Happy For the Stranger (Johnlock)

10

 Glancing at the new text message I copy it into maps and begin the walk to her house. I don't know why I'm going over there, I don't know why I'm not in Baker Street making up with Sherlock. But then again, he hit a sensitive spot with the women comment, and the bloke is just too unobservant to realize that I love him.

There's no way he loves me back, he just wants to hurt me. That was his plan from the beginning.

Sighing, I ring the doorbell and it opens almost immediately. Mary welcomes me into her house and invited me to sit for tea. We talk for a while about nonsense, until she mentions that I sounded upset on the phone.

"I had a row with my flatmate. Just couldn't take it anymore." I shrug and lift the cup to my lips.

"I'm sorry John." She reaches across the table and places her hand on mine. It doesn't feel right. Not at all, but I don't object. Smiling I wrap my fingers around her hand. Why am I doing this? I don't feel anything for her! This means nothing.

When the sky begins to grow dark she stands and begins to move to a closet at the end of the hall, grabbing blankets. "Are you ok with sleeping on the couch tonight?" She asks.

"Oh, Mary, no you don't have to let me stay over." I stand up to get her to put the blankets away.

"Where else will you stay John? I want you to stay. Maybe just one night. Let yourself cool down before you go back to the flat." I can tell he isn't going to budge, so I nod quickly.

"Thank you Mary."

She smiles and approaches me, the blankets in her arms. "Do you fancy a glass of wine before bed?" She asks, moving to the kitchen again.

"That would be wonderful." I smile, glad for the distraction from Sherlock but then again, I miss talking to him, thinking about him, and fantasizing. Mary hands me a glass of wine and sits next to me on the couch.

"So John, how long have you been working at St. Bart's?"

I told her about how I was a doctor in the war, and recently got back due to an injury.

"Oh, god. You're alright though, aren't you?" She says, a worried expression on her face.

"Yes, just... just an ugly scar left."

"Oh, I'm sure it's not ugly." She chuckles a bit. "I doubt anything about you could be ugly." She bites her lips lightly and I smile.

"Would you like to see the scar?" I ask. I don't know why I'm offering to show her. I'm not intoxicated, i've only had half a glass. I'm not in love with her, I'm in love with Sherlock. Maybe I just need someone to confide in?

I start to unbutton the top of my shirt and pull it over my shoulder to reveal the white scar tissue left behind from the bullet.

Mary looks fascinated and traces her fingers over the skin. "I told you." She whispers. "Nothing about you is ugly."

She leans in towards my face, and before I know it she's kissing me. This is the opposite from what I want, but I don't pull away. Sherlock's face comes into my mind, and I deepen the kiss, suddenly picturing myself kissing Sherlock like this.

Standing up she leads me to the bedroom and I regret everything that happened from there.

The only thing that gets me through the night is pretending that she is Sherlock, and her body is his.