Chapter 1: The Empty Hearse
The moustache is gone. That was the first thing Ella Thompson noticed about John Watson as he entered her office for his last minute appointment. There was a bounce in his step and a relaxed set to his shoulders. He looked years younger than at his last appointment two weeks before.
Two weeks before, John had arrived at his appointment determined to appear cheerful. He had decided to propose to his girlfriend. He stated he was ready to move on with his life, content with his job at the surgery and a domestic home-life with Mary. Two weeks ago, John had all the appearance of someone with a terminal but manageable disease. Brave, resolved, but with a shadow hanging over him.
Ella never ceased to be amazed by Sherlock Holmes' effect on John Watson.
John sat across from Ella with a shy smile on his face and a twinkle in his eyes. For once, he started their conversation.
"Don't even try to pretend you haven't heard the news."
Ella smiled back. "I must admit, it would be difficult to pretend I did not know Sherlock has returned from the dead. He did it with such flare."
"Oh, you don't know the half of it."
"Tell me."
Ella did not bother to take notes as John related his story of Sherlock's appearance at the restaurant and interrupting his proposal to Mary, of their physical altercation.
"You fought with him?"
John snorted. "Sherlock Holmes is a lethal fighter. If we'd really tried to hurt each other, we'd both be in hospital right now." John shook his head. "No, he let me hit him. It's almost like he was goading me into physically demonstrating my anger instead of holding it inside."
Sherlock understands John's emotional struggles, Ella noted.
"Why were you angry?"
John looked at her in disbelief. "He had let me grieve for two years!"
"True. And you have every right to be angry. But why was your anger stronger than your happiness at seeing him?"
John focused on gently pulling a loose thread from the sleeve of his grey button-down cardigan. "Other people knew he was alive."
"Who?"
"His brother, who helped him fake his death. Molly, too. Some members of his homeless network." John exhaled loudly. "That hurts, you know. That he could trust others with his secret, but not me."
Trust issues exacerbated. Ella groaned internally. This could be a huge step backwards for John. No, it would be a huge step backwards.
"Are you sure it was a lack of trust?"
"What else could it have been?"
"Did Sherlock tell you why he faked his death?"
"To take down Moriarty's network."
Something about John's tone implied that wasn't the whole story.
"Anything else?"
"I truly doubt it. Sherlock does like to win his games." Bitterness had crept into John's voice.
Holding onto anger at Sherlock. Valid choice, not healthiest.
John closed his eyes. "I had already gone back to Baker Street, to see Mrs. Hudson, like I told you I would."
Had tried to face past before Sherlock reappeared. Good.
"Oh, she let me have it. I deserved it, too, having avoided her for so long. We went up into our flat together. That was awful."
Our flat.
"Why was it awful?"
"I could hear Sherlock's voice, his violin, his laughter. God, I could even smell him. He was everywhere. I was right not to have gone back before. I seriously questioned my decision to go at all, but I owed it to Mrs. Hudson to tell her in person."
"Tell her what, John?"
"That I was moving on. Getting engaged." He laughed disbelievingly. "She was surprised it was to a woman. Never could convince her Sherlock and I weren't together."
Ever wonder why that is, John? But the last time Ella asked that, John had stormed out of their session without a backwards glance.
"All our stuff was still there. I'm guessing his brother kept up the lease." John smiled. "Strangest thing, his parents knew he was alive. That's why they weren't at his funeral."
"Why is that strange?"
"I mean, he has parents." John appeared dumbfounded by this fact.
Ella went straight for the sarcasm. "Human biology dictates that people have parents, John."
He shot her an amused glare. "You've never met Sherlock. You'd expect him to have been born fully formed, like a god or something. But his parents, they were so ordinary, the brief glimpse I had of them. I had expected, I don't know, if his parents were still alive, that they'd be incredibly posh. Decked out in pearls and the horrifically expensive suits Sherlock and his brother wear."
"You mentioned a brother?" Ella could not remember if John had mentioned a Holmes brother before today.
"Yeah, an older brother. He works for the government. Sherlock says he is the British government, and that isn't as much of an exaggeration as you might think."
Older Holmes brother - government, powerful (?), helped Sherlock fake his death.
John thrummed his fingers on the wooden arms of the chair. "Sherlock saved my life."
Ella knew John had felt this way about Sherlock's impact on his life before, but something in his tone made her ask, "Literally?"
"Yeah. I was kidnapped." John giggled. "The bastard had barely been back in my life for a second, and I found myself inside of a burning bonfire."
Laughter at having his life in jeopardy.
"What happened?" This part of the story had not made the papers.
"Mary received a text, a riddle. She contacted Sherlock who figured it out."
Why Mary, not Sherlock? Ella desperately wanted to ask, but was not sure it would be helpful to John to interrupt his story.
"I had been drugged, partially paralyzed. I was having difficulty even speaking. As the fire grew in intensity, I finally found my voice, but I don't know if anyone could have heard me through the roar of the flames. Next thing I knew, I was being dragged from the bonfire."
John sat quietly, looking out of the large windows framing him and Ella as they spoke. His face took on a sad expression, perhaps thinking of how close he had come to death. But when he looked back at Ella, his face was full of wonder.
"Witnesses said Sherlock threw himself into the flames for me. Hopped off the motorbike he had commandeered with Mary and sprinted into the fire without hesitation, screaming my name." John struggled to keep his composure. "Sherlock didn't know I had been kidnapped outside of Baker Street, that I'd gone there to see him. Last he knew, I didn't want to see him again, and he still risked himself to save me." He took a deep breath and then smiled, the happiest smile Ella had ever seen on his face. "I was on my back, on the ground, still struggling to breathe. I know Mary was there, but all I could see was Sherlock leaning over me, calling my name. He was real, he was alive, and he had come for me."
Sherlock Mary?
"How are you and Sherlock doing now?"
"Good, good. Did you see the press conference?"
"A bit of it."
"Yeah. We had it at Baker Street. A bunch of people were there, to celebrate Sherlock's return from the dead and my engagement."
Carried out proposal after all.
"So, you got engaged eventually?"
"Of course, why wouldn't I?" A quizzical expression on his face, John seemed truly confused.
Ella was certain somewhere in this notebook she had a whole list of reasons why John should not be getting married now that Sherlock had reappeared in his life.
"John, your life has undergone a great upheaval. Perhaps you should take time to reassess what you really want for your future."
"I want my life with Mary, like I'd planned."
"What about your life with Sherlock?"
John paused, and Ella could tell that he was taking the question seriously. She waited for him to collect his thoughts.
After a few minutes had passed, John lifted a hand as if to forestall any interruption. "I can't go back. I can't give Sherlock that much power over me again. When he died, I lost everything. He was my whole life. I can't let that happen again."
Feelings for Sherlock are greater than those for Mary. He just doesn't realize.
"I understand your hesitance. But is it fair to Mary?"
"I'm allowed to have friends. She likes him, too, which is a huge relief."
"John, I'm trying to phrase this as delicately as possible, but you must admit you and Sherlock were more than friends."
"How many times do I have to say we were never together? I'm not gay!" His voice had risen by the end of his statement, and he took on an apologetic expression.
Defensive as ever about nature of relationship with Sherlock.
"But you were flatmates, business partners, friends …" Ella decided to plunge in, because sometimes John needed to hear it. "And you mourned for a year without dating. You used the phrase moving on when you talked about proposing to Mary. You, John, your own words are implying Sherlock was more to you than just a mate you enjoy a pint with at the pub."
"He's like a drug." John blurted out. His eyes were wide with surprise that he'd said anything at all.
Progress. Says Sherlock is like a drug.
Ella nodded her head encouragingly.
"I already feel his pull. When I think of home, I don't think of the flat I share with Mary. I think of Sherlock and Baker Street and how much I want to be back there." John rubbed the back of his neck with his left hand. "But he lied to me. He hurt me more than anyone ever has. He was out in the world alive for two years while I was dead inside here without him. I had finally decided to move on. I have a job and a flat and Mary, and I'm sticking with that life."
Chooses life with Mary, wants life with Sherlock.
"Self-defence?"
John shrugged, injecting a forced casual note to his tone. "Well, I was a soldier."
"It isn't up to me to judge if your decision is right or wrong, but I'm glad you have articulated your reasoning."
John huffed a bitter laugh. "I don't know if I am." He looked at his watch and stood up. "Time to go."
Ella rose from her chair and clasped John's outstretched hand. "Make an appointment with the receptionist on your way out."
"Yes, ma'am." John opened up the door to leave.
"Oh, John?" As he turned back to her, Ella gestured to her upper lip. "Good call."
"Not you, too." John shook his head in gentle exasperation as he closed the door behind him.
As Ella walked over to her desk to turn her notes into a more coherent narrative, she murmured to herself, "I do believe you shaved for Sherlock Holmes."