Writing prompt (in bold):***I do not hold the rights to Sherlock Holmes or anything related to his stories. This is purely fan fiction written in response to a writing prompt. Also, please be kind, I haven’t written any fiction in years!***
“It’s your choice,” she shrugged. “You can continue with your useless life, or you can become someone who matters.”
“I already matter,” I countered angrily.
“You already matter? John, you work for a madman. He runs around at all hours, risks both of your lives without a thought, is involved with all sorts of undesirable elements, and I’m pretty sure he has a death wish. You could do so much more looking after your patients, and coming home to me every night.” Mary rebutted.
She had me there. I did work for a madman. He was a madman with whom I had help save countless lives in our last two years of friendship. Since I was injured in Afghanistan and discharged by her majesty’s Royal Marines, my partnership with Holmes had given me a new sense of purpose. As well as more than a few new grey hairs.
My new wife Mary was on me again about my partnership with Sherlock after we had a close escape on our last adventure. We had saved a number of lives and stopped a plot to detonate a bomb in London’s underground. However, I had also been shot when, not wanting to wait for Lestrade or the police Emergency Services Unit, Sherlock ran headlong into the lair of the Russian Mafia boss who was behind the plot. As I followed Sherlock into the building the boss’s thugs opened fire.
I touched my right calf gingerly. It had been just a graze as I entered the building, but it was still painful. I can’t recommend getting shot to anyone. Sherlock, who strode through the hail of gunfire, managed to apprehend the boss, and not get himself shot in the process. It was actually quite unbelievable. As was the look on Mary’s face as she looked at my injured leg.
In the end, we took down a major criminal enterprise in London, saved a bunch of innocents by finding out where the bombs were placed, and came out none the worse for wear. Ok, maybe a bit the worse for wear, I thought as I watched Mary finish rebandaging the wound.
Yes, Holmes was a madman. And he didn’t pay very well either. I could have made more money working in the private sector, quite easily. However, aiding the greatest detective the world has ever seen, and being able to pass on his exploits to his thousands of social media followers, well, that was a privilege. And not one I can see myself giving up.
I gave Mary the most bashful look I could. “Ok, maybe, just maybe, things got a bit out of hand on this last job.”
“A bit out of hand?? John, you got shot! How much more out of hand can it get?” Mary replied in a huff.
I laughed. “For starters, it was just a graze. And secondly, I can’t give up on him. He may be insane, but he is insanely smart, and he helps a lot of people.”
“I know,” Mary conceded. “I just worry about you. Please be careful, and let the police do their jobs, please? All done.” Mary conceded, as she pulled my pant leg down.
I knew we weren’t done this conversation. Not by a long shot. But it could wait for another day. “This leg will stiffen up if I don’t move it. It is beautiful out. Lets take a walk and enjoy this beautiful weather.”
“If you’re sure it won’t cause problems.” Mary replied, giving me a hand up.
“Not at all.” i said as I exited the room. Mary followed after me briskly.
Thanks for reading this Sherlock Holmes fan fiction.