“Mary’s a fucking rock.” John can feel himself blush, but if there’s one thing he knows for sure, it’s that he wouldn’t still be in one living, breathing piece if it weren’t for Mary Morstan Watson. He might be bad at admitting the depth of his feelings, but he can’t deny what he owes her. “God knows why she puts up with me.” He tosses it off like false modesty, like English self-deprecation, but deep down John wonders what karmic good deed brought her to him and made her stay.