Title: A Promise

Chapter: 1/5

Rating: T

Warnings: Discussion of difficult topics such as shooting someone. lying, and historical drug use, minor alcohol consumption, discussions of pregnancy, discussion of an affair

Pairings: John/Mary

Spoilers: For all seasons of Sherlock, especially "His Last Vow"

Summary: "Love is patient; love is kind..." But John and Mary Watson have some serious martial issues to work out. So love might not be enough. A companion piece to "Baby Makes Three".

Author's Note: This is not quite what I envisioned writing next; it is not a direct sequel to "Baby Makes Three" but rather a prequel or a compliment. I always said I would never write anything to go with "His Last Vow" since everyone seemed to be working on missing scenes and one-shots that take place within the episode. But this story had been developing in my mind for some time and then suddenly begged to be written. I am afraid there is quite too much internal monologue in this tale. It's rather heavy in parts. I tried to lighten the mood with a bit of humor now and then, but I'm not sure how effective it is. But I wanted to post it anyway in hopes it would help someone else work through John and Mary's issues in "His Last Vow" just like it did for me.

This is just my interpretation of events; everyone is entitled to their own opinion. Please feel welcome to leave me constructive criticism and reviews. I would like to know what you think. The characters belong to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, of course, and Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss who have taken them into the 21st century. All dialogue from "His Last Vow" constructed with the help of the wonderful Ariane DeVere who has provided us with transcripts for all the episodes.

And as always this story is written for the Lord Jesus Christ who shapes my thoughts as I write and gives me the time and ability to do so.

Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. Love never fails.

1 Corinthians 13:4-8a (NIV)

"Seriously? Months of silence and we're gonna do this...now?

Mary Watson stared in disbelief. She felt as if she had been slapped. She might as well have been. He had the audacity to ask her if she was doing okay after months of silence. Then he dared bring forth the very thing that was driving them apart.

A.G.R.A.

The letters written in black marker glistened off the drive in the afternoon light. A line from Hamlet's infamous soliloquy drifted through her mind.

"Be all my sins remember'd..."

The initials stared back at her from the drive as an accusation. It was her, her former self, her true name, her ruined past, returning to haunt her. Once, she thought she could leave it behind, burying it with poor little still-born Mary Morstan in the graveyard in Chiswick. But it had all been a lie. Her past was always with her, no matter how genuinely she desired to escape it. It would return, sometimes in a whisper or sometimes - like the past six months – with a mighty roar.

Mary swallowed.

Was she ready for this? Emotionally and physically, could she handle the torment she was about to endure? Six months ago, that night in Baker Street, she was able to conceal her emotions. But now - eight months pregnant - she doubted she would remain so distant and composed.

Despite her initial anger and fear, deep down, she had longed for this moment. The man she loved, the man she had severely wronged, was ready to talk with her. And, finally, her judgment had come. She knew John Watson too well. This betrayal had deeply wounded him, perhaps too deeply to ever be mended. There would be finality to these proceedings, but she expected not be comforted at the end of them. At least her mind would be somewhat eased by the closure.

Some movement from John brought her around. Mary swallowed hard again to moisten her mouth.

"So, have you read it?"

She had to know. She had to grasp for one last glimmer of hope. But her judge seemed reluctant to give her even that.

He motioned in front of him, adding, shakily at first but finishing quite confidently, "Would you come here a moment?"

Terror seized her. She shook her head.

"No. Tell me. Have you?"

"Just ..."

Mary saw a flash of humanity in her judge. He seemed as frustrated as she had been at the onset of the conversation; but he too reined in his emotions.

"...come here," he finished calmly.

Mary frowned, reluctant to play along with the proceedings. She hesitated a moment longer before tossing away the warm blanket that provided her with at least something of comfort and starting to rise. Her newly acquired center of gravity made things difficult, but she adjusted and rose, pressing a hand against her swollen belly. John moved to help her, but she refused.

"No, I'm fine."

If she had carried this child alone for nearly six months and was about to undergo righteous judgment from his or her father, she was at least going to be permitted the only independence she barely deserved - the ability to walk on her own two feet.

She came to stand before him tentatively, realising this was the last judgment she would face. The others who knew her black and numerous sins had already given their verdict.

Despite nearly killing one of her boys, Mrs. Hudson had coddled her affectionately. "We all have a past, dear," the woman who used to run a drug cartel with her husband - until said husband blew someone's brains out - had comforted.

After reassuring himself through threats and intimidation of her loyalty and love for John Watson, and by default Sherlock Holmes, Mycroft Holmes had offered her protection. "As much as is in my ability to give," the British Government itself had offered. "But even the 'Powers that Be' have their limitations."

And Sherlock Holmes had forgiven her long before he had painstakingly worked out the details surrounding her former career and special abilities. He understood. "You saved my life," he had said of her hasty but gross miscalculation that night in Magnussen's office. But, still, she shut her eyes against the memory of the blood - the blood slowly pooling on the front of his shirt moments after she had pulled the trigger.

This was her last judgment; but that in no way minimized its importance. In fact, this was the only judgment that mattered. This was the judgment from the man she loved, her husband and the father of her child. The man she had given her heart to do with it what he willed – to cherish it or to break it. He had every right to despise her. Deep down in her soul, Mary hoped he truly did. What she had done to him - and to Sherlock - was unforgivable. She understood the weight of her sins now, and she had repented of them.

She was still serving her penance.

But her judgment was still due.

She waited quietly, with downcast eyes and a downcast soul.

Whatever he had to say to her, she would face it bravely.

She only prayed her sentence would be exactly what she deserved.

Then, finally, her judge spoke.