"Are you talking about John?"

"I'm talking about you."

"Oh, I'm not ice." She laughed dryly, "I'm water. Can't hold me, can you? Your own brother can't."

"What does that mean?"

She chuckled. "Goodbye, Mr. Holmes."

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