[ Indeed a wonder! But Will's always been quick to offer tips in the kitchen, so she isn't surprised at all. No matter how dim he may come off in passing regarding social cues and constructive activities, his attention to detail is what Mary notices instead. There's a ghost of a smile as she lets the saran wrap settle over the frosting, watching the plastic slowly sink as if mesmerized. Only a moment, though, and she'll be moving the bowl to the fridge! Let's get these things out of the way (and sneak a tiny spoonful of frosting) before breaking hearts. ]
You see, it's the sort of ability that works best when it isn't well known.
[ Even if her voice starts out light, there's a somber weight added with each word as she continues. At first she flutters, wiping off a spot on the table here, shifting a chair there (conveniently just beside Will), but her movements gradually slow. A care that's taken with each step and gesture, as if to guide the words along. That much is something she's used to, but what she's working up to is not. There are reasons she must come clean, but she understands the risks involved. Not just of upsetting Will, but of opening the door to poor questions or deductions. But as discussed with Sherlock, it could be worse if he comes to worse conclusions at a later date (if there is much that can be worse than her). She's broaching an honesty that she never afforded John...not even once married, at least in London.
But everything is different now, the threats are different, and yet she is the same. What to do with that? This might not be what she should do with it, but they could all die tomorrow. Why not? ]
And yet, in this case, I feel that it doesn't suit me best to keep absolutely everybody blind.
[ Will's been blinded quite enough in his life, hasn't he? Mistreated, lied to, and tarnished. But so had John, and that hadn't spurned her to willingly give him the truth, and that isn't the reason she allows a peek behind the curtain now. Honesty isn't kind, because she can't see how it can afford to be. Right now, all it can be is necessary for it to prove any worth. That pragmatic application is more apparent in her now businesslike voice as she murmurs, nonchalantly wiping her hands off on a dish towel while leaning against the knife drawer. ]
I like you, Will. I've always liked you. I don't have many friends here, but I do consider you a friend. You see things in people that others can't, things that would make others turn away. Will you promise not to turn away?
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You see, it's the sort of ability that works best when it isn't well known.
[ Even if her voice starts out light, there's a somber weight added with each word as she continues. At first she flutters, wiping off a spot on the table here, shifting a chair there (conveniently just beside Will), but her movements gradually slow. A care that's taken with each step and gesture, as if to guide the words along. That much is something she's used to, but what she's working up to is not. There are reasons she must come clean, but she understands the risks involved. Not just of upsetting Will, but of opening the door to poor questions or deductions. But as discussed with Sherlock, it could be worse if he comes to worse conclusions at a later date (if there is much that can be worse than her). She's broaching an honesty that she never afforded John...not even once married, at least in London.
But everything is different now, the threats are different, and yet she is the same. What to do with that? This might not be what she should do with it, but they could all die tomorrow. Why not? ]
And yet, in this case, I feel that it doesn't suit me best to keep absolutely everybody blind.
[ Will's been blinded quite enough in his life, hasn't he? Mistreated, lied to, and tarnished. But so had John, and that hadn't spurned her to willingly give him the truth, and that isn't the reason she allows a peek behind the curtain now. Honesty isn't kind, because she can't see how it can afford to be. Right now, all it can be is necessary for it to prove any worth. That pragmatic application is more apparent in her now businesslike voice as she murmurs, nonchalantly wiping her hands off on a dish towel while leaning against the knife drawer. ]
I like you, Will. I've always liked you. I don't have many friends here, but I do consider you a friend. You see things in people that others can't, things that would make others turn away. Will you promise not to turn away?