Life’s gotten crazy again.. It’s always crazy! So as always forgive me for the delay. I haven’t forgotten My Baker Street Boys! As you know, I not only adore the cast and crew of this wonderful series.. But the fans that continue to celebrate this wonderful show!
So in continuing that celebration, I once again spotlight one of my favorite writers mydogwatson! I’ve always adored her postcard stories, and this story was the first of many! Art by Amanda Tolleson!
The Case of the Half-awakened Wife
John finally just gave up on the whole trying to sleep thing. Probably for the best, as he knew all too well what sort of dreams would arrive if he actually did manage to drift off. Instead, he slipped from the bed carefully and padded over to the window, twitching the shade open just a sliver so that he could look out at the emptiness of the middle-of-the-night road.
Only vaguely aware of what he was doing, John searched the pavement, the shadows and the empty doorways, not allowing himself to hope that he would spot a familiar lanky figure wrapped in a ridiculous coat lurking out there. His last sight of Sherlock had been of the other man being pushed into Mycroft’s car before it sped away from the airfield.
John had wanted to jump into the car as well, wanted desperately to know what the hell was going on. But Sherlock only gave him one long, unreadable look, Mycroft waved him off disdainfully, and Mary tugged urgently at his arm, reminding him of where he belonged now.
Well, apparently he belonged here in this claustrophobic suburban bedroom and in that heavily pillowed bed with a woman he seemed to know not at all. And about whom, he feared, he was beginning to care even less. But he had made a vow to her and there was a baby coming.
However, he had also made promises [spoken aloud or otherwise] to his best friend and shouldn’t those pledges count for something, too? Not to mention that a baby was not something he had planned for or even, truthfully, ever really wanted. But here he was. Where he belonged.
John Watson was pretty sure that his heart was breaking, even if it was unclear to him why. His forehead rested against the cool glass of the window as he stared at the empty road. Which seemed symbolic somehow.
Behind him, he heard the sound of Mary [or whatever the fuck her name actually was] turning over in the bed. “John,” she mumbled in a voice thick with sleep. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” he said flatly. Everything, he didn’t say aloud.
“Come back to bed.”
He took one last look up and down the road, just in case, and then he went back to bed.
Follow link for more goodies by mydogwatson: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mydogwatson/pseuds/mydogwatson