A.G.R.A.

A.G.R.A.

Sherlock's father left and I started pretending, that I was deeply engrossed in book of Sherlock's mother, just to avoid him, postponing the interview, which had would soon to come.

Of course the bursting bubbles of lies, in which I was wrapped, we were already behind. It wasn't pleasant. At that time, when I stood in the hallway and the figure on the other side of the hallway, of which I had thought, that was just a stupid dummy, got up and I realized that it was John, I thought my heart stopped. My blood froze in my veins, and I helplessly gasping for air. And when we came to Baker Street and John relaxed after that and was able to speak, he began to fret that everybody in his life are psychopaths, that I should be the normal one, but I'm not, and I felt such shame. I was very ashamed, more than I ever thought I could. I thought that I will not already ever feel more shame and guilt, which I had led before I met him, but it was a mistake. Injuring him in such a way… lying to his face, shoot his closest friend... Him, the bravest and kindest and wisest human being, I remembered Sherlock's truthful and apposite words, which he said at our wedding... "You. What have I ever done? Hmm? My whole life, to deserve you?" He asked me. It was true. How could I! John was the best man, he didn't do anything. We will never let you down, and we have a lifetime ahead to prove that, this promise I and Sherlock gave to John, but I had already broken it before, and now John knows... He probably knows everything, he looked at the flash disk and finally understood with whom he is married. He know who I am and I've lost him, he doesn't love me, he thought that I am abominable. I don't blame him!

He wants to talk.After a month of silence, he pulled it and I don't know if I'm ready for this, if I'm ready to lose him completely.

"So, have you read it?" slipped out of my mouth.

"W-would you come here a moment?" he asked me, but that wasn't a question.

"No. Tell me. Have you?" I urged full of fear.

But he didn't answer. "Just... come here," he said, and so I got up. "I've thought long and hard about what I want to say to you. These are prepared words, Mary. I've chosen these words with care," he said slowly, with pauses, as if my heart was pounding already so madly.

"Okay," I nodded to a sign that I understand and I deep breath, to prepare myself for what is to come.

"The problems of your past are your business. The problems of your future... are my privilege. It's all I have to say. It's all I need to know," he said. I couldn't believe what he says. He wants to give me a chance, he... he... "No, I didn't read it," he finished and threw flash disk with my initials into the fire.

"You don't even know my name," I said, shaking my head. In down my throat I felt bitterness, on the lower lid of my eyes by themselves they started to form tears. I wept with relief and happiness.

"Is 'Mary Watson' good enough for you?" he confirmed his decision.

"Yes! Oh my God, yes," I cried and threw my arms around his neck. Around the neck of the man who stood from me, my husband, what was not really able to forget, but to forgive, to give me a chance, which was much more than I could have hoped for.