I apologize for not having posted anything in such a long time. I promised myself I'd finish all my college applications (the US definition of college) before I was allowed to write. Now I've done that, so I can go back to fanfic, hooray! I split this one into 3 parts, although it's really one continuous story, I thought it was too long for a one-shot. So the lengths of the chapters are not consistent whatsoever, but that's not important.
Fair warning: this one's a heart-wrencher.
Chapter 1:
Dr. Watson—
My name is Margaret Hunter, but I'm writing you on behalf of my son, Fred. Ever since he could talk, he's been obsessed with mysteries and detective stories. Once he discovered it, he read your blog religiously. Nothing excites him more than a new Sherlock Holmes case. I didn't know what I would do with him during the long hiatus, he was so desperate for new material. I write you to make a rather unusual request, but I hope you and Mr. Holmes will consider the circumstances.
Two years ago, Fred was diagnosed with acute lymphoblastic leukaemia. He's been fighting it hard, but nothing seems to be working, and the doctors have all but officially declared him terminal. We're not sure how long he has, but as his mother I'm trying to make the best of it. I know he'd love nothing more than to meet Mr. Holmes. He doesn't know I've written you about this, and I'll understand if you're unable to make the trip. But it would be a wonderful surprise to brighten what may be one of his last days. Thank you,
—Margaret Hunter
~0~
John checked the inbox on his blog hoping to find a case Sherlock would actually find worthy of his time. Instead, he encountered that message. He was utterly shell-shocked. What were the odds? The same exact disease, even down to the subtype. Obviously, this woman hadn't seen the news stories about Sherlock's hospitalization that had been leaked. John had explained the hiatus on his blog with the Sherlock-approved memo that he'd 'fallen ill.' No details were provided, and those that followed the blog easily swallowed the understatement. Sherlock told John that they'd probably enjoy weaving their own theories.
There was no way this woman knew that Sherlock's long break from casework was a result of the exact same illness her son suffered from. He wondered if she would still have made the request if she'd known. The boy, Fred, would undoubtedly love Sherlock even more if he learned they had something in common. John knew, without a doubt, that a visit from Sherlock Holmes would be the best thing to happen to this kid in a long time. He only hoped Sherlock would see it that way.
Broaching the subject was difficult. Sherlock trusted him to relay the interesting cases submitted through the blog, and might tune him out if it didn't immediately prove worthwhile. John hoped he'd understand the urgency of the situation because of how close to home it fell. John decided to bring it up on a Monday morning, just one day after the conclusion of their previous case.
"Sherlock, I received a message through the blog the other day," John began.
"Case?" he immediately inquired, barely glancing up from his microscope.
"No, it's not a case, but it's important."
"What could possibly be more important than a case?"
"If you just listen to me, you'll find out. This woman, Margaret Hunter, wrote me about her son who's a big fan of yours. She requested we pay them a visit."
"Why?"
"Sherlock, this little boy's been battling leukaemia for two years. They don't think he's going to live much longer." John held his breath as he watched Sherlock process this information. His hands immediately dropped from the microscope's adjustment knobs, and his mouth fell open. He glanced up at John, scanning his features for any sign of untruthfulness. Apparently convinced this wasn't an elaborate prank, his eyes widened in shock, and possibly fear.
"Does he know about…" Sherlock didn't even need to finish for John to know what he was referring to.
"No. He just knows you as the famous consulting detective."
"And he wants to meet me?"
"Yes." Sherlock appeared confused at this concept. It saddened John to think that Sherlock couldn't understand why anyone would want him around unless they needed his intellect to solve a crime. He'd lived most of his life being only tolerated by others because he could provide answers. John added, "You actually have quite the fan base. There are probably hundreds, maybe thousands, of people who would give their right hand to meet you."
"Strange. I would like to see the boy, but the others I'm unlikely to ever encounter unless they end up as intriguing corpses." John didn't expect him to be so amenable to the idea. He thought Sherlock would require at least five minutes' worth of convincing.
"Fantastic. I was worried you'd refuse and I'd have to figure out what to tell that poor mother," John admitted. Sherlock looked up at him and stated firmly:
"His days are numbered. I know exactly how that feels."
~0~
Ms. Hunter—
I discussed it with him, and Sherlock would love to meet Fred. We will make ourselves available for any date that works for you. Though he'd rather the details remain a surprise until you meet in person, I think you'll find that the reason for Sherlock's earlier hiatus will make him a very sympathetic companion. Thank you,
—John Watson
~0~
John composed that reply to Margaret Hunter's message and, after receiving the go-ahead from Sherlock, promptly sent it. Almost immediately after, his message was reciprocated. They were given the name of the hospital and the date: two days from now. Fred and Margaret weren't in London, but a more rural area in the north. John booked them a hotel and instructed Sherlock to pack. Only one important task remained: telling Mrs. Hudson.
John asked Sherlock if he wanted to be included in the discussion, but he declined. So John went downstairs by himself to their landlady's home and told her they'd be leaving for a day or two.
"Where are you going? Is this for a case?" she asked.
"No, it's not a case," John informed her. "A woman contacted me asking if I could get Sherlock to come visit her son. He loves the blog and all Sherlock's cases."
"I'm sure lots of people do. But is one admirer really worth making such a trip?"
"Well, this particular boy has the same type of cancer Sherlock had. Unfortunately, his treatments haven't worked as effectively."
"Oh John, that's terrible!" she wrapped her arms around him in a motherly hug. "That poor child. Sherlock's really going to see him?"
"Yes."
"Good. That'll make him very happy."
"That's what we're hoping."
"Tell Sherlock how pleased I am that he's going through with this."
"I will, Mrs. H."
John returned upstairs and packed his own bag. It didn't take long, as they wouldn't be gone long, and he knew how to pack efficiently. He checked in on Sherlock to find he'd finished as well, except for one thing. Sherlock stood over his still-open suitcase with the deerstalker clutched in both hands. He looked up when he heard John enter and silently held the hat out towards him, his way of asking John what he thought. John nodded. Fred would love the hat. Sherlock put it in the case and zipped it up.
~0~
John would drive; they'd decided that without needing a conversation. Sherlock didn't cope well with the sensory overload that came with driving, and he'd claimed on multiple occasions that the monotony just might lull him to sleep. They spent the first half hour of the ride in utter silence, until John couldn't take it anymore.
"Can we at least talk about something so I'm not so bored?" John asked.
"You? Bored?" Sherlock said disbelievingly.
"Yes, we mortals are subject to boredom, believe it or not."
"I'm not an immortal, John, as you're well aware." This comment stung more than John expected. Sherlock was reminding him how close he'd come to death. Fred's condition would also show the destructive power of this disease, a force to which Sherlock nearly fell victim. This experience might be more difficult than John initially thought.
"While I may not express it as exuberantly as you do, I can, in fact, get bored," John said matter-of-factly.
"Well, what do you suggest I do about it?"
"You're the genius, you think of something."
"I don't know. Twenty questions?"
"Sure. Do you want to guess or me?"
"You guess."
"Please don't pick something I've never heard of."
"I won't."
"Is it an animal?" John began.
"Not really."
"Food?"
"No."
"Inanimate object?"
"No."
"So it's alive, but it's not an animal."
"Sort of alive."
"You do know your answers are supposed to be yes or no, right?"
"Yes, I know, but some things aren't so black and white. I'm trying to help you by being more specific."
"Couldn't you just pick something simple, like a dog?"
"Is that one of your twenty questions?" Sherlock inquired, a small smile playing on his lips.
"No, because it was a rhetorical question. So it's sort of alive?"
"Yes."
"Is it a bacteria?"
"No."
"Protozoa?"
"No."
"Is it bigger than a loaf of bread?"
"Definitely not."
"Is it microscopic?" John inquired, suspecting Sherlock would choose something obscure and likely science-related.
"Yes."
"Is it something you've seen before?"
"Yes."
"Human?"
"Yes, it's part of a human."
"Is it a cell?"
"Yes."
"There, I've guessed it," John said victoriously.
"No, you've got to be more specific."
"Fine. Does it cause sickness?"
"It can."
"A type of cell in the human body that can cause sickness," John confirmed. "That's not a question, just me trying to keep up with everything. Is it a cancer cell?" He suspected Sherlock would choose something like this in light of their current destination and agenda.
"Sometimes," Sherlock answered.
"Is it found in the blood?"
"Yes."
"Leukocyte."
"Yes. It only took you fifteen questions, I'm impressed."
"That means I get five more, and you have to answer," John insisted, seizing this opportunity to pry into the inner workings of Sherlock's brain.
"Why do you need more? You already guessed it."
"Not about that. I want to ask you about what's going through your head right now, and I want to demand an honest answer."
"Why?"
"Because I care."
"Fine. You get five."
"First, did you pick leukocyte because of its correlation to leukaemia?"
"Yes."
"Second, did you have any second thoughts when you agreed to this?"
"No," Sherlock stated promptly. John didn't expect him to answer that one without first deliberating.
"Why?"
"That's not a yes or no."
"I never said these five have to be, and you still agreed to answer. So tell me."
Sherlock sighed, but eventually responded, "Because I understand exactly how Fred is suffering. If my presence can bring him any sort of respite, how can I possibly deny him that?" John took his eyes off the road briefly to glance at Sherlock, who was staring determinedly out the front windshield. Maybe it was easier for him to admit that without looking at John.
"Not a question," John preambled, "But after hearing that, I just need to tell you how great you are. This is one of the most selfless things I've ever seen you do."
"It's not like there was a case on or anything," Sherlock countered, a feeble attempt to make light of his gesture.
"No, but I knew you at a time when you would've tuned me out completely the second you realized I wasn't talking about a case. You listened to this boy's story, and you decided to do something noble."
"I'm not sure noble is an appropriate word in this situation. I'm not exactly self-sacrificing."
"Are you sure? I'm going to let you off the hook and skip the fifth question, but here's the fourth: are you nervous?"
"Oh God, yes."