Author's Note: Time for Mary/Sarah's point of view. In this chapter, I'm going to jump around in time a little bit, so try your best to keep up. Sorry for taking so long to post this, but my internet got cut off and it took forever to get it back

Mrs. Watson sat on her couch, sipping a cup of tea as she watched John carry boxes of his belongings out to the car. He was moving back to Baker Street.

He said it was because that Sherlock was going to need his help when he was released from the hospital. But she knew the real reason why. He was upset and pissed at her for lying about her past and shooting his best friend.

While she watched him move the boxes, she took note that he never even glanced at her, or made the slightest attempt to do so. She pretended not to care, but it was hard to mask due to hormones.

If she had a chance to go back and change this, she wouldn't change a damn thing. She would still shoot Sherlock and not call for an ambulance.

Despite Sherlock saying she did. What had happened was that she saw Magnussen dialing 999 and took the phone after pistol-whipping him in the head.

Apparently the operator figured something was wrong when she hung up on them, and sent an ambulance and police.

"Well that's all the car can hold," John said interrupting her thought process.

Mary looked up at him hoping he was looking at her, but he wasn't. He heading for the door.

"How long?" Mary asked.

"I don't know," John said still not facing her.

"Please face me?" Mary asked.

John hesitated for a moment for turning around to look her. She looked into his eyes and saw that the love had been drained out of them. She saw what she saw when she first met him, a broken man who needed help. Only she couldn't help him this time. It was Sherlock's job now. Sherlock had to help him move forward.

"Tell Sherlock I said hi," Mary said.

"Don't count on it," John replied as he turned and left.

Mary walked into, Mycroft's office, visibly terrified. She knew that there would come a time when she had to face the older Holmes, but she didn't want it to be under these circumstances. That wish died when she shot Sherlock.

The second she had pulled that trigger, she knew that there would be a meeting with Mycroft Holmes. She just didn't know when. She never prepared.

"Have a seat, Mrs. Watson," Mycroft said as he sat up straighter than a pen.

Mary remained standing. "I was in the middle a bank deposit."

"Have a seat, Mrs. Watson," Mycroft repeated.

Mary obliged and sat down.

Mycroft stood up from his chair, straightened his suit and stepped to the front of his desk, looking down at her.

"Don't play a façade in here. I will now and that will make things even worse," Mycroft warned.

"Why am I here?" Mary asked.

"You know why," Mycroft replied. "You shot Sherlock Holmes. You should consider yourself lucky. If he had died, you'd be somewhere, not so pleasant."

"I would be dead in a ditch somewhere," Mary guessed.

"Oh no. Despite what people might think, I'm not heartless enough to put an unborn child's life in danger. You would have died after giving birth though," Mycroft reassured.

"That's nice to know," Mary stated.

"On to business," Mycroft said as he clasped his hands together in front of him. "You should know something that no one has told you yet. You did in fact kill my brother."

"No I didn't," Mary denied.

"He was legally dead for two minutes. The only reason he's alive now, is because of his refusal to die. I don't know how he managed it, but he brought himself back from the dead, not the surgeons," Mycroft explained. "But because of his little escape a week and a half ago, two hours ago he was declared comatose."

Mary swallowed. "He's in a coma?"

"Yes, and I place the blame on you," Mycroft answered. "You see this is what they call a domino effect. If you hadn't shot him, he wouldn't have had to fight for his life. If he hadn't had to fight for his life, he wouldn't have had to escape and risk further injury to himself. If he hadn't had to escape, he wouldn't have suffered from internal bleeding..."

Mary cut him off. "And if he hadn't suffered from internal bleeding he wouldn't be in a coma."

"Exactly," Mycroft said with a sly smirk. "So you see, this is all your own fault. You caused each of those domino's to fall. There are still more domino's to come and I can place every single one of them on you."

"How so?" Mary asked.

"Knowing my brother, he will figure out a way to wake up, sooner or later," Mycroft stated. "That being said, if anything happens to him in the future and he's able to connect it to you any way shape or form, you will not have a future. Keep in mind that you won't be pregnant forever."

Mycroft stood firmly on his feet and walked back to his chair and sat down. "I am going to tell you this now. I have people keeping an eye on everything you do. If you do the slightest thing wrong, I will know. I will know if you miss a day of work, visit my brother. I'll even know if you sneeze."

Mary sighed. "Can I go now?"

"You'll be dropped off where you were picked up," Mycroft replied. "Good bye Mrs. Watson."

Mary stood up and left the room.

After making sure John wasn't at the hospital, Mary left the safety of her home and decided to see if what the elder Holmes had said was true. She wanted to see Sherlock for herself.

When she walked into Sherlock's room she regretted her decision to come. Looking at him made her regret what she did. Mycroft was right it was her fault, and she couldn't deny it.

After standing in the doorway for a few minutes, she decided to sit down in the chair that so many other visitors had occupied in the past two and half weeks. Those visitors being people, Sherlock cared about and trusted.

She knew that he didn't trust her, he only said that for John's sake. Everything he ever did was for John. He faked his own death just to keep that man safe, while she just lied about her past. He had done more for John than anyone else had ever done.

She looked at Sherlock's sleeping face. It wasn't peaceful. It was painful. He was in pain and no one had realized it because they saw what they wanted to see.

She couldn't do anything, because everyone thought she was just the wife of the injured man's best friend. John had painted them the facade of who she was pretending to be.

She just sat there for a while, not speaking. She just stared at Sherlock. She knew it was useless to talk to a comatose patient. They couldn't hear or reply, so there was no point. But she also knew that people found it comforting talking to someone who couldn't judge them.

So she started talking. She talked about John, and how she missed him. She talked about her meeting with Mycroft. She just sat there and talked.

The talking eventually stopped, when someone who worked for Mycroft showed up and escorted her out.

Mary wasn't regularly informed about Sherlock's recovery like everyone else. Mycroft made sure of that. With him knowing everything, she had to stick to a routine she did not like. If the routine was messed up in the slightest way, someone from his staff would be by her side the rest of the day.

When she finally received an update on Sherlock, he was back at Baker Street, recovering there. She was tempted to go see the man, but John would be there at all times, monitoring everything, even visitors.

One night she sat at home sipping some tea while Jeff, someone from Mycroft's staff, sat and watched her. She had tried to make conversation, but it didn't work. He would just sit in John's recliner, reading a book while watching her.

She hated every second of this. She felt like a five-year old getting a time-out. Out of everything, she the silence the most. It was painful not being able talk. Every day was passed in silence. The only times she talked was when Janine called her or when it was official business of sorts.

One afternoon while she was having lunch with Janine, she received a text from John, telling her to him that something happened to Sherlock and to be at St. Bart's.

When she got there, John was pacing while Molly and Lestrade just sat not saying anything.

"Any word?" Mary asked making her presence known to John.

John looked at her, somewhat relieved to see her. It was almost as if he had forgotten everything she did.

He walked over to her and hugged her.

When they pulled apart she looked him in the eyes for signs of love but found none.

"What happened?" Mary asked.

"Some sadistic bastard, stabbed a knife into Sherlock's gunshot wound, while I was out," John said.

Mary took hold of John's hand and anchored him as she stared into his eyes as if having a silent conversation.

An understanding passed between the two of them as they both sat down and waited.

A few hours after being informed about Sherlock's condition, Mary continued to sit in the waiting room. Shortly someone would come a get her and lead her away from the hospital.

She was surprised that Mycroft had come with that person.

Mary stood up and looked at Mycroft. "John texted me."

"I know, and until I find out whether or not you were involved, you can stay. John needs someone to keep him grounded until Sherlock wakes up and that person is you," Mycroft explained. "If you are cleared, then you can visit as much as you like, but will continued to be monitored. Do I make myself clear?"

"Crystal clear," Mary replied as she sat back down.

Mycroft then walked away and headed in the direction of Sherlock's room.