Title: The Privilege of Life
Summary: Carries on immediately from the end of the second film SH2: A Game of Shadows.
A/N: A story that begins at the end and ends at the beginning.
WARNING: SPOILERS for second film. Please don't read this if you haven't seen the second film.
All relationships as per films, which is to say: Watson Holmes Friendship (no slash), John/Mary, Mycroft Sherlock Brotherliness.
When you arise in the morning, think of what a precious privilege it is to be alive - to breathe, to think, to enjoy, to love. ~ Marcus Aurelius
The End ?
Sherlock typed the question mark and stood up just as Watson re-entered the room. He had prepared Watson for the shock by giving him a clue, but clearly it was still overwhelming as Watson stood there, staring at his friend's face, ignoring the bizarre clothing. Sherlock refused to let this be unbearably awkward so he stepped out from behind the desk, and started talking as though he hadn't just come back from the dead.
"Ah- there you are, I-"
Watson cut him off by embracing him. Holmes could not recall him ever doing such a thing before and was shocked into silence.
Holmes was stiff, and Watson couldn't tell if it was due to discomfort, or pain, or both. He relaxed minutely and gave Watson a reassuring pat on the back before extricating himself.
"Good to see you too Watson. You do realise of course that I've been sitting over there for the last half an hour without your having noticed?"
"Why didn't you tell me." Watson said, the sound of betrayal lacing his words. Holmes chose to deliberately misinterpret.
"It's my urban camouflage - you really must try to be more observant, Watson -"
"It's been over two months. Why didn't you tell me you were still alive? I thought you were dead!" The strain of desperation in Watson's voice caused a flicker of something in Sherlock's eyes, but it was too fast for him to interpret.
The noise and commotion brought Mary in at that point.
"John is everything... " she trailed off, and stared at Holmes much like John had. She also behaved in a most unexpected manner, as far as Sherlock was concerned. She rushed over to him.
"You're alive! John was right, you really are...are you hurt?" She grabbed his arms and looked him over, and John realised he ought to have been the one to ask that question and examine his friend, but he'd been far too caught up and distracted. He did observe however, the slight wince on his face when Mary grabbed his arms. It occurred to him then that even with breathing apparatus, one probably didn't come out unscathed from falling a vast distance over a waterfall to icy, rocky depths below and raging currents. But whoever had been looking after him had done a good job - while Sherlock could never be described as anything other than 'thin', he was looking healthier than he had in a long time in that regard. He was a touch pale but an otherwise healthy colour, and his eyes had lost none of their good humoured intelligence and boyish sense of adventure. They were also completely free from any drugs or alcohol.
Sherlock pushed aside his surprise. "I am indeed, as you so rightly observe, alive and well." He coughed slightly and failed to look her in the eye as he said "Mrs Watson I must thank you for your invaluable assistance in my last case."
"Is that what you call being pushed off a moving train?" she said drily, but with no malice.
"I was referring to your assistance with the code-"
"I know what you were referring to Mr. Holmes, and it's all right. I forgive you. As for the code-breaking...it was my pleasure. Why don't we take tea in the sitting room and you can tell us what happened."
"Of course." Sherlock said.
"But first get out of that ridiculous outfit." Watson said, digging out some of his own clothes, which he suspected Holmes would 'forget' to return. There were moments that Watson could actively feel he was slipping back into a familiar role, that the banter felt so natural and normal that it was almost as though nothing had happened. He almost couldn't believe how easy it was. But then he'd find himself making sure Holmes was in his line of sight just so he could be sure he was still there. That it wasn't all a dream.
The boys took a moment before joining Mary in the sitting room. Holmes looked sympathetic, and guilty.
"I...apologise if I caused you any...distress." he said, awkwardly.
"Of course I was distressed you idiot, I thought you were dead." Watson said harshly. Holmes seemed both surprised and touched, and Watson sighed, unable to maintain his anger with someone who didn't seem to realise how deeply he'd been missed, how much pain he'd felt at losing his best friend. Or, John thought, how much guilt for never letting him know how much he valued his company, his friendship, admired his brilliance, decency and courage - instead always choosing to play the role of 'longsuffering flatmate'. Not that Holmes ever made it easy...it had just never occurred to him before that the astute and observant Holmes could miss the obvious - that the strength and loyalty of their friendship was mutual.
"Let me check you over." he said, gesturing to his patient's examining bed. Holmes dutifully sat on the edge. Everything had healed by about two months, but Watson could still detect the signs of several healed fractures, one on his upper arm still healing. The scar of the hook through his shoulder made him repress a shudder from the memories of hearing his best friend being tortured. He could see that he'd had dozens of stitches for lacerations in various places, done neatly by a professional hand. His sense of betrayal dissipated as he realised Sherlock had spent weeks healing and recovering, despite his flippancy now.
Watson thought of the breathing apparatus again. It had belonged to Mycroft. Pieces began to fall together as he recalled his annoyance at Mycroft's lack of emotion at the funeral of his brother. He saw now that Mycroft couldn't grieve for his brother- because he knew his brother was alive.
"Mycroft has taken good care of you." He ventured. Holmes smiled slightly, pleased that Watson had worked it out.
"Yes, well, he does have some experience in that field." Holmes added, a comment which Watson found enigmatic and decided to ponder later. "Why don't we go down and I'll explain everything." he gestured to the stairs. Watson had begun to put it all together, but was still willing to hear the details.
In the lounge they found tea and Mary waiting for them.
"So you used Mycroft's oxygen device to survive drowning." Watson stated.
"Yes. My brother noticed almost immediately that it was missing, so when you told him I had fallen over the edge, he went into action organising a party to collect me from the river and take me to hospital."
"He knew you were alive and never said a word."
"He knew Moriarty's people were still after me even without Moriarty himself. He also knew I would be in my most vulnerable and weak position while recovering from multiple fractures and lacerations." Sherlock defended his brother. "I was in a Swiss hospital for 3 weeks before finally being released. We returned to England where I continued my recovery in Mycroft's Chichester estate. My brother thought I should not risk emerging until another month or so but I did not want you to be kept in the dark any longer than necessary."
Again there was a glimmer of sympathy and guilt in his brown eyes that brought out the forgiveness in John. There was something in the look that sparked a memory...
"Thank you for that." he said, genuinely.
"If possible, the plan is to maintain the illusion of my death. You two, Mycroft, and a couple of trustworthy members of his staff are the only ones who know the truth. We aim to keep it that way until the majority of Moriarty's men have been dealt with. Mycroft has taken up the rent on Baker Street and will pretend to use it as a London residence so that it will remain in tact."
Holmes met the eyes of Watson in passing and it came back to him. The look that had passed between them before Sherlock launched himself and Moriarty off the edge. He'd seen it in his nightmares several times over. It had said one thing and one thing only..."I'm sorry." Sorry you had to see this, sorry I couldn't come up with a better idea, sorry I dragged you into this, sorry I won't be seeing you again. He had to ask:
"When did you remember you had that oxygen device?"
Holmes looked at him then, with that reading look that said he saw and understood everything.
"At approximately 600 feet." Sherlock answered, confirming to Watson that he hadn't expected to survive. He felt the familiar feeling of admiration for Holmes that he'd felt before- only now with the knowledge that it had by luck, had a happy ending. He had gone with the intention of sacrificing his life in order to rid the world of a great evil. It was only his remarkable ability to remain calm and think logically even while falling to certain death that saved him. Of course, Sherlock sounded embarrassed by it - he should have pre-planned the outcome, not let it happen by chance, not let things get to such a point where he had to commit suicide just to get the desired outcome. But John admired him the more for it.
He wanted to tell him that what he did was foolish, and selfish, and thoughtless but he couldn't - he knew it was the most heroic, selfless, and courageous act he'd ever witnessed, even after his years in Afghanistan.
"You came up with a plan in free-fall?" Mary clarified.
"Yes." Sherlock sighed. "So you see it wasn't brilliance, but rather luck which saved me."
"I don't care what it was- the only thing that matters is that you're alive." Mary said genuinely, and neither she nor John missed the flash of surprise in Holmes's eyes.
"Yes... well..." Sherlock stalled as he tried to think of an adequate response. "it's kind of you to say so. Please do try to find some time to drop by the estate in Chichester- I know you don't want to be involved in my investigations any more; nevertheless you would always be welcome." he got up to leave.
"As you are always welcome here. Won't you stay for dinner?"
"Thank you but no, I have some errands to run before I return to my brother's estate. Some items to retrieve from Baker Street."
"I'll see you this weekend." John stated. The whole thing still felt strange to him, and all he wanted to do was stay by Holmes side until he felt certain he was safely alive. It was strange because danger was so part of Holmes's existence, that John had never before been so ambitious as to try to ensure his constant safety. But the thought of losing his best friend again was just unbearable...especially now that he'd been reminded of how well they worked together, how much more life and adventure Sherlock put into his existence. Sherlock re-appeared in disguise as a hansom cab driver.
John saw him to the door and decided, however nervous he felt about it, to right one of the wrongs he felt.
"I missed you." He said simply.
Sherlock turned to him with the big brown eyes that Watson tried not to look at because he knew he would always be helpless against them.
"A lot?" he asked, innocently. And for once, Watson decided to let him win the round.
"Yes, Holmes, a lot. Life's not the same without you."
Sherlock was lost for words by that, and not for the first time Watson wondered about his childhood. He got the impression from both Sherlock and his brother, that their parents had not shown them very much affection. He prompted his friend.
"Well, good night old boy."
"Yes, good night." Sherlock answered, still sounding slightly bewildered by Watson's candid admission.
After dinner was finished, Mary put his hand on her husband's. "John." she said.
He looked up at her.
"The bloody fool really has no idea that he was missed." He laughed slightly. They both knew how hard it had really been, how many nightmares John had suffered, how desperately he wanted to go to Baker Street and find his friend in any state, any state whatsoever that wasn't 'dead'. Dead didn't suit Holmes. He was the most alive person John knew.
"You do know that you can still be part of his investigations, don't you? I would never wish for you to stop on my account."
"I have other responsibilities now, Mary. Ones that are more important." He smiled at her lovingly.
"I would never wish for you to give up your cases with Sherlock - they are part of what make you the strong, courageous, compassionate man that I married. Besides, we both know you would get bored without some adventure in your life."
He laughed. "I'm not Holmes you know, Mary, I am quite capable of living a normal life without bizarre murders from the orient or missing jewels from bohemia or..."
"No you're not as bad as Holmes. But almost." she smiled at him and he put his head down in defeat, before meeting her eyes with good humour. She continued, knowing that she was winning. "I can't imagine anyone makes life quite as interesting as Sherlock Holmes."
John laughed. "He certainly does that."
"And for him, you make life less lonely, and more fun." John sobered slightly at the compliment. He knew that he wasn't just Holmes's best friend, he was really his only friend. Without cases, how could they maintain their friendship? Awkward visits where they would have nothing to talk about.
"Ok. Not that he wouldn't find a way to pull me in anyway. But now I have your permission, I'll let him."
"Doctor Watson! How good to see you, please do come in."
Mycroft answered the door in person and led Watson through to the sitting room.
"Good Morning, is your brother about?" Watson asked.
"Yes, he's upstairs finishing a small project. I expect he'll be down shortly. Can I get you anything? A tea or coffee perhaps?"
"No thank you. You seem to have done a good job of taking care of him - he seemed well the other day when he came to see me."
Mycroft gave a modest laugh.
"One does one's best for family, Doctor. I hope you can forgive my deceiving you... it was not my intention to cause you anguish, only to keep my brother safe. No small feat in itself given his natural attraction towards danger, I'm sure you will agree." there was a knowing dryness to Mycroft's words that reminded Watson that Mycroft had known his brother considerably longer than he had, and a protectiveness that bordered on parental that left no doubt that he was the older brother.
"I can't say I enjoyed being left out of the loop, though I'm rather used to it ... but I understand." John said, forgiveness complete. "So tell me, how did you manage to keep your brother from going completely stir crazy for over two months? That is a feat even more impressive..."
"Oh that was simple enough doctor- my brother only requires something to occupy his mind and he will be in reasonably good spirits. I suggested to him a small project which he has undertaken almost to completion. He has written a monograph, or rather a small textbook on secret writings, having analysed over 160 different types. Most of the knowledge came purely from his own memory, but I assisted by providing any research required."
John raised his eyebrows. "What an excellent idea." he said. He would never have thought of providing a project like that to keep Holmes occupied. If Sherlock had been under his care for the last two months, they would probably have driven each other up the wall. Yet, it made sense. He had seen some of the articles and textbooks that Sherlock had written in the past and knew he was capable of prolonged effort on a project of that sort. It was certainly better stimulation for his brain than cocaine while he was not on a case.
Mycroft gave a polite smile. "Thank you. It always was the easiest way to keep him out of mischief."
"I hadn't realised that was possible..."
Sherlock entered the room at that point. "Watson! I'm glad you came. How is your practice?"
Mycroft excused himself from the room, as ever the model of diplomacy and tact. Watson couldn't help but wonder what Mycroft's reaction would have been had he thought his brother really was dead. He didn't know him well enough to know how he might behave in grief, but was still relieved he wasn't as callous as he had appeared.
"Going well, thank you." Watson replied politely, trying not to be too obvious as he again drank in the simple joyful existence of his alive friend.
"There is something I would like to discuss with you. Or rather, a favour."
"And what is that?" Watson enquired, having an idea already that he was about to be pulled back in to Sherlock's world, and being both cautious and excited by the thought.
"As you know, it is imperitive that I remain dead for the time being. Although I can always travel to London in disguise, it would be vastly easier for me to have someone who could assist from a more proximate location. I was hoping you might be able to suggest someone."
John tried to clamp down on the grin that was forming from Holmes's innocent lack of subtlety, as he glanced sideways at Watson with humour in his eyes.
"They would of course need to be completely trustworthy, capable, reliable, actually now that I think about it, the best person would really be..."
"Me." John supplied, deadpan.
"Oh, you think you would - I mean, you would be happy to...?" Sherlock feigned surprise as though he hadn't in the slightest considered Watson for the role.
John could bite it back no longer and let out a laugh.
"It's ok Holmes. Mary has said she is quite happy for me to assist you in your investigations. If you would like me to, of course. You have but to ask."
"Oh well in that case, I think it would be... for the best to... it does rather make a difference to me..." Holmes said, after a pause, finally looking at Watson again. They both grinned. Watson wondered how he could ever have imagined his life without being part of this.
"It would be a privilege."
This was, Watson knew, the beginning of another chronicle.