"I pity anyone who isn't me," she exalted dramatically, swinging her free arm in an emphatic arc which included all the world. Her other hand was looped inside his arm and clutched his elbow companionably. "My life is absolutely lovely; everyone should be as happy as I am."

John laughed at his wife's theatrics. "Well, I'd be out of work, then, wouldn't I?" he joked. "If everyone were as excessively happy as you, there'd be no crimes committed for Sherlock and me to solve."

"Hmm. True," Mary nodded agreeably. "Just a bit more happiness might ease up the workload a trifle, though." John understood her sentiments. It was a particularly beautiful day in late autumn; the air was amiably warm with a soft, sensuous, intermittent breeze; the sky had been a particularly perfect shade of blue with just the essential number of startlingly white clouds, and was now gently greying into twilight. And they had had the entire afternoon off: the first time in four months- since their honeymoon, in fact-that they had both had time off work simultaneously.

"I adore our life," she went on. "My clinic is lovely. Your Work is lovely. Our marriage is lovely. The only drawback is that we don't get times like today often enough—time just to ourselves, without the pressure of work on our minds."

John chuckled at her overstated rhetoric. "I love the fact that you think everything is lovely," he commented cheerfully. On days like today, his wife made him feel twenty years younger. Too often, he felt much older than his years; and he was, in fact, twelve years older than Mary. (Just this morning, Lestrade had ribbed John again about robbing the cradle, leaving him feeling perfectly ancient.) And too often, he felt like damaged goods; scarred not just physically, but emotionally. He'd seen too much of death and destruction; he'd had too many 'bad days', in which he'd been forced to commit acts of violence that permeated his soul. But Mary could make him feel like a young man again—a young man who had never yet gone to war; who had never yet killed anyone; who had never yet held a life in his hands and felt it slip away in spite of his best efforts and medical skill. Mary made him better.

Finding themselves with an afternoon in which to do anything they liked, they had opted for a walk through Hyde Park. John teased Mary for being a cheap date; but they both enjoyed the simplicity and serenity of an aimless stroll. Now they found an isolated bench off the path overlooking the Serpentine. John curled his arm around Mary's shoulders and they sat with heads together, watching the evening close in over the water.

"There's a heron," Mary said in a hushed voice. "Isn't it beautiful? This is my favourite park."

"Every park is your favourite park," John teased.

"That's true," she admitted good-naturedly. "The park I'm in is always my favourite. We should try to do this kind of thing more often, Captain, don't you think?"

"Go to the park?"

"Go out. You know, just you and me, on a date."

He looked at her and wondered how he'd been so neglectful. They had been married almost five months. Was this really the first time he'd taken her out in all that time? What was wrong with this picture?

"Of course we should, love. I'm sorry. We've let ourselves get too busy."

"Oh, I know. I realise you can't make plans. The criminals don't consult our calendar before they commit crimes, after all. But maybe we can be more spontaneous in grabbing a chance when we get it, however unexpectedly. Like we did today."

"We will. I promise. We'll try to go out once a week, at least, whenever the opportunity presents itself," John said emphatically.

She snuggled into his side happily. "That will be lovely."

"On our way home," John continued, "we should go to that little bistro on the corner we've been talking about trying."

"Perfectly lovely!" Mary declared again, and John laughed quietly and nuzzled her ear.

"I think if I suggested sumo-wrestling a crocodile, you'd say it would be 'lovely', wouldn't you?" he said fondly.

"I think YOU are perfectly lovely, and so anything we do together is lovely," Mary chuckled. "Good lord, that didn't half sound sappy, did it?"

Their shared laughter frightened the heron away. And then John's phone signalled a text.

He groaned. "I'm sorry, I should have turned that off."

"No, no. It might be important," Mary countered, leaning forward and pushing his arm from around her shoulders. "Better check it."

"Sorry to interrupt, but I cannot find the handcuffs," John read aloud.

"Oh, my," Mary murmured.

Far left-hand kitchen drawer. What's going on? JW

Thank you. Don't concern yourselves. The situation is well in hand. SH

"Maybe we should. . . ." Mary began.

John cut her off. "No. He's perfectly competent to take care of things himself. And if he's progressed to needing handcuffs, obviously the situation is under control," he insisted, with more confidence than he felt. He put his arm around his wife once more and tried to recapture the moment. But like the heron, their carefree mood had flown.

Forgive my intrusion, but where is the med kit? SH

Beneath my armchair. Are you all right? JW

John was beginning to feel alarmed. "If he can text, he's okay, right?" he reasoned. "He's an adult. He can take care of himself. Right?" They were both now leaning forward, tensed and uneasy, heads together over the phone, waiting for the return text.

Don't trouble yourselves everything is fine SH

Mary read the message on John's phone and gasped.

"Oh, Captain! This is serious! He omitted punctuation!"

Out of sutures suggestions please SH

"Oh, bloody hell! We've got to go!" John exclaimed. He grabbed Mary's hand and they started sprinting to the nearest gate. As they climbed into a taxi, John's phone signalled again. This time, it was from Lestrade.

What the hell, John? Sherlock sent me a text with a misspelling. Should I call for an ambulance?

John and Mary never did get their dinner that night.