Holmes' Book Of One Shots

All Four of Us

            He still had the nightmares. Every. Single. Night. He dreamed of Afghanistan, and he wished it would stop. Sherlock had taken notice as well, and would wake John when it got too bad. He didn’t only dream of Afghanistan, though. Ever since Mary had died, she appeared in his dreams as well.

            Most nights, the dreams were the same.

            Mary would be screaming, and gripping John’s hand. He would tell her, “It’s okay. It’s going to be alright.”

            Gunshots would go off, and the setting would change from a hospital room to the battlefield. John would be in his uniform, gun in hand, and the enemy would be surrounding him. They would fire at him, and he would fire back. Mary would scream, and shout, and cry behind him, and he couldn’t help but wish that he didn’t have to defend her. He wished he could just stay at her side until their daughter would enter the world, blinking into the Afghan sun.

            Well, a hospital room was more preferable.

            But this was the way it had to be. He had to protect his wife, and his soon to be born daughter. He couldn’t wait to finally see her face, and he couldn’t wait for he and Mary to be able to hold her for the first time.

            After all of the surrounding enemies were dead, or had fled, he would turn to his wife, who seemed to be giving up.

            “Mary,” He would say, running to her side. “Come on, don’t give up.”

            She would cry. “I can’t do it, John.”

            “You can, Mary,” His eyes would tear up at his wife’s tear streaked face.

            Her pain was audible in her sobs. “It hurts so badly.”

            “I know.” John moved to the lower half of her body, and he would lift Mary’s hospital gown. He smiled. “You’re almost there! Mary, come on!” Mary’s face wrenched, and she let out a loud scream as she pushed forward.

            After what would seem like hours, John would finally hold the crying baby girl in his hands. He would smile down at his daughter, who was still covered in blood from the birth. He immediately takes her to Mary, who weakly reaches out her hand to her child. He would give her a bright smile, and hand the girl to her. Mary holds the baby close to her chest, and presses her lips to the infant’s forehead.

            “Katherine,” Mary looks to John, giving him a smile. “Katherine Marie.”

            He would nod. “Katherine Marie Watson.”

            Mary suddenly falls back against the wall of the building she had lay in front of. John quickly got on his knees next to her and grabbed Katherine.

            “Mary?” His voice was frantic.

            As he tried to desperately get a response from his wife, who’s temperature was cooling dramatically, Katherine went limp in his arms, and her breathing would stop.

           

            After losing both his wife and his daughter, John had moved back into 221b Baker Street with Sherlock. He did his best to keep busy with cases, but Sherlock started doing some cases alone. He would leave the flat at night, and he wouldn’t let John go with him.