Marriage and Mental Illness (Sequel to Tall Buildings and Pill Bottles)

Bullet Wound Help

Sherlock's POV

I smelled the sizzling bacon before I'd even opened my eyes, peeling my eyelids open to see the empty sheets beside me. I pushed myself into a sitting position, vision blurred. The sheets on John's side were cold, he had to have gotten up a while ago.

My eyes slid shut again, my body tempted flop back down and sleep until my husband forced me out of bed. I drew in a sharp breath, finally swinging my legs over the side of the bed. I could barely keep my eyes open as I fumbled for my dressing gown before shuffling into the kitchen.

John was still cooking when I came in, whistling a low tune. I lingered in the doorway, watching sinewy muscle flex and relax with his movements through his shirt. My eyelids began growing heavy again so I sidled closer to the chair, a small whimper escaping through my lips.

John turned over his shoulder, smiling broadly. "Good morning, my love." His voice was far too chipper for this time of day but I couldn't help but smile in return.

I managed a jumbled response, setting my chin against my arms on the table. John chuckled, plating whatever it was that he was cooking. From the smell, bacon.

He turned around to show two plates of pancakes and bacon, pressing his lips to my temple as he set one of them in front of me. I smiled weakly, humming at the touch.

"Here you go." I tipped my head to look at him, brow raising at the food. We never had something nearly as sweet in the morning, only the occasional crepe. Even that was for special occasions.

He shrugged, "We do have a reason to celebrate. This nightmare of a case is finally over. We can go back to our normal lives now. Or, try to, at least." I held his gaze, the shadows of Mosque haunting him still. The burning bookstore. The other victims. Olivia.

"We made it through. We're safe now." I placed a hand over his, offering a grim smile. He cleared his throat, nodding slowly.

"We are," the smile turned real, though a kernal of giref remained in his features, "which is why we're going on a sunset picnic tonight."

I cocked a brow, the corners of my lips turning upwards. "Really? A picnic?" He nodded, bringing my hand to his lips.

"Yes, really, you git. Now start eating, I didn't make these for nothing." He winked to show he was playing and dropped my hand. I loosed a breath, watching quietly as he began eating.

We were here, alive and well. A bubble of guilt began to rise in my chest, we'd made it out alive and well, but not Olivia. Not any of the other Stewart victims. Not all of the people in the Mosque.

My smile faded, and I took another deep breath. John leaned over, swiftly kissing me. He tasted of butter and syrup, the delight of a lazy morning with all of the same guilt I felt.

"I know. But we can't let that rule us anymore. If we do, they win, yeah?"

I nodded, eyes trained on the table, blinking to clear my eyes. He kissed me again before sitting back. "I love you."

I nodded, swallowing harshly. His hand stayed over mine as he began to eat, a reminder of of his presence. His thumb circled slowly over my hand until I'd calmed down enough to stop shaking.

I helped him wash up after breakfast, unsure of what to say. I was drying the last dosh when he wrapped his arms around my middle, pressing his lips into my shoulder. I smiled faintly and set the plate in the cabinet. He spun me around as soon as it was closed again, grinning.

"Did you happen to see what I got you?" He asked, mood beginning to brighten. I couldn't seem to get the images out of my head, but his tone was infectious.