Word count: 100, not including the wordy title
Summary: An ongoing series of connected drabbles filling in the "nothing for months" missing time in "His Last Vow."
A/N: I've been jonesing hardcore for some Warstan fics, so if you know of any good ones, please feel free to make a recommendation.
Also, this installment is dedicated to avidreadergirl, whom I am shamelessly trying to guilt into writing a Sherlock fic. So there's that. :)
(Part 1), (Part 2), (Part 3), (Part 4)
"I don't see what difference it makes." John grabbed a suitcase from the closet and wrestled it onto what had been his marital bed.
To anyone else, he would have appeared in control. But Sherlock saw what hid beneath the soldier's facade: fury in the lines around his mouth, the dead-eyed stare of defeat. An ache that went cell-deep.
"Mary isn't some comic book character. We don't need her origin story," he rambled, tossing the contents of a dresser drawer into the travel bag. "Honestly, what does it matter?"
Grabbing the suitcase, Sherlock upended it onto the floor. "It matters."