Sherlock Preferences & Imagines

John Watson

This is a request for GlamRockCrash
Warning. Talks in brief detail of suicide attempts. Mentions of depression and death.
Enjoy.
—
The shot echoed through the aquarium. Without a second thought Mary jumped in front of Sherlock. Saving his life, but ultimately ending hers.
That bullet.
That shot.
That sound.
It all echoed through his memories. In that moment he lost the love of his life and his best friend. That bullet was meant for Sherlock. So why isn't he the one that is 6 foot under. Why is he still breathing?Why did Mary play hero? Why did Mary leave her daughter. Why did Mary leave him?
Questions ran rampant in is head, his grief and his hatred hitting him hard. He had no one. Everyone who was close to him was dead or the cause of death. He still had his other friends. But they don't mean as much as they did. Other than you. You were his war buddy. He's fellow solider in hand. His comrade. But mostly? His bestest friend.
Though your relationship was as as tight as rope can be. There was still frayed edges.
After he left and got honourably discharged due to injury in Afghanistan, you were still there. You saved his life. But he left you alone as selfish as it was to say. He wrote to you a lot. Had phone calls when they were accepted regardless of the 4 and a half hour time zone difference. It was always 1am when you'd be able to phone him. You'd feel bad waking him up, but he didn't mind.
As time went on, letters and calls become scarce. You rarely heard of him. You read about his little adventures with the curly haired detective. Smiling at how he took care of people, even outside of the war.
Sadly, and as apparent on how things aspire. You had no contact with him at all.

You left the army a few years later, unfortunately due to injury, but mainly so you could live a life that's not on a battlefield in the scorching heat. So you moved to London. You then was granted access to work with the high and mighty, Mycroft Holmes. You and Mycroft got along like dry grass on fire. Eventually it was the same with Sherlock. The golden trio.
You heard John found the love of his life. An ex spy called Mary. Your heart swelled with joy when you found out he asked her to marry him. You always told him he'd find someone just as amazing as him.
So there you were. Outside his house. Knocking on his door.
When he opened the door his eyes opened wide in shock.
"Y/n?"
"Hi John."
Tears welled in his eyes. And yours as well.
"It's been a while."
John pulled you into a tight hug. Never wanting to let you go.
"John? Who's at the door?" You heard from behind him. A beautiful blonde woman come into view, her smile falling as she seen her fiancé in an embrace with another woman. John pulled away and turned to Mary. Her brows furrowed in concern seeing her lovers teary eyes.
"Mary. This is Y/n. Y/n meet Mary. The love of my life."
"Replaced me already Watson?"
His face fell.
"What no!"
"I jest John. It's lovely to meet you Mary."
"You saved his life." Mary said.
"Yes I did." You said. Seconds later you were in another embrace. This time with Mary.
"Thank you."
"Er. It's fine. Nothing to get emotional about."
Mary invited you into their home, she wanted to know about the woman that saved her fiancé many years ago.
"I thought you were still in the army?" John said as he handed you a tea.
"Well we know how that ends up. I was shot. I wanted a better scenery then sand for miles."
"So you got shot?"
"Well it's not like I did it on purpose."
The conversation continued. You caught up with John. You got to know Mary.
"I'm happy for you John. You've got an amazing woman by your side."
"I'm sorry."
"What an earth are you sorry for?" You asked confused.
"I didn't reply to you. I let us go out of contact."
"Ah well, it happens."
You both caught up with each others lives, two best friends reuniting.
You and John grew close again. In turn you grew close with Mary. Even becoming her maid of honour.
Then they had a baby. Rosamund Mary
y/n Watson. But not all good things last forever.
Mary Watson was dead.
She held onto Rosie as she watched the coffin lower into the ground. She held Johns hand tightly. Not wanting to ever let go.
She was dead. And it was all Sherlock Holmes' fault.
—
John refused to talk to Sherlock. He refused to do a lot of things. So much so that little Rosie was temporarily in the care of a few of his friends. Molly, Greg or even you. He couldn't bare to look at his daughter.
You went to his house, you didn't want him to be alone. You let yourself in, calling his name, not wanting to be harmed if John thought you were an intruder. The house was a disaster, furniture everywhere, glass and other belongings scattered everywhere. You thought you'd hear commotion, but there was silence. You slowly made your way through the house. You found him in the bathroom. Mirrored shards all over the sink and floor. John with his knees to his chest and his bloodied hands covered his face as he sobbed.
You quickly took him into your arms, gently helping him stand, taking him to the bedroom and making him sit on the edge of the bed. You went back into the bathroom, collecting the first aid kit. You cleaned up his bloodied hands and any other blood on his body. You wiped his silent tears away. You left him there. You cleaned the glass off of the bathroom floor. You went back to John.
"You should shower. You stink."
But John didn't move an inch.
"John. I know this is hard. But you need to take care of yourself. Mary whisky. Want to see you like this."
"You wouldn't know what she's like. You didn't know her like I did. We hadn't spoke for years."
You tutted at John. 
"Well I won't take that to heart. You're in grief John. It's okay. But please for your own daughters sake. Go and Shower. Don't make me drag you in there and wash you myself. You know I will."
"Fine." John slowly got up and went to shower. You put clean pyjamas on the sink, along with a clean towel.
While he was showering. You cleaned his room. You put on fresh bedding, put all his dirty laundry in the washing basket, put things back where they belong.
John come out the bathroom looking refreshed.
"You cleaned? Why?" He asked confused.
"Because you aren't taking care of yourself, so I will."
"You don't have to do this."
"And you don't need to be alone. But you need rest. You look like you haven't slept in days."
"I haven't."
"I know. So go."
"Don't leave me." He said.
"I'll be right here when you wake."
"Promise?"
"Promise."
So as he slept, you cleaned his house, had groceries delivered, made him dinner.
You did exactly as you said you would. You took care of him.
—- present time——
You were in your dressing gown. Along with your fluffy slippers. You hair looking like a nest. You dragged yourself through the house. Collecting the dropped mail by the front door. Not bothering to look at them you placed them on your kitchen side and proceeded to make yourself your favourite hot drink. In hopes that could heal your tired soul. You stood at the counter and prepared your breakfast. You looked at the pile of letters on the side. You picked them up, sipping your coffee as you did so.
You opened the letters one by one. Most of them upcoming bills, others being god knows what just ordinary normal day letters. But the last one. That last letter was anything but ordinary.
It looked the same as the others. Your name and address. The stamp of Queen Elizabeth in the corner. But on the back of the letter it said something that you thought was familiar but you couldn't put your finger on it. On the back was two words. 7 letters. One punctuation mark.