Attention: This story is in NO way based off of Alone on the Water. I've never read it until weeks after I published this story. I am so sorry if you think I copied someone. I did not. Alright, enjoy!
Sherlock walked down the street, turning to look at 221b. With a sigh, he walked up, and flipped his collar, looking around. With four quick knocks, the door opened, and Mrs. Hudson stood in front of the doorway. "I'm sorry, but consulting hours are between 8 and 4." She started to close the door, but Sherlock stopped it with his foot.
"I'm sure you can make an exception." He looked up, swallowing hard.
"Sher-Sher-Sherlock?" Mrs. Hudson looked at Sherlock, and touched his cheek, "This can't be you, what?" She stumbled, and Sherlock caught her. As she drifted to unconsciousness, she whispered, "What happened to your hair?"
John heard some clattering downstairs, and he was alert in an instant. Afraid Mrs. Hudson was in trouble, he pulled a revolver from his drawer, and stood up with the help of his cane. It had been three long years since Sherlock left, and the limp had come back. He painfully made his way down the stairs, and cocked his gun, making sure he didn't step on any creaky steps.
When he turned the corner, he saw the top of a head leaning over Mrs. Hudson. "Get away from her." He said sternly, his gun barrel pointed at the man.
"I'm simply caring for a weak old woman who seemed to have fainted at the sight of me." The man stood, his height taller than almost anyone else John had ever met. He turned, and John dropped his gun in shock. "Sherlock?" He covered his mouth in horror, backing to a wall, trying to take even breaths. "How? What? Your hair!"
Sherlock rubbed his scalp. "Chemotherapy, takes away some of the things I care for the most."
John couldn't handle this all. "Chemo? Wait? You're alive?" His eyes fluttered, and the world around him started to spin. With one last breath he said, "I'm going to kill you."
As John slid to the ground, Sherlock looked from Mrs. Hudson to John, and sighed. "Brilliant. I swear, I'm not that horrible to look at." The the little strength he had, he pulled Mrs. Hudson and John up the stairs, placing them down on the couch, and he sat in his favorite chair, waiting for his friends to wake up.
John blinked, and sat up to see a man who looked like Sherlock sitting and playing violin in Sherlock's favorite chair. The only difference was the Sherlock he knew had a head full of black curls, and this Sherlock had a shiney bald head. Once Sherlock saw that John was awake, he stopped playing, and set his violin down. "Good, you're awake. Please shake Mrs. Hudson up. I promise I will explain everything, and then you can beat me up all you want."
Still in shock, John nodded, and shook his landlady awake. "SHERLOCK!" she yelled, and started to sob in John's shoulder.
"Yes, Mrs. Hudson, Sherlock's here. I don't know how, or why, and I have no clue what the hell is going on, but he said that he would explain it all. If you can calm down…"
Mrs. Hudson sniffed, and sat up, tears still streaming down her face. "I'm-I'm alright." She choked.
Sherlock stood up and walked in front of them, his hands behind his back in a very Sherlock manner. "For 3 years, you thought I was dead. I had to stay away from you to keep you safe. Now, I'm able to come back, but I bring back grave news. You've noticed I decided to take up a new hair style. It was against my will. The Chemotherapy I've been taking have made me lose all my hair, and I'm incredibly weak. I'm surprised I was able to pull you two up the stairs, and still stand up in fact."
John leaned forward, "So you're meaning to tell me, you have-"
Sherlock gave him a sharp look, with his normal cold Sherlock stare, "Don't say it. I don't like to give it a name. Only gives it power."
"How long have you been fighting?" John said, putting a protective arm around Mrs. Hudson's shoulder as she sobbed silently.
"A week after I 'committed' suicide." Sherlock said quietly.
John had enough. He stood up, and walked to Sherlock, "So you come back from the dead, so to say, just to tell us you are leaving again?" John punched Sherlock in the jaw sending his reeling back. Mrs. Hudson gasped, curriling in a ball on the couch. "Why not just stay dead, Sherlock Holmes?" He grabbed Sherlock by the shouldered, and kneed him in the stomach, "Let us believe you died, and let us move on?" John elbowed him in the back, making Sherlock sprawl on the floor, "Go back to the grave, Holmes." John turned his back on a moaning Sherlock, and sighed to Mrs. Hudson. "Are you sure you are alright?" He walked over to her.
"I did this, because last time, I died in disgrace." Sherlock moaned, and slowly started to get up. John and Mrs. Hudson froze, waiting for him to continue. "I died, and you thought I commited suiside. This time, when I truely die, I want you by my side, and I want you to know that I died fighting."
John looked down to Mrs. Hudson, "Why don't you go downstairs, and call Lestrade?" Mrs. Hudson nodded, and rushed downstairs in hysterics. After they could no longer hear Mrs. Hudson, John slowly turned to his friend. "So no gimmiks, or jokes. None of this is bolluks? You're not doing all this so I feel pitty on you and take you back in as if nothing happened?"
"If I did that John, I would have thought to do something more dramatic." Sherlock smirked, "You know me and my love to overreact."
John wiped a tear from his eyes, and clenched his hands into fists. "How much time do you have left?"
"They estimated 3 weeks, if I fight hard enough." Sherlock said quietly. "They told me it will be a slow and painful death. So, nothing I haven't come close to before." He tried to make a joke, but John was a stone faced as ever.
"Have you told Mycroft? Or Molly? Does Lestrade know?"
Sherlock shook his head. "I came to you first. Once Mrs. Hudson called Greg over, Molly will know soon enough. And I have a feeling Myrcoft will come over soon enough." He turned to the window, "I must talk to him about my will."
"Pardon? Greg? Did you just called Lestrade Greg? You've known him all your life, and never thought to learn his first name, and now you call him Greg as if you've called him that your whole life? And what's this about a will?"
"I'm dying, I have to give my possessions to someone." Sherlock shrugged, and rubbed his shiny head. "Plus, I never thought to learn his name because it took up space in my head. Everything is now useless. I can no longer take cases. What's the use in fillng my head with information I will never use again?"
"I see your point." John slid his hands into his pockets, and looked at his feet. "Why now? Why not, I don't know, RIGHT AFTER YOU FOUND OUT!"
"Because you were in danger. If I had exposed myself too early, both of us would be dead. But after I explained to Sebatian Morran what the situation was, he allowed me to live my last few weeks with you. He would like to see me die slowly."
"I'll kill him." John said, looking around for his pistol.
"You try that and I will kill you." Sherlock said sternly, and rushed over, grabbing John by the shoulders, "You do anything to jepordize our time together, and I will kill you. I'm not kidding John. Not this time."
John nodded, and looked into his best friend's eyes. They were cloudy, and dull, but still as defiant as ever. He sighed, and puled Sherlock into a hug, clutching him close. "I never saw you for three years." He said quietly as Sherlock slowly hugged back, "Every so often I thought I saw you in the streets. For the longest time, I thought I was going crazy becuase of you."
"And for that, I'm sorry." Sherlock pulled John away, and held him at arm's length. "I truly am. I did see you. Every so often. I kept tabs on you."
'That's not enough Sherlock." John said, "It's the fact-" John stopped as the two heard stomping up the stiars.
"I swear Mrs. Hudson, if this is some sick joke-" Lestrade burst in with Donavan flanking, and they both froze as the sight of Sherlock. "My god." Lestrade said horsely.
"Hello Greg." Sherlock nodded to his old friend, "Sally. Beauitful as ever." He looked over at Sally, who gawked at him.
"Sir, this can't be him." Sally gained her voice first, and stormed over to Sherlock, poking him, and pulling at his coat. "He called you by your first name."
"Funny." Sherlock pulled from Donavan, and walked over to Lestrade, who was frozen in surprise. "You've known me since we were lads. Look at me, and tell me I'm not me."
Lestrade's eyes slid all over Sherlock, and he closed his mouth slowly setting his jaw. "John," Lestrade directed his question to the shorter man in the corner, "Is this really, truly Sherlock Holmes?" John nodded, and Lestrade turned his head to his life long friend. After a moment, he swung at Sherlock, clonking him in the nose, and sending him backwards. He was about to hit again, but John and Donavan had to pull him back.
"YOU BASTARD! FOR 3 YEARS YOU'VE BEEN GONE! FOR THREE YEARS! I LOST MY POSITION BECAUSE OF YOU. MY WIFE LEFT ME, AND SHE TOOK MARK. I LOST EVERYTHING BECUASE OF YOU! ANY NOW YOU COME BACK WITH A BALD HEAD, THINKING EVERYTHING'S GOING TO BE OKAY? GET OVER HERE YOU SON OF A BITCH SO I CAN KILL YOU WITH MY OWN BARE HANDS."
"You can wait 3 weeks, can you Greg?" Sherlock said quietly, and Lestrade weakened his struggled against John and Donavan.
"What the hell does that mean?"
"I'm dead in 3 weeks. You can wait that long." Sherlock looked to his friend, who stopped struggling.
"Wait-what do you mean you're dead in 3 weeks? Sherlock, what's going on?"
Sherlock gestured to the seat, "Please sit down."
Donavan stepped from her now partner, and crossed her arms, "Tell us, bald boy."
Sherlock crossed his arms, and winced at the searing pain in his head. "I'm dying. The baldness is from Chemo. I came back so I didn't die with you thinking I was a fraud. And the write my will."
"You?" Lestrade asked incredulously, "The great Sherlock Holmes? Dying of-"
"Don't say it!" Sherlock hissed. "Words are power!"
"Sorry, forgot about that." Lestrade clutched a wall for ballance, and Sally rushed to his aid, but he pushed her away. "Go wait by the car, Donavan."
"But sir-"
"I might be your partner now, but this is not for you. Now go."
"Yes sir." Sally nodded, and rushed downstairs, shutting the door behind her.
"Do you plan to do anything in these last few weeks? Got any plans? Where's your bucket list, mate?"
"Unless the Doctor shows up," Sherlock said quietly, "I have nothing planned."
"Not the damn Doctor again." Lestrade cried, "It's been over 25 years!"
"Sorry," John intercepted, "the Doctor?"
"Just a childhood fantacy he and I made up years ago." Lestrade said, and turned to Sherlock, "No."
Sherlock was about to counter when John said, "I can take him to the planetarium."
The two bickering men froze, and turned to John. "You would do that?" Sherlock asked.
"Why not?" John shrugged, "I can book us a private tour maybe next week. Give you this week to settle in and everything."
Sherlock's eyes shown, "You mean, you are allowing me to stay?"
"Of course." John cried, "It's your bloody apartment. I've kept it in top shape for you! Nothing's been moved."
Lestrade nodded, "I've come once a week, so I could help sort your documents. 3 years later, and we still can't figure out which files go with which." He chuckled, and lightened the mood in the room. "I'll call Myrcoft."
Sherlock nodded, "Good. Tell him to come as soon as he can."
Lestrade looked up from his phone, "Why?"
"So I can write my will, of course." Sherlock said, and Lestrade looked down at his phone not saying a word.
"Hello? Is Mycroft Holmes available? Tell him it's off the utmost importance." Lestrade left, saluting to John and Sherlock.
"Oh he's left." Sherlock sighed, and let his knees colapse. John rushed to catch him, and Sherlock smiled as he look up to his friend, "I was afraid if I kept it up any longer I'd faint in front of him."
"I knew you told me you were weak." John said, dragging his friend to the couch, "But I didn't know you were this weak."
Sherlock closed his eyes, rubbing his temples. "Can you please leave me? The best way to fight this is sleep, and I haven't slept in days."
John was about to object, but he closed his mouth, and nodded, rushing to follow Lestrade.
The next morning, John woke up to shouting. He thought that yesterday evening was just a dream, but as he walking into the ktichen with just a tee and pants, he saw Myrcoft and Sherlock having a heated argument over Billy, the skull.
"He belongs to John!" Sherlock yelled.
"It BELONGS in a meuseam!" Myrcoft said, his hand tightening around the bottem of the umbrella he was holding, "As does the paper on the tabacco ash, the 350 types of dog hairs, and your deerstalker."
"No." Sherlock said, and saw John walk in. "Hello. Morning. Sorry if we woke you. Mycroft isn't cooperating."
"No," Myrcoft said, "You're being a child."
"For god's sake Mycroft, he's dying. He can do whatever the hell he wants with his property." John poured himself some tea, and sat down at the table, looking at Myrcoft and eating a slice of bread.
"Fine. Just tell me, and I'll write it down." Myrcoft said blandly, and Sherlock smirked.
"I want 221b, and everything that's inside it to go to John Hamish Watson."
John choked on his bread, "Sorry- wha-what?' He sputtered.
"Since you took such good care of it in the 3 years of my absence, I want you to have it." Sherlock tiled his head, "Is that a crime."
"No-no, not at all… but all of it?" John asked.
"Well, all except the bookcase, the documents, and my coat." Sherlock turned to his brother. "I want to bookcase and whatever books that are in it to go to Mrs. Gabriella Turner Hudson, the documents of all my past cases, and identities to go to Gregory Tobias Lestrade, and my coat to go to Molly Rose Hooper."
"Oi!" Myrcoft called as he wrote this all down, "What do I get?"
"My 257 types of tabacco ash." Sherlock smiled.
"How conciderate." Mycroft mummbled as he finished up the doument. "Now, I need 2 witnesses to sign this. John is one…"
"I'll call for Mrs. Hudson." Sherlock said.
"No." John put down his cup, and whipped out his phone. "I'll call for Mary. I don't want you to burden Mrs. Hudson with her knowing that she will out live you. The poor woman is labored enough. Don't remind her of your fate."
"Who's Mary?" Sherlock crinkled his eyebrows, but stopped his forhead started to throb.
"My wife-to-be." John said and her up. "Hey, Mary?" he asked after she picked up.
"Yes John?" Mary yawned, "You do know it's- oh, ten in the morning. Nevermind, I just wake up late. What's up?"
"I have a friend who is in need of two witnesses who need to sign a document. Would you mind running over and signing it?"
"Anything for my fiance." Mary giggled. "I'll be over in 5 minutes." She hung up and John slid his phone back into his pocket. "Give her a few minutes."
"How nice of… Mary… to sign this." Sherlock said, and John could see the gears moving in his head.
"No, I know that look too well."
Sherlock looked from his brother, to his friend. "What look."
"That look you get when you are forming ideas." Myrcoft yawned.
"I don't have a look for that." Sherlock said indignately.
"You have a look for it when you were 7, you have a look for it now, my dear brother."
Sherlock was about to shoot back a snarky comment, when there was a ring at the door. "Must be Mary." John rushed down, and came back up with a pretty blonde woman of around his age.
"Is this your zombie friend that everyone is saying has come back from the dead?" Mary said, and stuck her hand out to Sherlock, "My name is Mary Morstan. John has told me a lot about you. But all the pictures I see, you have hair in it. Was the look just not for you?"
Sherlock looked down at her hand with distain. "Let's say that." After a moment, Mary dropped her hand, and looked to John.
"So what's this document I need to sign?" She asked, "Must be very important, if John had to wake me from my slumber." She wiggled her eyebrows, and Myrcoft and Sherlock groaned.
"It doesn't matter what the document is," Sherlock said, "I just need two people to sign it."
"Okay." Mary patted her pockets, and found a pen. "Just show me the dotted line, and I'll sign." Myrcoft pointed to the bottem of the document, and Mary nodded, leaning over, and signing it. Afterwords, she gave the pen to John, who signed it as well.
Mycroft rolled the paper up, and stuffed it in his jacket. "I shall see to it that this is officailized." He nodded to Sherlock, "Hope to see you soon." He started to walk out.
"So the afterlife isn't that far from you either?" Sherlock called out as Myrcoft shut the door.
"I just signed a will." Mary said surely, "Why?"
"Mary, I'd rather not-" John started, but Sherlock stood up, leaning on the chair from which he sat, "I'm dying. Have 3 weeks."
Mary covered her mouth with her hand. "Oh my god. I didn't know. Is that why you came back? To bid your good byes?"
Sherlock smiled a bit. "You have found a woman that you are lucky to have, Watson." He said, and nodded to her. "Precicely." Suddenly, a searing pain exploded from his head. He cried in agony, and clutched the sides of his head, falling to the ground.
In an instant, John pushed Mary away, and was on the floor, rubbing sherlock's back. "Hang on buddy? You're alright. I've got you." He groaned as he helped Sherlock to the couch. "Just put your head between your legs."
Mary rushed about, soaking a rag, and handing to Sherlock. "I know I probably won't help, But place this on your head."
Sherlock, weak, just took the cloth, and placed it on his forehead, leaning forward as John looked for some pain reliever. "John, I'm fine." Sherlock said weakly, and with the help of Mary, stood up. "Just a passing sharp pain."
"You, alright?" John looked at his friend, angry. "You are not 'alright'! You've got a bloody brain tumor! Its mental!"
"So?" Sherlock said, dabbing his head, and handing the rag back to Mary. "I don't care."
"Brilliant." John put his face in hos hands, "you don't care. Just wonderful." He walked around a bit, and Mary shrank into a corner, knowing an eruption was following the calmness.
"EVER THOUGHT THAT MAYBE OTHER PEOPLE DO? LIKE MRS. HUDSON. OR LESTRADE. OR FOR GOD'S SAKES, YOUR OWN BROTHER." John grabbed Sherlock coat, pulling him close, so that Sherlock could see John's eyes gleaming with tears. "Or me." He pushed Sherlock back. "You're so selfish at times. So wrapped up in yourself. Realize that while YOU don't care if you live or die, other people do. I've already gone through this once. I'm still not ready to go through this again. Lestrade, Mrs. Hudson, even your brother can vouch for me."
Mary knew it was high time for her to go. "Oh, look at the time." She said, "forgot to feed the dogs!" She pecked John on the cheek with her lips, and waved to him. "I'll call you later this week, alright?" John nodded, leading her out.
It wasn't until he got back up to Sherlock did John realize, Mary didn't have any dogs. "I'm tired." Sherlock said quietly. "I need to rest."
"Do whatever you want." John looked away, "just keep fighting it, alright?"
Sherlock smiled sadly, and slimmed off to bed.
It wasn't until the next week, could John get them into the planetarium. Sherlock had to lean on John many times to keep from falling as people told them about the planet's and the solar system.
"So your meaning to tell me there are 9 planets?" Sherlock asked in surprise, "I thought there were only seven!"
The curator laughed, "Actually there's only 8. Pluto hasn't been a planet for years."
"How do you exclude a planet from the solar sytem?" Sherlock cried, and John laughed.
"I-Well, if enough people just say it's no longer part of it, Its no longer apart of it I guess." The curator said, now contemplating the questions.
"That's maddening." Sherlock yelled as they continued on with the tour.
At the end, the two sat in a big theater, galaxies and planets, and nebulae projected all around them.
"So this is our universe?" Sherlock asked quietly, as if they were at a library.
"Every known aspect of it." John looked up, "See?" He pointed to a galaxy above them, "That's the Andromeada galaxy. The closest galaxy to the Milky Way, our galaxy."
Sherlock leaned back, in shock by all the space rocks. "So some planets have more moons than others?"
"Why wouldn't they?" John asked. "Not everything is uniform. Its not just a bunch of different sized Earths."
Sherlock sighed. The two sat in silence a bit before Sherlock turned to John, "Why are some galaxies bigger and some smaller?"
John just looked to the computerized stars and said, "Some infinates are bigger than others."
It was the beginning of the second week did Sherlock become bedridden, John came to check up on him , twice every hour, crying a bit, or yelling a bit each time. All Sherlock could do was moan, and once John had left, Sherlock did his own amount of crying in his solitude.
Once, John had let his phone slip out of his pocket, but Sherlock caught it, hiding it under the sheets until after John had left. Once he knew John was gone, he opened the phone, and dialed Mary's number. "John? Something wrong?" Mary's voice was frantic, as if she was expecting bad news.
"It's me, Sherlock." Sherlock croaked and he could hear a sigh of relief on the other end.
"Thank God." Mary said. "I though I was getting 'the call', if you know what I mean."
Sherlock nodded. "Mary, would you like to come over?"
Mary paused for a moment. "For dinner or something?"
"No. John lived here alone For 3 years now. He needs someone. I think you could fit my missing place."
"Don't say that."
"Oh don't be an idiot." Sherlock scrunched up his nose. "You know I'm going to bite it soon, so be smart, and move in with your fiance for god's SAKE. Make it easier for your 'boyfriend' to get to you."
"And you really think this is a good idea? The tumor isn't just playing with your mind?"
Sherlock sighed in annoyance, "You and I both know it will be for the best. Now start packing." He hung up, and let the phone drop, drifting into some sleep.
Sherlock was awoken by John bardging in, shouting, "Why is Mary here with all her belongings?"
Sherlovk slowly opened one eye, then the other. "I'm doing a favor for you John. Get over being angry at me, and accept it okay?"
"A favor? A FAVOR?"
"I'm going to be leaving soon, and while you did well in the 3 years of my absence, I thinks it's best to have a companion in here."
"Don't say that." John said, even he knew it was true. Sherlock had a week to live, and he couldn't do anything about it.
"Shut up John." Sherlock said curtly, in his old Sherlock manner, "accept it, and just say thank you." Sherlock picked up the phone from the floor, and with little strength he had left, sat up, pressing the phone into his friend's hands. "You will be a mess for a long time. I can tell Mary loves you. Mary will be your anchor in the months to come. Now, go set her up in a guest room, and when I've taken a permanent rest down below, Mary can reside here."
"No." John said surely.
"Pardon?"
"I said no." John set his jaw. "Once your gone, I'm locking this room. No one will be allowed in here. Everything that was ever yours will rot and gather dust until I die."
"Don't be so cruel." Sherlock said, "that's mean."
"I do what I must." John said, nodded, and walked out, putting on a happy face, and greeting Mary at the door.
5 days later, Sherlock made John call all his friends. Sherlock knew he was about to die, and he wanted Mrs. Hudson, Molly, Lestrade, and John to be there. To his surprise. However, Mycroft was there too. "Nice to see you well, brother dear." Sherlock said in a whisper, and Mycroft turned his face away from his baby brother.
John came to Sherlock, and clutched his hand. "Stay, a little longer. I can fix this, you'll see." He said, his voice cracking. Lestrade was too busy trying to keep it together to say anything. Molly and Mrs. Hudson were huddled together, sobbing as they saw Sherlock struggle to smile.
"John, don't worry, everything's fine. Think off all the cases we did together. The speckled blonde? The study in pink?"
John smiled, tears flowing down his face, "You always being a cocky twat. Yeah, that I remember." He tried to smile, but it just looked sad.
"And let's not forget my brilliance." Sherlock said.
"Yes. Something, this-"
Sherlock put a finger to his lips, "Don't say it."
"Gives it power." John finished, and stood up. "Hey Sherlock?"
"Yes?" Sherlock was now looking off into the distance, as of trying to remember something.
"Do you think we'll meet again?"
"Why shouldn't we." Sherlock laughed lightly. "If we had the off chance of meeting each other once, who knows how many more times I'll run into you." Sherlock smiled, "John, do you see that?"
"See what?"
Sherlock moistened his mouth, "I was always told that the light at the end didn't exists, but yet there it is. Its beautiful John."
"Is it really?" John's voice cracked hard, and Lestrade couldn't handle it anymore. He excused himself, and John could hear his crying outside.
"Just stunning." Sherlock said in a dreamy voice. "Promice you'll be there at the end of the tunnel where I see the like, okay?"
John nodded. "Okay."
At last, Sherlock's labored breathing stopped. Molly and Mrs. Hudson rushed outside, their make up smeared, their faces wet with tears as they shed more.
It was only John now. John and the body of what was once Sherlock. "Well, tonight's been eventful." Myrcoft stood up, startling the mourning John. "I'll be at the pub if you need me." He left without another word.
It wasn't until 10 was everything cleared out. The corenor took Sherlock's body, and brought it with him to the morgue, Lestrade and Molly following closely behind. Mrs. Hudson was such a mess, she retired early, without saying a word to John.
It was around 11, did John decide to go out. Just as he opened the door, Mary stood there, and grabbed him into a hug, letting John sob on her shoulder. She clutched his head, petting his hair, and shushing him like a mother to a baby who was overly tired and crying. John grabbed onto Mary's coat, twisting the fabric with his fists as he cried.
After a while of the two hugging in the hallway, John pushed away. He looked at Mary with sad eyes, and brushed past her, heading to the pub around the corner.
Once he arrived, the only person he truly recognized was Mycroft.
"What are you still doing here, you uncaring bastard?" John sliding next to him, ordering 2 pints of the strongest beer they had.
"This is my fault." Myrcoft said quietly, turning to John, his face pale and thin, his eyes red, showings that he was drunk, "my brother is dead, and its my fault."
John softened. "There's nothing you could have done."
"YES THERE WAS!" Myrcoft slammed his glass on the table, almost breaking it. "I could have supplied millions of dollars for a cure for what he had. I could have searched for the cure myself, but what did I do? I did my best to distant myself, so I wouldn't feel remorse when he was gone." Mycroft turned back to his glass, ordering some more scotch, "and now here I am, drowning in guilt, knowing that my own little brother died thinking that I hated him." Tears rolled down Mycroft's face, but the elder Holmes maintained his posture and dignity. "How do you live with someone's death on your head everyday, as a soilder?"
"I don't. Which is what made me such a great army doctor." John nodded, "Because I was so passionate about not having a death on my hands."
Myrcoft drank the scotch that was handed to him in one gulp. "Not much Promice." Myrocft stood up, and pulled some pounds from his pocket, leaving on the table. He wiped his eyes, "All hearts are broken when lives are lost." He said, and spun around, wobbling out of the pub.
John's eyes followed him out, and after a moment, John sank back into his sorrow, and started to cry again.
3 years later
John walked past the door that he had locked years before, rocking his 1 year old son to sleep in his arms.
"See this door?" John looked down at the sleeping Child. "Behind it lays a magical world filled with glorious items. See, Sherlock? What lies beyond this door is everything your namesake stood for."
"John dear, stop telling Sherlock your stories about Sherlock."
"Of course Mrs. Watson." He smiled, and put the baby Sherlock into his bed, closing the door. "One day, I'll read him the stories, and adventures we had together."
Mary smiled, her swollen belly judging, "You can tell the stories to both of them, once they are old enough."
John kissed Mary's cheek. "Of course, my love."
Mary hugged her husband, but pulled away. "I need to go to the store and pick up some milk. I'll be back soon. Don't get into too much trouble."
"Trouble's my middle name." John teased.
"No, it's Hamish" Mary countered, and blew a kiss as she left.
No sooner did John see Mary hail a cab, did he look around for the key to the elder Sherlock's room.
At last, he found it, and after a moment's hesitation, walked up to the door.
Would he dare? He had kept it locked for three years for a reason. After much contemplation, John slid the key into the lock, and turned it, hearing it unlock to his satisfaction.
After a moment, he pushed it open, and the breeze the door caused, lifted dust from the books, causing John to cough.
Once the coughing subsided, John stepped inside, and surveyed the area. So much memories of the past packed into one room. It wasn't until he saw the deerstalker sitting on top of Billy the skull did he break down. Tears ran down his face as he picked up the skull, and hat, brushing off the dust.
"Nice to see you, old rival." He said through tears. The skull seemed to smiling at him. John clutched the two items close to his chest, and started to walk out.
Right before he shut the door, he looked at the room, and then up at the sky. "Thank you, Sherlock Holmes, for making me whole there was anything else I could say, I would say it, but there's not much else to say, other than, thank you. For everything." He smiled, and nodded, shutting the door, and locking it one last time.