Journeys End comes from "Journeys end in lover's meeting" in the ACD story The Empty Housewhere Sebastian Moran is defeated in his attempts to kill Sherlock Holmes. So Journeys End is not about the death of the detective, it is about meeting a goal.
I'm a great fan of the ACD stories and I love the characters of BBC Sherlock. However, Season 4 is supposed to be darker than the others, and seeing as ACD himself didn't mind people playing around with his creation I wanted to gift to the characters a future where a brilliant man lives up to his brilliance, there is growth, and he gets to see things in a future he hadn't believed possible.
BTW, Kitty is Kitty Winter. Her beginning with Sherlock is in another SHERLOCK story.
As always, I own nothing. Please forgive any errors. And I hope you enjoy the story.
John had just finishing setting up the table when the doorbell rang. In the space of two heartbeats the floor above beat with the drum of knowing feet. Before he could take three steps to the door he was cut off by a streak of blond moving at sonic speeds, leaving "Uncle Sherly" in the air in its wake. Only then did could he hear the smaller blond missile moving in his direction and barely had time to move out the way before he was bowled into, "Uncle! Uncle! Uncle!" its steady cry as it moved in the direction of the first.
"You know, there was a time when they ran to the door like that for me when I came home," he said to Mary as she came into the room, adding silver earrings to her new black and silver outfit as she did. John looked her up and down, "and what's this? You're dressing up for him too?!"
"Well, honey," she grinned leaning in, "this is an important day for him. He's being honoured for his work in Chemistry after all. You know what that means to him. I told you a new suit was in order." She gave him a teasing stare down at his open collar shirt and dark dress slacks. "Just because you didn't get one doesn't mean I intend to go looking second class."
"My good suit is hardly second class—" but he didn't have time to argue any further because in walked the man of the hour, Olivia and Scott hanging off of him, each having a hand, talking a mile a minute, but John didn't hear a word they said. Stunned, he looked back at his wife to see her mouth literally open and her face frozen in complete shock. Had he been a jealous man he might have been upset, but he couldn't blame her one bit. Sherlock had outdone himself.
When Sherlock's hair began to become streaked with grey—grey, who was he kidding? When it began to silver in streaks, he hadn't been the least bit concerned, his only concession to the aging process was to cut it a little shorter, part it to the side and occasionally add product to it to allow it to wave along the sides of his profile. John was certain he did it to play up the mercurial color of his eyes. Today was no different; he was groomed to a razor's edge.
This afternoon he was dressed in a midnight blue suit, bespoke to within an inch, with of all things, a waistcoat, just a shade lighter than the rest of the suit, that cut low and double breasted in a single button. But to take the mick out of the Royal Society event he wore a scarlet tie that wasn't put into a traditional Winsor, but was concocted into a knot that went in three directions. The faintest of pin-striping in his suit carried into the softest of silvers in his shirt and finished in sculpted wing-tips in the darkest grey contrasted with midnight blue, and wearing the only adornment he only ever wore, a platinum and blue diamond ring on the middle finger of his left hand.
It was six and a half years ago now since he had been honored in a private ceremony by the Queen after a terrorist plot nearly exploded a nuclear submarine, the attempt of which nearly killed his brother. The ceremony had to be done sub-rosa, for obvious reasons, which is the only reason Sherlock allowed it to happen (that and a call from Her Royal Highness herself). The honors, medals and pomp, meant little to him, but in addition to the usual honors we was given a ring, also a tie pin—but he promptly gave that to John. The ring however, became the one and only ornament he would wear. They were gifts in recognition of all the lives he saved, including that of high state officials, one of which was his brother. A calm started to develop in him after that. He had been the single reason that his brother was still alive, which seemed to salve a wound that had lain open in him his life-long. It also had the added benefit of rankling Mycroft when Sherlock chose to use it that way.
"You know you could try to get old and ugly like the rest of us." John announced, breaking up the stare-fest. Mary scoffed. "Speak for yourself!" and she huffed before going over and giving Sherlock a gentle kiss on the cheek, "I'm so proud of you! Your family will be there? Kitty too?"
He rolled his eyes in agreement, "I have warned my mother if she pats father's bum for any reason I will have them removed from the building and Mycroft has threatened to make his appearance, but I warned him against it if Kitty wasn't returned to me soon and in good working order. She called yesterday, she made it back early morning." Olivia and Scott giggled while Mary playfully swatted his arm, "You looked splendid. Are you sure you want to eat something now? What if you ruin something?"
He flopped into John's chair and flung one leg over the other, "It would serve them right if I did get on the stage with gravy on my tie. Pompous people will be droning on until we lose the will to live and then we'll be served undercooked meat, overcooked vegetables and bad champagne. Your Shepherd's Pie will be the one thing that will keep me from fainting from inanition."
Mary reached out her hand, he took it and she pulled him up and seated him at his usual place at the table, "Thank you for your appreciation for my culinary skills," she reached over and took the napkin on the table, opened it with a snap and began, without permission, to tuck it into his shirt collar, "but I'm not letting you go up and receive an award looking like nobody owns you. Olivia, Scott, you tuck too. We have to look good for our boy this evening."
John laughed at Sherlock's indignation, knowing full well he would not remove the napkin, when Mary took his napkin and handed it to him: "You too, can't have you and your "good" suit putting us off." Of course, she was teasing, John's "good" suit was indeed a very good suit, charcoal in colour, ordered and tailored for him for him in 72 hours when he went to his friend's private ceremony. John strutted like a proud papa for the better part of a month after that. And every time he saw one of the Yarders eyeing the ring he, not Sherlock, would find ways to slyly hint that it may have been for services for the Queen. Some people flat out didn't believe him, some die-hard fools were still singing the tired "secret love" theory, but a few did change in the way they treated his best friend. It didn't hurt that the healing he'd started to go through made him see people with just a little more grace. And when he couldn't forward them the grace, he could still—sometimes—craft an insult that was so fine that it couldn't be seen for what it was until after they were far away from the scene.
Sherlock hadn't been exaggerating about one thing: This was going to be a long day. Sherlock needed to be there in time enough for him to meet with the coordinators, sign forms and for them to show him what he'd been doing and where he would need to be at what time. Facile for others, but Sherlock wasn't others. And no amount of emotional healing was going to give him slow twitch fibers where his patience was concerned. Next came the meet and greet, after which was the opening ceremonies. It was a testament to how much he appreciated the honour to be bestowed on him that he was willing to put himself through this amount of pain. It came down to a late-night session between John, Lestrade and him to come up with a strategy to keep him from emotionally eviscerating half the group there to celebrate their success.
The first thought was to have Lestrade read and record the details of cold cases for Sherlock to listen to in an earpiece whenever the idiocy level became too high, but the worry became if a case got too interesting Sherlock would have a fairly hard time paying attention to anything after that and it wasn't inconceivable that he would leave the ceremony if he made significant connections that HAD to be followed up on immediately (or he would try to. John threatened to tackle him in front the entire assembly if necessary). They decided that Lestrade would accompany John's family and gather the rest of the clan together while John made sure everyone survived the sign-in process and initial conversations.
But now was time to eat and everyone enjoyed eating an afternoon tea sized meal. Sherlock, who rarely over-indulged, ignored portion control and was eating until fully satisfied. John was unsure if he'd get him to even cut up the food and pretend to eat at the dinner, but he still watched him happily as Mary encouraged his conversation to Scott about the small chemical changes in the makeup of blood that allows one to separate it into different types. Not the usually mealtime conversation in any other home, but this wasn't any other home…and he was happy about that.
Then he noticed that Olivia was watching him, "Yes?"
"I was just wondering why you are not going to be getting an award with Uncle Sherly. You work together. Isn't this your work too?"
"Oh, dear, this is a project that he started long before we started the lab, even before we started working together. In fact, he's been working on this as his personal baby for the better part of twenty years. You know how I make fun about his 240 different types of tobacco ash?"
"243," Sherlock corrected from across the table.
"Yes. 243. My apologies." John waved his fork to dismiss him from their conversation, "Well he has done very similar work in categorizing properties of soil. He has typed soil all throughout London and surrounding areas and developed a map based on properties of the soil, surrounding businesses and neighborhoods, isotopes of near-by water sources and a means of refreshing the testing schedule into a database that can be used to type any significant samples and match it to its original source. Already it has helped departments throughout the region and other cities are coming down to learn how to expand the database for their cities. Another 10 years and a significant portion of the UK could be mapped. Remember when I was telling you how isotopes in water were important in forensics? Now if you can imagine—the ability to examine the tracks on tires and place the their journey, sometimes well within a quarter mile, based on where the particulates are in the layer of a sample, the pollutions dissolved in it, the plant matter of the area. It's literally like DNA-ing the very ground we walk on…."
John realized that three other faces had joined in to listen. Sherlock eyes were glued to his former blogger as though he had never heard praise before. And the slight tinge to his face showed how effected he was by John's words. John smirked:
"Go on. Like you don't know you're brilliant."
He briefly looked at the faces around him but settled his eyes on a far window across the room: "There were…," the words faded. He looked back to John, "You remember what I told you that first case about what people said to me about and my deductions. Who would have thought I'd hear anything else?"
Scott looked to his mother: "What did they used to say?"
She patted his head a little absently, "Not now honey."
But John was laughing. "I always knew Sherlock. And when Mary met you she felt the same way. It's why we started our own lab. And Greg had to see something in you, for all the grief you gave that man back then. And so did Molly. Mycroft believes in you, in his own twisted way. And don't even get me started on Mrs. Hudson. Kitty even joined you in "The Work." We were all just waiting for you."
Sherlock put his hand to the back of his head, giving it a nervous scratch, his hair going slightly 'mad scientist' before he smoothed it back into place and covering his mouth as it twitched. He surveyed his audience, "Well, I guess it's time we get this get this over with!" He clapped his hands together in satisfaction, standing and removing the napkin from his collar, "I'll go call Mycroft. He's sending a second town car for Lestrade and his group. Given the traffic at this time of day, we should get there on time to meet them if we leave in the next 20 minutes or so. Knowing Lestrade he'll be there early but he shouldn't have to wait too long." And off he went in the direction of the front door to make his call. John and Mary smiled in silent conversation to one another, then Mary had the kids help her clear the table then sent them off to the bathroom to clean themselves up. John disappeared to do the same as well as to put on his jacket and tie. When he returned his movie star friend was talking to Mary about an order of agar and pipettes that needed to be returned.
Giving him no time to deduce he began, "Do me a favor Sherlock. Wear this tonight."
The taller man turned to see the tie pin that matched his ring in John's hand. "Why do you want me to wear that?"
"I want to see the set together this one time." Mary looked at her husband and took the pin, "Allow me." Then she began affixing it nicely to the detective's tie. She knew that for John it was like his oldest was being celebrated and he wanted him to look his best. The pride was leaking out of every pore. He really was going to be almost as insufferable as Sherlock for a while. "Even as I do this I refuse to take responsibility for the havoc you're going to wreak on the women this evening," She watched Sherlock roll his eyes, "And I beg you to stick to the format for the program. Also, if you see a murder about to happen let Greg handle it." She grinned as Sherlock growled softly "as though he could" before he looked to John, "Really, you don't think this is a tad excessive?"
"You have on a suit that costs more than my mortgage. I think the pin will not be out of place."
"This is Mycroft's fault. He kept talking about not having a repeat of the Buckingham Palace disaster. As though I would. That was before you met Mary for God's sake. When is he going to let that go?"
"You had no clothes on man. He. Is. Never. Letting that go."
"Uncle Sherly didn't have clothes on at the Palace? When was that?!" Olivia had approached them without notice and her eyes were dancing with glee.
Immediately Mary moved Sherlock into the kitchen and John ran Olivia off to get her coat and gloves and to look after Scott, "The car will be here any minute."
"But Dad…"
"No, buts," then he sniggled under his breath, "(no butts). Quickly now. Quick march!" When he turned to Mary and Sherlock to hurry them along too he saw they were talking quietly and she put her hand to his cheek and looked at him with a concerned face. Sherlock nodded and then pulled away.
"Going to the washroom, the driver should be here by the time I'm out," and kept on his way.
"What was that about?"
"Just a reminder that love doesn't always behave like you want it to, but it is still love—after a fashion anyway."
"Mycroft?"
"Yeah."
A few minutes later the car had arrived and everyone was heading out the door. There was an unexpected chill to the air of the approaching evening. Sherlock went to take a bracing breath and it caught in his chest. A spasm went through his back, and he quickly coughed.
"Swallowed wrong." He explained without looking back as he headed towards the waiting car.
Mary wasn't fooled and John watched her as he locked their door. He laid his hand on her shoulder as she wiped the water from her eyes.
"He has never questioned your love."
"Yet it hasn't always behaved as I've wanted it to." And she shook her head and wiped her eyes again. "Come on. Everyone's waiting." Then she quickly followed Sherlock.
000Enecs000
All the diffidence that clouded Sherlock disappeared by the time the hall came into view, but not before he had sank into his thoughts and all but disappeared on the journey. Good deeds and bad, promises made and kept, promises broken, swirled in with joys and sadnesses. And there with it the future, always the future with the next thing that needed to be known, learned, understood, done and, sometimes, corrected. Did he deserve a future? Everyone he knew seemed to think so. Would he do right by a future? He hardly knew. But he would try. For all who thought so for him, he would exceedingly try.
John touched his shoulder and like a diver rising quickly from his sea of thoughts he was momentarily disoriented. He looked out the window. They were close now he knew, and that the game, because it always was a game, was on. And Sherlock Holmes would rise to meet any challenge. When the door opened he swept out of the car with knowing eyes and a razor thin smile for Lestrade.
"You didn't come with the town car?" seeing no sign of the rest of the entourage.
"I was just dropped off from the office. Good thing I took my monkey suit, I had a last minute meeting with the new DI. Also a good thing, seeing that you're here." Then he leaned in to let Mary kiss his cheek.
"What happened to everyone else?" John asked.
"Caught by a traffic accident. It blocked an entire intersection, and they were close to it so it took longer to get them turned around. But the worst is over, should be here in a few."
Together they walked inside where Greg and John's family would wait for everyone else, and he and Sherlock peeled away in the direction of the main desk to find the Awardee's section.
After a couple of minutes of "negotiations" with the staff there on the preparation committee, John was allowed to accompany Sherlock through the awardee sign in and set up. Most of it was fairly routine. Proper IDs ("What do they need my ID for? They're the ones who gave me the award. Don't they know the persons they gave the award to?" "Just show them your license, Sherlock."), a short discussion of the procession into the hall and how he'll be seated and then a little longer talk that covered the same thing with the exception of some of the pomp described and his exact place in the queue. When, during the meet and greet, the third person came up to review what the first two people had covered thoroughly John took the opportunity to ask, inanely, about whether the invited guests could move about during the presentation because he wanted to be able to approach the stage with his video camera, next he went into a strange monologue about how wonderful his camera was. Soon the conversation devolved into questions about whether flash photography was okay (and if so—how much) or if an on-stage setup beforehand could be finagled until Sherlock went nearly apoplectic with laughter and the floor assistant turned an unbecoming shade of scarlet before storming off.
The tall man was leaning against the wall, "I can't breathe!"
That just set John off and they laughed like fools as people watched for minutes before they finally got themselves under control, "John. Once again you…you keep me right." And though the blond man was still grinning he had to swallow to keep tears from coming to his eyes. A bell rung and a voice spoke overhead calling the recipients to the queue.
"See you on the other side." And he patted his shoulder and walked away quickly. The second round of tears were not as obedient as the first.
When he made it back to the main hall people where making their way to their seats. He had forgotten where they were assigned so he slowly walked up the side aisle towards the front, looking. So many happy faces. But some had the nerve to look bored. He looked askance at them. Some people didn't deserve the happiness that others scraped so hard to get. He was at the half way point. Where were they? He stopped and looked across to the other side of the hall when a soft touch was laid on his arm. Olivia was sent to bring him along on to the other side of the hall but little further up. He arrive to find there was not one missing. Mrs. Hudson, who needed the aid of a motorized chair most days because of her hip, was there sitting in front of him and Mary. Kitty, Sherlock's own protégé/colleague/surrogate kid, barely containing her pride, sat right next to her. Molly and Greg looked up and grinned before looking back at their programs. Anthea looked up at him and smiled, and when John nodded to the open chair next to her, her smile widened and she agreeably nodded back. Good, so Himself was somewhere in the crowd. Sherlock's parents were at the other end grinning and waving before mummy Holmes took his picture. He let Olivia pass before him to her seat by her brother before he sat by his wife.
"Crisis averted?"
"Yeah. But I've been around him too long. I have to remind myself sometimes that the intervention is needed. How many times do have to tell people how to get in a line?"
"Really?"
"You have no idea."
And as they talked the hall began to simmer softly with the bubbling of conversations, light pops of laughter and rolling of movement as people continued to be seated. Music was starting now and it brought the rest of the people in and voices softened even more. Soon lights began to change, making the stage glow even as the audience dimmed. A man from the Royal Society stepped to the podium and from that moment John focused solely on what the moment meant, if not necessarily the man speaking.
"…I was so alone, and I owe you so much…"
After the opening remarks the recipients filed in. Had the occasion allowed for it, John would have carried on louder than any hooligan at a football match. Every one applauded and though Sherlock didn't look around to the audience, his head shifted slightly as he passed them.
Mary held his hand and he squeezed it back. Mary wasn't the only one who often felt their detective made it more in spite of rather than because of them. What wouldn't he do for those he considered his own? What hadn't he done? He had given up the world for them so many times and if John could he would give it back to him that many times and more.
"Tell Mary she's safe now."
John choked on a sob and gave Mary a pathetic grin when she looked at him worried. He shook his head and wiped his eyes with his the sleeve of his expensive suit jacket. She reached into her purse and handed him and honest-to-goodness handkerchief. He gave her a watery giggle as he wiped his eyes and tried to focus back on the stage.
Presentations, ceremonies, or whatever they were called, John decided, were very much like going to your kids' recitals. You went because you were proud of your kid, and you wanted to support them, but you really couldn't care less about the rest of the kids showing off their talents or winning their awards. Only this was worse because you weren't just pretending to be interested, you were genuinely confused by some of the fields of study. There was an occasional relief in the lethargy, a topic that interested, but if Sherlock wasn't introduced soon he really would lose his will to live.
There was one more person to be borne, but this one was sort of interesting. This one was for studies correlating pollution in the environment to the health and growth of children and how quickly changes affected the results for good or bad. He made a mental note to look up that monograph.
Each introduction was the same. The Master of Ceremonies gave a brief description of the coming honoree and introduced the person that would enumerate the contribution the honoree made that got them there that night and who would actually hand over the award. The program listed that person as Dr. Mandalay, Director of the Forensics Department for NSY. He had immediately understood the potential and had helped with setting up a presentation that the upper Yarder management would actually listen to. Rory Mandalay was an excellent choice.
"…and I believe it is not too much to say that this advancement will have as much effect on forensics as the use of DNA. The person who will be able to better explain the extent of this contribution is none other than…"
John must have heard the name being said, but in he couldn't remember it. What he remembered was a head in the front row that shook and popped up. He remembered turning to Mary, she was just as startled as he was. When he leaned over there it was, an empty seat next to Anthea. Whereas everyone else with his group were looking at each other, she had her eyes serenely on the stage.
He was going to kill Mycroft.
Neither brother liked to be blindsided, which is why each one took so much delight in doing it to the other. But this was not the time. If he messed this up for Sherlock he would have words with Mycroft that would singe his underwear.
"…I know that my name is not the one in the program, but Dr. Mandalay kindly allowed me to take his place this evening." John could have sworn he heard a scoff from the front of the audience. "As you might have guessed by the last name—yes he is my brother. Many of you may be familiar with him for his extraordinary adventures when he was younger. I can truthfully say to you that, though he is not nearly so much in the spotlight, that life has not been any less extraordinary."
Unknowingly, John connected with his supports in this world. His hand reached out and found Mary's again and they held on to each other. At that same moment he watched that dark head in the front row and as the tension in that one's shoulders eased fractionally, his moved in tandem.
"…His life-long he has been fascinated by the puzzle. And not just the answer to the puzzle, but the reason that answer applies. There is nothing more frustrating to his mind than to tell him an answer can't be found or that it doesn't exist. It is an anathema to him. For him there is always an answer. And, he has always sought it. And, he has usually found it." Instead of looking down at is brother his eyes looked up and over the audience for a second with the faintest smile. To the untrained eye it was just a pause, but to those who knew, he wrestled down his emotions in that moment. There were too many memories that were coming to bear.
"So of course he would find fascination in the biggest puzzle of them all, the makeup of the universe. The elements that make the gas giants and the ants are the same elements that can used to find answers to the loss of a loved one or where a person hid stolen jewels. We lose and take on elements every moment of our lives. Elements that if examined, the literal examination of trifles, can show who and what we are about, and the moments that brought us up to that point in time. It is a puzzle without end."
"Still questions are asked faster than answers can be produced as a general rule. Another anathema for my brother. So he often needs to find answers for himself. Thus the study of 243 types of tobacco ash." Many in the audience had been fans of John's and Sherlock's blogs in the past, so an appreciative laugh floated through the hall. "That brings us to his interest in dirt. The color of the dust on your trousers on a dry day can tell him you were nowhere near the seashore as you may have claimed to have been. Mud splattered on your jacket can tell him whether you were on a construction site in the West End and what you may have done while there."
"But what if you could do more? And of course my brother would ask that question. What if you could fine-tune and finely sift information to pinpoint a journey like a topographical GPS? It was one of the reasons that he and his friend and colleague, Dr. John Watson, started their own lab. Where he could hold himself to the highest standard, and spend uncountable hours in answer to that question. His side project that kept his mind engaged. And when he presented his peer-reviewed findings to Dr. Mandalay there was little question that this was something that needed to be incorporated into forensics for law enforcement."
"Since the start of the Holming Protocol, it has been used to clear up cold cases, find victims of kidnappings and increase overall closures rates 5 percent above projected expectations. That means property returned to their rightful owners, families reunited and loves ones given answers, not to mention preventing suffering for others. Puzzles now brought to life and given meaning."
John had never heard such praise directed at Sherlock from his brother. Neither had Sherlock. He could tell even from the back of his head that his friend had that deer-caught-in-the-headlights look on his face. Not turned away from Mycroft but not quite looking him in the eye either; he was recording every second. Not just the words, but the tones, the sights, everything, including the expressions that moved across Mycroft's face. He was laying down rooms and filling them with this place and time. John was certain that when alone he'd enter his Palace and no doubt stay there the rest of the night.
"…And all during this time Sherlock Holmes has continued to work with New Scotland Yard as a consultant and help private citizens to answer their most puzzling problems. And though he could make a king's ransom in profit of this advancement, he has chosen to offer use of his patent to all who will take advantage of it." Mycroft stopped to let the import of that statement settle into the minds and hearts of all who could hear him before he turned and deliberately gave his attention to his brother.
"A friend of my brother once proclaimed, many years ago, that my brother was a great man, and that if we were fortunate, he may even become a good one. I summit to this audience that he as more than made good on that promise. It is my great honour to give to you all tonight, my brother, Sherlock Holmes."
A moment of silence, and then the audience rose as one and began to applaud. Not just on the strength of the speech but for the man himself. A true thunderous sound that filled the hall. Cheers and accolades filled the air and John worried that Sherlock wouldn't be able submit to such attention. But he couldn't stop himself—he cheered and roared with the rest of the audience, even though the man didn't rise at first. The audience doubled its efforts and Mycroft surprised John yet again. He gave Sherlock a smiled filled with love and pride, as though they were the only two who could see it.
That must of did it, because his friend got up, all his attention focused on his brother so he could block out, what felt like to him, a maddened crowd. As he neared the podium Mycroft held out his hand. At that moment it was a lifeline and he took it, staring at their joined hands. When Mycroft covered them with his own he finally looked up. What words could be said that matched what he saw in his eyes. His mouth twitched in his trademark razor smile, but there were no quips or sarcasm for either of them to fill the space between them. Mycroft again took the lead:
"Your audience awaits." Then he let go and returned to his seat.
For a man who loved to be the center of attention, he could only take it in small doses. He could feel the weight of those eyes upon him now as they settled back into their seats. He dared not look into the groups of lighted people in the dark for fear of the information that would flood his senses until he spotted it. A four square of light that held Mrs. Hudson and Kitty in the front row and John and Mary in the row behind. That sight allowed him to fill his lungs, he'd found his touchstone.
"I am amazed…for a number of reasons. Not the least of which is my brother this evening. Many of you have siblings, I'm sure you understand."
An appreciative chuckle came back to him. First hurdle cleared.
"I am not 'the smart one' believe it or not. But I am, as one man said of himself 'inquisitive.' And I believe that statement is making my friend and colleague giggle somewhere in the audience." Sherlock glanced over and John was indeed having a giggle at his expense. That caused him to quirk his lips and stare into the darkened crowd.
"Being the last honoree this evening, I will keep this brief. Usually I'd sooner cut off an arm than put myself through this, what amounts to, a certain amount of torture for me." He stopped again for a moment and looked over to his safe spot of light, "Mary, I know John is tsking me right now, but your holding his knee seems to calm him considerably; it's fine, everything will be fine, there is nothing to worry about." Then he turned back to the dark oblivious to the low chuckles in the artificial night and took a breath:
"You see—I can recognize and name the fragrance that each person on this stage is wearing. The person who took my ID when I arrived has three children and a calico cat. The second light to my right will need to be changed soon; the singing noise that such lights make has become more pronounced and has pitched high. I notice all that and far more, and have a difficult time filtering and ignoring such information but to mention any more of the many things I notice would be, as my colleague has told me on numerous occasions, 'A Bit Not Good.'" There was light laughter as he continued.
"Intense concentration has always been one of the better ways of blocking extraneous information. And when I have chosen this better solution, it has to be with questions that are hard enough and deep enough to keep my mind engaged. So knowing what goes into each of the four colognes and three eau de parfums gave me a field of study to explain what I was smelling and why."
"Study of animals allows me to recognize the hairs of the calico, which explains the things that I'm seeing."
"The study of incandescent, halogen and florescent lights allows me to understand the things that I'm hearing."
"Take this far enough back and you find yourself at the elemental level, the chemistry of all things. Combining and recombining to make the world around us. It is a fascinating field of study and it helped me for many years."
"But when that wasn't enough I lost my way for a time. Such knowledge needed to be put to use and nothing suited. I hadn't finished my degree and had no interest in anything. But in an abandoned building that changed. I was able to use everything I knew to solve a crime. It was the best…alternative…I had ever found. Then I was promptly stopped in my tracks. I had the gifts buy no discipline. Knowledge but little discernment. And the fact that I was a drug addict didn't help either." He stopped to grin at his own insult. "Being kept from the one thing that ticked every box for me was all I needed. I finished my degree. Then I became what I was always meant to be. And nearly everything I've done since has been in furtherance of it. So you see this has all been rather selfish. This life suits me down to the ground and I will never choose another. But I have modified it, with the help of those around me. So in appreciation of them I chose to be here tonight."
"…Alone is what I have. Alone protects me." "No, friends protect people…"
The memory made him pause. The thought of how wrong he'd been actually made him smile:
"For my mother and father who gave me my gifts and loved me despite them."
"My brother, who hounded me into dealing with them. I know it was done out of love—after a fashion."
"To the Yarder who got me off my sorry…coccyx…to push me to use them."
"For my Not Housekeeper, who saw my gifts and treated me well anyway."
"To the PA who isn't, who keeps my brother from "loving" me too much."
"For my young protégé, colleague and friend, who could give a right toss about whatever gift I think I have many days and still wants to stay around and learn from me."
"For the woman who can talk the world around; and who has accepted me without exception from the beginning."
"And to my first and greatest friend, and my partner in my ridiculous adventures. Who willingly shares meals and his family with me and who has called me 'amazing' and 'idiot' in the space of hours. This day is as much yours as it is mine. And since I don't think I've ever properly said this before let me say it now: Thank You. The constancy of your friendship has made so many of these other things possible. And I am proud to be called your friend."
"Thank you to the Royal Society for this honor. I appreciate this—but don't do it again."
"To everyone else, goodnight."
The standing ovation was repeated with his last words even stronger than at first. But there was nothing left in the man to endure it, and he turned away to make an escape—he couldn't, the sounds and lights were too disorienting. Then Mycroft stood in his way, award in hand and Sherlock stiffened, but instead of being shoved back towards the podium as he expected, he read on his brother's lips: "Come this way."
In the crowd John and his group were cheering and applauding with the rest. It was when they saw Mycroft lead Sherlock away that they knew what had happened. Anthea quickly cut through to the outside aisle in pursuit and a group of dark suited men soon followed. John realized he'd seen similar men near the front but it had been Sherlock's night. Who was paying attention to anything else? Their clapping slowed and when the people began to realize that the program was over they stopped and sat for the closing announcements. With that the lights came up and people were dismissed to go into the large banquet hall. Now that it was over John felt as spent as he knew Sherlock was. He had cried far more than was appropriate for a grown man and Mary's nose was redder than his. In fact, no was looking dried eyed as they sat, looking at each other.
Mary looked to John and he shook his head, "There's no point in going to the banquet. Unless you just want to try the food or be in the atmosphere or whatever."
"So what do think we should do? Just go home?" He surveyed the faces around him and part of him really did just want to go home, but their eyes, their eyes. They wanted to see their friend, if it were possible.
"I'm going to go out and call Mycroft, see how Sherlock is doing. You guys can stay here. When I come back, tell me if you've though of anything else. I think we could all use some quiet time together."
He was on the outside steps before it was quiet enough to make the call. When the phone rang in his hand he started, but couldn't actually say he was surprised.
"How's he doing?"
"Better. He won't be at the dinner but seeing as you're outside talking to me I think you probably already had guessed it."
John shook his head. Mycroft just had to show-off, "Well, we wanted to know if he'd be up to company tonight with us or is he going to have a rest now?"
It was quiet at the other end except for some murmuring in the background, "If you feel up to it, I could arrange transportation to bring you to my home in town. I think a light repast could be arranged."
"So you're not taking him home?"
"I had just got him to agree to come with me when you called. We'll see you shortly." Mycroft ended the call without a goodbye. He hadn't even waited for John to agree to come. But then again, wasn't that why he called in the first place?
The phone went into his inside pocket and he looked to his brother, lying on the facing seat, only the light that made it through the tinted glass touching him, still, the arm against the seatback covered his eyes and he had one foot planted firmly on the floor, the other firmly on the seat. His breathing was slowly returning to normal.
How could a colossal berk like his brother have such a heart of gold? It was truly a paradox for the ages. If he would, he'd pull that great paw off his seat. Then he smiled to himself because the nutter did finally look a bit better. And he never thought he'd see such a day for his little brother to pull off what he did tonight. Besides, he was comfortable where he was.
Sherlock raised his arm and looked back as if on cue. The supposed Iceman had one leg carefully placed over the other and the light from the city played up the angles and shadows adding to the legend. One might even believe it if not for the fact that he could see, even in the shadows, that his fingers had intertwined with those of his assistant.
"So, will you be making your 'happy announcement' tonight?"
"We thought about it. But Anthea is going to come over with something special in the morning and we'll make the announcement then." He felt the reclining figure raise an eyebrow at that before lowering his arm back down.
"About time. Good job bringing Kitty back in time."
"You know we still could be working together."
"You already know the answer to that." Silence, and then: "Thank you for placing John where you did. It helped."
"My pleasure."
"I guess I'm supposed to be nice to you after tonight."
"My heart would never take the strain and you'd probably have an aneurysm."
That caused Sherlock to laugh out loud, "Yes, well, there is that." He lifted his arm to look at his brother one more time before letting himself rest, "Congratulations to you both."
000Enecs000
Rubbing his hand together against the cold John went back in the building to find them all retrieving their coats. They'd been booted out of the presentation room. He explained the conversation as they dressed and waited for the town car. What they got was a black, tinted-window SUV, just enough for their needs. John shook his head. What was Mycroft up to?
The conversation on the way over was quiet and happy and all they wanted to do was to see their prodigal son in his glory when they arrived. But they hadn't expected this. A man dressed as a butler opened the door. Mycroft didn't have a butler. Behind him was a woman dressed as senior housekeeper and together they took their coats and pointed them in the direction of the informal sitting room.
The lights were dimmed and a long temporary table has been set up with a tablecloth along the far wall, with hand foods of all sorts covering it. Candles had been arranged artfully around the room and soothing classical played softly in background. Furniture had been moved and extras chairs and a couple of ottomans rounded out the sitting needs, while a server brought another bottle of something expensive looking to put into a large wine bucket with the others already there.
And there Sherlock was, deep into the corner of the near wall, stripped of the tie, jacket and waistcoat, and his top button opened, slowly sipping something fizzy. When they noticed him he began, "I am never doing that again. The champagne is quite good, I recommend it."
His father laughed, "John told us Mycroft said a 'light repast.'"
"Yes, well, his idea of an invitation is to pluck you out of your life in a helicopter so…."
With that everyone approached with care, in consideration to him, but they couldn't let him be. Their son, brother, friend, guardian, philosopher, scientist, detective, and all around git was just too loved at the moment and was just going to have to make the best of it. And he would rather have the other arm cut off than admit it, but sentiment had reared its head in pleasure at never having felt so loved. He could only put up the weakest of fuss and bother, and even that melted under the glow of the setting. There wasn't a moment when he wasn't reminding himself that, no matter how hard or many the falls had been, he'd somehow landed on all fours.
So when the evening really did end he was a little sad. Greg, Molly and Mrs. Hudson were taken home by Anthea. His parents excused themselves to their room. Soon the kids were sent off to lie down despite protest because they were too loopy for words. The core group sat there in quiet conversation when Mycroft spoke:
"The rooms have been made up and the hires are here until midday tomorrow. Anyone who stays can have a meal before leaving." It seemed almost throwaway in its casualness, but everyone knew otherwise.
"So what do you say Mary? Want to see how the other half sleeps?" John could almost hear Mycroft rolling his eyes.
"It would be easier than getting the kids back up again."
Kitty who was savouring a final glass of champagne, and usually always wore a brave front, actually looked a little shy. Sherlock reached over and moved a stray hair from her face:
"Mycroft, much like you, rarely does anything he doesn't want to. You're more than welcome." And he laughed to himself, leaning back in his chair. When did he think he'd ever have someone be as dear to him as a child? She accepted and the hired help began the process of breaking down the room.
Mycroft bade everyone a goodnight. John whispered something to his wife as they all rose, then she turned to Kitty and leaned in but jerked her head back: "Man talk. Come on, let's leave them to it."
Then there were two. John walked over to the windows and this time Sherlock followed. Looking around when his arm was tapped, John saw the tie pin. He almost wanted his friend to keep it but "I never wear ties" and "this day is as much yours as it is mine" floated through his memory, so he put it in his pocket and looked out at the glittering city. "I remember when your brother told me, 'when you walk with Sherlock Holmes you see the battlefield.'"
"Yes. Like I said, rubbish brother."
"Shut up."
Sherlock grinned as he looked out the window too, "Well, upon reflection, even rubbish becomes fertilizer given enough time."
"Sherlock…."
"Did all of you have a good time tonight?"
John shook his head and smiled at him, "We all had a fantastic time tonight. Did you know your brother was doing all this?"
His friend glanced back at the room, "Sometimes he gets it right," was his only reply.
"How many 'ridiculous adventures' to you thing we have left in us?" John's eyes had returned to the cityscape.
"Who knows? As many as we can I suspect. Why? You feeling old?"
"I guess I just don't want it to end. Awards like yours usually come up near the end of a career. I don't want this to be the end."
Sherlock huffed, "Don't worry about that."
"Why?"
"One. I will drag your sorry coccyx out to the chase until neither one of us remembers what we're doing. And two, even when we aren't here we'll still be in the game."
"How do you figure?" Now they were looking at each other, Sherlock with an enigmatic expression.
"Between your blog, the internet and my brother, they'll be writing stories about us a hundred years from now."
"Are you daft?!"
"Not in the least. The game, for us, will always be on."
"Your ego knows no bounds."
Sherlock just smiled back: "Thanks again for being there for it."
"I wouldn't have wanted it any other way."
AN: The Royal Society actually exists and they do give awards, one being very similar to the one mentioned before Sherlock's. From what I've seen their ceremony is nothing like I've written here, but I did want to give the boys & company a wonderful time.
I don't think anything like what Sherlock was awarded for is out there right now, though I know portions of it do, and really, I think it would be cool if the "Holming Protocol" did happened one day.