Glad to have seen a lot of you guys found the story! I don't know how many chapters this story will have, expect it to be probably longer than the last story. I own the series 3 of Sherlock on DVD but the problem is its UK region, I can't use them on anything in my house. So I plan to buy a US region and sell this one. Enjoy!
"Osiris has really improved since we started him on jumping." Dally told, sitting at the kitchen table with Henry and Helena.
Dally picked Taiwanese food, so they got ingredients and her and Helena recreated some beef noodle soup. Dally's hair was wet and in a ponytail after getting a shower a few minutes ago. Dressed in a shirt and dark sweatpants ready to relax before bed.
"Any jumping competitions we should be prepared to attend?" Henry asked her.
Dally waved her fork at him. "I won't be doing anything cool like that for a while. Charlie said he can't do any races until he's old enough."
Helena swallowed, "Yeah, but you can enter next year's jumping competition." she encouraged.
Dally shrugged, feeling sheepish. "I've only been riding for a year. I should wait a little longer before I-"
"Jump into things?" Henry joked, earning a groan from the girls.
"Jesus, Henry. That was bad." Helena chuckled, flicking garnish at him. Henry chuckled as Dally giggled at the them.
Helena sipped her water, humming as she remembered something. "I'll be heading into London tomorrow."
Dally's head shot up, but she didn't say anything with her mouth full. Henry glanced to her then to Helena. "Doctor's appointment?"
She nodded, "I should be seen more often. But, my doctor is in London and refuses to to a doctor's call so far out." Helena explained with slight humor in her words.
"Why don't you transfer for different doctor?" Dally asked, taking some beef and chewing on it.
Helena shrugged. "It's hard to do so. I don't want to bother Mycroft more than I already do." She stirred some of the broth in her bowl and gave Dally a curious look. "Want to come with me? Can visit Mycroft while I get checked out."
Dally shook her head, taking her glass of lemonade. "I've got to keep up with my piano lessons this week." She told. "Plus a lot of essays my tutor set me up with."
Helena put her utensil down and leaned onto the table with her elbows. "You sure? I was thinking of visiting Mrs. Hudson, Molly, Lestrade-"
"No, I'm too busy." She quickly declined. Dally picked up her bowl and cleaned it out in the sink. "But, give them my regards, mom." She told, sipping her lemonade and heading upstairs to her room, the furry cat Maggie following after.
Helena sighed, leaning her chin into her palm. Henry looked to her, "I had a feeling she wouldn't want to go." he told her.
"I'm not going to push her." Helena stood, taking her bowl and glass to wash out in the sink. "I did give her this new life, why should I expect her to take a step back into her old life?"
Henry stood, helping her with the dishes as he opened the dishwasher. "Dally took to the country like she lived here before. Wouldn't even guess she was a city kid."
Helena turned her head to give him a look. "That's because she's trying to forget about her life in the city."
He nodded, understanding what she meant. Most of Dally's life was in an orphanage, she hadn't even spent a whole year with her father before his death. Then spent two years with Helena as her mom and her life over here.
"I think she's scared I want her to move back to London." Helena told, rinsing bowls and pans before handing them to Henry who placed them into the racks.
Henry frowned, "I wouldn't say that." he told. "I think your just thinking too much."
She raised a brow at him, but nodded. "I'll just set my alarm and head to the first train out tomorrow morning." Helena handed him the utensils and got a dish towel off the faucet to dry her hands.
"Quick trip?" He asked, closing the dishwasher and setting the time on the large appliance.
Helena turned, leaning back on the counter. "I called my doctor, he can take me in the next two days."
"Why not leave then?" He asked.
She placed the towel onto the facet to dry and crossed her arms. "I want to just see the old gang, Molly got excited and planned a lunch time for us. Girls day out, she said." She quirked her lips into a grin. "Never had that before."
Henry smiled, patting her arm. "You deserve to see your friends. You've done nothing but work and cook, clean and take care of Dally. Never give yourself time to relax."
She didn't like to relax, that's how Helena was. Before Sherlock, she wasn't one to relax. She honestly missed the adrenaline rush of city life, the feel of the chase- Be it after a criminal or the days when Lestrade chased her. She grinned the memory, looking up at Henry.
"I take my motherly duty seriously." She told, earning a chuckle from her friend. Helena gave a soft pat to his arm. "I'm gonna go pack and head to bed."
Henry nodded, watching her head upstairs to her room. Helena entered her room and shut the door, heaving a sigh. Where did she keep her suitcase?
Helena checked under bed and dressers, finally finding it in her closet. Her room was spacious, and had been decorated to her taste over her two years here. The large queen sized bed with red and gold bed sheets set sat against the wall to the right of the room. The walls were cream white, but with light brown carpet. The curtains held the same colors as her bed set but with intricate swirling details that reminded her of the walls back at the flat. Unlike Dally's room that was near covered in horse posters and concert events, Helena's walls were a tad bare. The only things framed and hung were photos taken of her small family or portraits of London. The painting of the London Eye with its dark night sky and bright red lights hung above her bed. She loved staring at it when late at night. The Shard tower was another portrait hung above her dresser, reminding her of the last building she scaled before her meeting Sherlock.
Going through her clothing, she knew the city would be freezing this time of year. Helena collected many jumpers, jeans, and long sleeves to pack. She neatly folded them, along with her pack of travel toiletries she'd need- shampoo, conditioner, soap, toothpaste, ect.
Going back in, she paused at the sight of two items in her closet. She smiled sadly at the lovely silk robe she wore every night before bed. Helena had the first habit of sleeping with it on. She worried about ruining the material, and got herself to wear it less in bed and more when she stayed at home. Because of her constant inability to relax, she wore it less and less to never taking it out. Helena decided to bring it, since she was sure to be spending her nights at the hotel she'd be staying at.
After packing it, her eyes sat on the distinct blue scarf hanging in the closet. She felt her chest hurt, approaching the scarf and letting her fingers skim the material. It was as if Sherlock held her when she wore it. Despite the ends frying and color fading, she refused to ever throw it away or replace it.
Helena took it off its hanger, rubbing her fingers against the thin soft material, and sat on her bed. Her lips tugged to her sad smile, her eyes glassy wanting to release its tears. He wore this scarf everywhere, to every crime scene and every investigation. She remembered Sherlock using this to help her broken arm that one time, using it as a sling. The many times he knotted it around his neck, then whip it off like it was in his constant way. She raised the fabric up against her cheek, the smell of his scent had died down long ago but she remembered it distinctly. His musk was a mix of tobacco, leather, and somehow the chemicals he worked with blended into him as if he was wearing a flower everyday. Helena swore he wore some sort of cologne to hide the chemical and tobacco scent, a hint of rose wood and caramel peeked her memory of him.
She returned to reality feeling her tears trailing down her cheeks. Helena wiped her eyes and placed the scarf on the bedside. She sighed, closing her suitcase and placing it by the door. Tomorrow she'd return to her home city, London.
"You have been busy, haven't you?" Mycroft hummed as he awaited at his desk while his dear little brother was getting a shave.
Sherlock got himself cleaned up, a haircut and all was left was to shave what little facial hair he had grown. Holding the newspaper he was reading, he put it down and let the barber finish. "Moriarty's network. Took me two years to dismantle it."
Mycroft looked up from looking at the files of the work he handled in Serbia. "And you're confident you have?" He asked.
"The Serbian side was the last piece of the puzzle." He informed.
"Yes." Mycroft gave a snide grin. "You got yourself deep there with Baron Maupertuis." Sherlock resisted to grin himself so he wouldn't get cut by the barber's blade. "Quite a scheme."
"Colossal." Sherlock added.
"Anyway-" Mycroft folded the paper and tossed it onto his desk. "You're safe now." Sherlock gave a careless hum, though Mycroft felt underappreciated. "A small 'thank you' wouldn't go amiss." He commented.
"What for?" Sherlock asked, knowing he was going to play the 'big brother card on him.
"For wading in." Mycroft answered. "In case you've forgotten, field work is not my natural milieu."
Sherlock held a hand up to stop the barber, with a groan as his body was still sore from the torture he glared his older brother. "Wading in? You sat there and watched me being beaten to a pulp."
Mycroft frowned at the sudden accusation he was given. "I got you out."
"No, I got me out." He corrected. Why didn't you intervene sooner?"
"I couldn't risk giving myself away, could I?" He retorted, as if the answer was obvious enough for Sherlock to understand. "It would have ruined everything."
Despite the logic in his answer, Sherlock got defensive and couldn't trust his word. His head tilted, as if unhinging the truth. "You were enjoying it."
"Nonsense." Mycroft dismissed.
"Definitely enjoying it." Sherlock repeated.
Mycroft adjusted in his chair, folding his hands on the desk and leaning over at his brother. "Listen, do you have any idea what it was like, Sherlock, going undercover?" He spat the word with contempt. "Smuggling my way into their ranks like that? The noise, the people!"
Sherlock sighed, leaning back with a small shake of his head. Had to make it about him, typical Mycroft. He sighed, wishing the soreness to ease off already. "I didn't know you spoke Serbian." He admitted, allowing the barber to finish.
"I didn't." Mycroft told, relaxing in his seat once the tension eased between the two. "But the language has a Slavic root. Frequent Turkish and German loan words." He shrugged. "Took me a couple of hours."
Sherlock raised his eyebrows unable to shrug. "You're slipping." He commented.
Mycroft gave a false smile, did he miss his little brother pointing out his mistakes? Possibly. "Middle-age, brother mine. Comes to us all."
The door clicked heavily, Sherlock glanced up seeing Mycroft's new blonde assistant with his fresh new suit.
"I'll call when I arrive." Helena told, leaning down to kiss Dally's head. She smiled up at her mother as she patted her cheek. "Shall I bring back Mrs. Hudson's biscuits?"
Dally beamed, jumping on the balls of her heels. "Oh, I miss them so much!"
Henry patted Dally's shoulder, smiling at her. One arriving or leaving the station would think this was a mother off leaving her husband and child. It looked normal to anyone's view as they passed in and out of the station.
"Don't forget to give Mrs. Hudson the photo." Dally reminded, swinging her hands behind her back.
Helena nodded, patting her inner coat pocket. "Got it right here, safe and sound." She smiled to Henry and gave him a hug. "Make sure she does her homework." She told him.
Henry chuckled pulling away as Dally gave a look beside him. "To think we had a party ready." He joked, earning a giggle from the girls.
Helena picked up her suitcase and tightened her blue faded scarf around her neck. They walked with her to the train as she climbed on. The train soon started to move, Helena walked down the corridor and found an empty car. She placed her bag above the head rack, then opened the window to stick her head out and wave to the two. They waved back, the train gaining speed to head back to London.
Helena sat down and checked her wrist watch seeing it was near 10 that morning. She'd arrive at Paddington Station around late noon. She heaved a long sigh and leaned back, looking out the window. Soon the rolling green hills will turn to tall glass buildings. Thankfully she took a sick pill before getting to the station, still unable to handle train rides. Helena should really invent in a license and car, she would rather just drive all the way to London than the train. Sure, it would be longer but she wouldn't have to pop these damn pills every time.
Feeling her glasses were dirty, Helena removed them and took her cleaning cloth from her pocket and rubbed the lenses clean. She placed them down on the table of the car room, looking across from her at the center of the seat. Her sight had gone a little blurry and she needed the glasses to see things clearly. Her eyes shifted to her right corner where the dark fade could be seen. The first sign of her sight leaving her. How long until the opposite side of her eyes would be the same. Soon, it around evolve to tunnel vision, and eventually leading to nothing but a black void all her life.
Helena had accepted this fate, she wanted to do all that she could while she had her eyesight. Watch Dally play the piano every chance she had, soon relying on listening to her beautiful playing. Cooking meals and delicious dishes, until she'll eventually not know which cabinet is the mug or bowl cabinet. Viewing the gorgeous sights of the countryside, it's green hills in the summer and pure white snowy fields in the winter. For all she knew, this could be her seeing London for the final time before the black darkness takes hold of her sight.
Sherlock dressed into his usual suit that he almost forgot what it was like to wear it. It was as if he lost his second skin. The black trousers with the belt tightly around his slim waist as he tucked his pure white dress shirt into them. He got his hair just as he liked it, puffy and curled with a part on the left. His black dress shoes fitted his feet well with the warm dark soaks after running through the woods barefoot. Sherlock was entirely focused on his appearance as he looked at himself in the mirror. Something that had annoyed his brother.
"I need you to give this matter your full attention, Sherlock, is that quiet clear?" He questioned, trying to get him to understand the threat in London.
"What do you think of this shirt?" His brother questioned, acting as if he heard nothing of Mycroft's explanation.
"Sherlock!" Mycroft spun back from pacing the room, clearly stressed.
"I will find your underground terror cell, Mycroft." He assured, giving him a look for his impatience as he tucked his shirt in. "Just put me back in London."
Sherlock reached for his black blazer. "I need to get to know the place again, breathe it in. Feel every quiver of its beating heart." Never would he think he'd miss London so much that be gone for two years- including the people in it.
Mycroft's assistant seem to understand his stress over Sherlock's aloofness. "One of our men died getting this information." The brother's glanced to her at this information. "All the chatter, all the traffic concurs, there's going to be a terrorist strike on London- A big one."
"And what about John Watson?" Sherlock asked, slipping his blazer on and fixing the lapels.
The assistant glanced to Mycroft who frowned at the question. "John?"
"Have you seen him?" Sherlock gave a short glance, expecting to hear what he's been up to for the past two years.
"Oh yes." Mycroft shifted, his sarcastic tone easing in. "We meet up every Friday for fish and chips with Helena."
Sherlock rolled his eyes, not needing it. Mycroft motioned for his assistant to had a folder of whatever information he had to John- to an extent. "I've kept a weather eye on him, of course. We haven't been in touch at all to…" He shrugged. "Prepare him."
Sherlock looked through the folder, little photos of him was shown including little information. Nothing too drastic, unless you count a recent photo of him growing a mustache. Sherlock frowned at it, he didn't like it.
"No- Well, we'll have to get rid of that."
"We?" Mycroft questioned.
"He looks ancient." Sherlock commented, closing the folder. "I can't be seen to be wandering around with an old man."
Mycroft chuckled with a cheeky grin. "Yet you walked with the Tramp?"
Sherlock dropped the folder onto his brother's desk with a slap. He turned on his heel, fixing his cuffs. "Speaking of, how is my dear Hawk and daughter?"
"If only we knew, she's barely in contact and my informant only gives me updated when he thinks is important." Mycroft told.
Sherlock tilted his head, side glancing his brother. "He wasn't really one for the job, in my opinion." He stepped back in front of the mirror, checking his attire and buttoning his blazer.
"I think I'll surprise them. They'd be delighted." Sherlock thought out loud, mostly concerned to visit them than deal with Mycroft's problem.
Said older Holmes folded his arms, amused by his brother's assumption. "You think so?"
Sherlock nodded, "Hm, pop into Baker Street. Who knows, jump out of a cake!" He told, raising his arms in half excitement.
"Baker Street?" Mycroft frowned at that, how little Sherlock knew. "He isn't there any more, and you know Dally and Helena aren't even in London."
Sherlock gave his brother a look, John not at Baker Street? Sure, he knew Helena and Dally moved to the country, but wasn't that temporary?
"Why would he be? It's been two years." Mycroft reminded him. "He's got on with his life. As did Helena and Dally."
Sherlock's brows knotted at the notion. "What life? I've been away."
Oh, poor Sherlock actually thinking he revolved around them. Did his brother really think life had been put on the pause button since he left? Apparently so, Sherlock was always so stubborn when it came to people.
"Where's he going to be tonight?" Sherlock asked, moving away from the mirror.
"How would I know?" Mycroft asked innocently.
Sherlock raised a brow. "You always know."
Mycroft sighed, dropping his arms to his side. "He has a dinner reservation in the Marylebone Road. Nice little spot." He commented, Sherlock's mind went straight to why he would be going there. "They have a few bottles of the 2000 Saint-Emilion, though I prefer the 2001."
"And Helena?" He asked, tilting his head back.
He shoved his hands into his pockets. "My informant as told me she's on a train to London as we speak. She'll be staying at Two Tower Hotel on St Katherine's Way. She'll be taking the standard double room, arrival is around 3 with a few delays."
"Ah, its like she knows." He mused, shifting his footing. He really wanted to see her, see Dally, see John- everyone. Never would Sherlock think he'd actually miss people, but he did.
"Her visit isn't a happy one, Sherlock." Mycroft informed, but cleared his once when that look was given.
Sherlock felt his doubt start to bit him. But like an annoying gnat, he wiped it away as he brought his hand up to rub his upper lip. "I think maybe I'll just drop by, before visiting John." He told, trying to keep the chip off his shoulder.
The older brother just wished Sherlock would understand. "You know, it is just possible that you won't be welcome."
Sherlock's features scrunched up, as if the notion was impossible. "No, it isn't. Now, where is it?"
"Where is what?" Mycroft question, keeping up this 'playing ignorant' was growing on Sherlock's nerves.
"You know what."
The clicks of heels entered the room, the men turned to find Mycroft's assistant holding his beloved coat. Sherlock's lips quirked as he allowed her to slip the heavy wool coat on him. Looking into the mirror once more, he finally felt like himself again.
"Welcome back, Mr. Holmes."
He exhaled with gratitude. "Thank you." He turned to Mycroft, giving his final word. "Blud." Before taking his leave to return to his beloved city and loved ones- So he thinks.
The sudden sounds of whistles and bells awoke Helena from her tender sleep. She must have dozed off halfway through the ride, reaching for her glasses on the table. Placing them on the bridge of her nose, she stood seeing Paddington Station out the window.
Excitement and dread all filled her belly, she hoped it was just the sick pill wearing off her. She got her suitcase and made her way off the train. Her eyes took in all of the station as she left, feeling the dense city air of London. The cloud bustling, the cars and cyclist strolling by in the streets with people walking by engrossed in their phones or to where they were heading to. Helena's eyes reached the sky, her dark eyes taking in the cloudy sky and tall buildings with a big smile stretching her lips.
"Helena!" She blinked, looking around hearing someone call her name. "Hey!" She felt a impact to her side, making her stumble and drop her suitcase. Finding her attacker, made her eyes go wide at the sight of Molly hugging her.
"Oh God, Molly!" She let her defense and sense of danger fade turning to properly hug her girl friend.
The excited mousy like girl jumped up and down, holding her hands as she beamed at Helena. It was like two high school girls meeting after a long Summer break. They ignored the passing looks, not letting their glances ruin their reunion.
"I was starting to think you would be arriving tomorrow." Molly told, fixing her knitted coat. The amount of clothing made her look wider- as if pregnant. Helena guessed she might have put on a few pounds is all.
"What time is it?' She checked her wrist watch, shocked by the time. "Near 3 o'clock!?"
"Was the train delayed?" Molly asked, as Helena reached for her suitcase.
"I fell asleep, so I wouldn't know. Maybe." She fixed her hair, though it always seemed to look like she never ran a brush through the reddish hair.
Molly seemed to have taken noticed the short length. She looked her up and down, as if trying to find anything else different to her friend. "You look great, wish I could say the same." she sheepishly joked.
Helena waved her off, turning to walk and talk to call a cab. "You are beaming, Molly! What are you talking about?"
Molly gently shoved her shoulder as a cab drove up. "Still up for a late lunch?" She asked.
Helena opened the door, nodding eagerly. "Sure, just need to drop my suitcase off and we can eat until I faint."
"Oh wow, look at her!" Molly gushed over watching the videos on Helena's phone of Dally riding her horse, Osiris. "She's grown so much!"
"She's ten now, eleven next Spring." Helena told, going back into the gallery of her phone and showing pictures of her and Dally during her tenth birthday.
The two were at a local cafe in the city, enjoying some pastries. Helena wanted something sweet, so she got herself a cup of tea with a crescent, while Molly ordered coffee with a muffin. The two were now catching up on what has occurred in the past two years. Molly's job was the same, taking apart brains and organs day in and out. She kept in touch with Lestrade and Anderson.
"She'll be entering the dreaded teen years soon." Molly chuckled, Helena nodded with her brows up.
"Don't remind me, I'm still anxious for when she has her period. I bought at least 10 packs of tampons prepared." She laughed, earning a look from a man across the room to discuss such things in public. With the man in her blind spot, she didn't even notice it.
"How's Lestrade doing?" Helena asked, sipping her tea.
"The usual, working hard. Keeps in touch with Anderson, though probably not for long." She chuckled with a grimace look.
Helena rose a brow with curiosity. "Why's that?"
Molly looked up that look she used to give Sherlock when he said something offensive to caught her off guard. "...Oh, well um-"
"Molly, whatever it is. I wouldn't be too shocked." She said, "Is he doing some weirdo job or something?" Helena inquired.
Molly tapped her fingers on the table, regretting to mentioning him. "Well," She started, skimming her tongue along her dry lips. "He's started this club, called 'The Empty Hearse'." Helena face slowly started to contort from amusement to confusion. "He with others, try to theorize how Sherlock-"
"Don't." Helena hissed, raising a palm up and glaring down at the table. "Don't finish that sentence."
Molly had no need to, Helena was smart and knew what Anderson had been up to. His obsession and guilt over Sherlock's death made the man start to come up with ideas and theories on how he faked his death and is still alive.
Molly felt their fun slowly drain as the tense air grew thick in the cafe. She looked around, hearing Helena breath to calm herself down. She shouldn't have said anything, Helena was having fun and laughing until now.
"I'm sorry-"
"No, no." She shook her head, dropping her hand to the table ignoring the contact of her palm smacking the surface sting. "Anderson is a real prick." She grumbled, leaning back and combing her fingers through her hair.
Molly didn't want the death of the man Helena loved haunt her during her visit here. She was here to get herself checked out, visit old friends, then return home to her life. Not be reminded of it or have someone make wild stupid theories on how he faked his death. Molly stared down at the cloth, if only she really did know the truth.
Helena dropped her hands and leaned onto the table. She ate what remained of her crescent and gulped down her tea. "Want to go drinking tonight?"
Molly gave a guilty smile, "Sorry, not tonight. I have a late shift at the hospital." she told.
Helena nodded, shrugging. "Worth a shot." She chuckled.
"Are you going to visit Mrs. Hudson tomorrow?" Molly asked.
"Yeah, I'm unsure of it though." She admitted, "I don't want to pull Mrs. Hudson out of her flat but…"
She sighed and tried to distract herself, looking around the place. Molly noticed how Helena looked around herself, turning her head and back more toward her right side than her left. With her doctor appointment, Molly was concerned how far her sight condition had gotten.
"How are your eyes?" Molly asked, needing to know her friend's condition.
Helena glanced up, giving an airy chuckle. "Losing my right side." She said, pointing a lazy finger to the right side of her face. "Thicker blind spot than my left, good thing I don't drive." She joked, trying to make light of it."
"Are you going to see John?" Molly sipped her coffee before adding. "He's going to be examining you, right?"
Helena felt her day not going well. Molly had the tendency to ask a lot of questions and almost forget how the situation can be awkward or tense. She couldn't help but grin, reminded her of Sherlock.
"I honestly haven't talked to John since we left." Helena rubbed her thumb against the rim of her empty glass. "He hasn't tried to get into contact, he wanted to push us out of his life." She shrugged. "It's what he wanted."
Molly shook her head. "I don't think so, he wanted to keep in touch."
Helena scoffed. "Oh, really?"
Molly nodded, only to earn an eye roll from her friend. Feeling their time ending, Molly checked her watch and stood. "I got to get ready for work." She paid for the meal, as a treat for Helena who stood as well. "Want me to ride with you to the hotel?"
Helena shook her head, wrapping her precious scarf around her pale neck. "I think I'm gonna walk to the hotel. Take in the city."
"You sure?" Molly asked, worried about her wandering London with a blind spot.
"I'll be fine." Helena assured with a grin, the two exiting the building. "I lived on these streets, still have the map of London in here." She told, tapping her temple with confidence.
Molly seems hesitant, but nodded. The two hugged once more, bidding their goodbyes as Molly got a cab rushing to get ready for her shift. Helena heaved a long sigh, turning to take her long strides back to the hotel. She pulled the thin blue scarf over her chin as the cold had increased the growing evening of London.
That night, was a big night for John Watson. It was the moment he would be purpose to the girl in his life, Mary Morstan. He sat at a table, nervous and fidgety waiting for her to return from the loo. Dinner was great and he was fine until he felt the butterflies in his stomach rising to, as some say, pop the question tonight. He had drank all his red wine to ease his nerves, looking over the wine list. Having some proper wine was right to ask yeah? Yeah, he thought so.
Little did the doctor know he was going to get a surprise that night too. Slowly maneuvering through the restaurant, Sherlock Holmes built up a small little funny disguise to hide himself, but enough to his reveal to be obvious. Just a simple set of glasses, a clip on bow tie, and a smudge of eyeliner to create a funny looking mustache above his lip to finish it off. He also took the liberty to take a menu to blend in with the service staff, not one single person took notice.
He still got it.
"Can I help you with anything, sir?" He asked his mustached friend, giving a higher pitch and false accent that would possibly offend any Frenchman.
"Hi, yeah." John barely looked up, glad to have some service help him. "I'm looking for a bottle of champagne, a good one."
Sherlock hummed, unable to wipe the grin off his face. "Well, these are all excellent vintages, sir."
John sighed, "Oh, it's not really my area," he admitted. "What do you suggest?"
"Well, you cannot possibly go wrong, but if you'd like my personal recommendation." John nodded, still eyeing up the list in his hand.
Sherlock pointed at the bottom of the list, he didn't care what it was but it also didn't matter for his grand reveal. "This last one on the list is a favorite of mine." He stood straight, swinging and shifting his stance in eagerness. "Is it, you might in fact say, like a face from the past."
Sherlock lowered her tone and removed his glasses, expecting his friend to give the simple glance up. Though he just nodded and reached for his remainder of red wine. "Great. I'll have that one please."
Sherlock waited, but John never looked up. "It is familiar," he urged on. "But with the quality of surprise!" He extended his arms out, as if he has just shown a magic trick of making himself reappear.
"Well, surprise me." John told, handing the list to him.
"I'm certainly endeavoring to, sir." Sherlock grumbled and marched off to plan out his second attempt.
Replacing the glasses and ignoring the lenses that was slightly off putting to his perfect 20/20 vision, Sherlock went in search of wines and champagne. Okay, his next attempt. Bring over the champagne he randomly selected, now checking over the wine list to see what it was. Eh, not a bad selection for a random pick, Sherlock thought. He'd bring it over, act like some pestering waiter, then reveal himself once again. Surprise!
Success this time, of course. Once Sherlock had collected the bottle, he maneuvered back to John's table. He wasn't alone in his return, a short blonde haired woman dressed in a purple night outing attired sat across from him. Though, Sherlock completely ignored the woman, he had the tendency to fail with women so she was probably another useless date. Sherlock didn't even deduce and made a beeline straight for John, interrupting his conversation.
"Sir, you'll find this vintage exceptionally to your liking." He told eagerly and showing the big green bottle to him. "It has all the qualities of the old, with the color of the new."
John was a bit stunned that the man had actually rushed back with the champagne, he has forgotten all about it. His main focus was Mary sitting before him- not the bloody alcohol. This was not the time, he was about to get to the point!
"No, sorry, not now please." He told, trying to politely shoo the waiter away. Mary bit her pinky and grinned, finding the nosy waiter amusing as he pushed the drink for John to accept.
"Like a gaze from a crowd of strangers, suddenly one is aware of staring into the face of an old friend." Sherlock had nearly rushed his opening as he removed the glasses once more, in hopes he'd finally look at him.
John shook his head, "No, look, seriously, could you just…" finally his gaze was met with the waiter- Sherlock Holmes.
He near jolts in his seat, fearful he's seeing a ghost or a hallucination bear him. His best friend, flat mate, and detective was standing before him- Alive.
"Interesting thing, a tuxedo. Lends discretion to friends and anonymity to waiters." he told, slightly grinning to ease the mood.
John looked to Mary, she was seeing this too, right? She looked between him and Sherlock proving he wasn't going crazy. With a duck of his head, John stood near stumbling from the table. Sherlock stood rigid, prepared for what John's reaction might be to seeing the dead standing before him. He took even breaths, staring wide eyed at Sherlock still taking him in.
"John, what is it?" Mary asked, concerned for his sudden reaction. "What?"
"Well, the short version, not dead." Sherlock told, assuring him he was indeed alive. Those words, he heard John's wish for him to not be dead when he visited his grave stone. Wish come true!
John's tense gaze grew unnerving for the detective. If he knew John right, his mind was processing, and doing it for too long and too hard. The words of his brother started to return to his mind, not everyone would welcome him back as if he was gone for a few days or weeks. He was dead for two years, after all!
"Bit mean springing it on you like that, I know.' Sherlock muttered, finding it hard to keep with John's gaze slowly turning into a glare. "Could've given you a heart attack- probably still will. But in my defense, it was very funny." He joked, though no crack was made on John's features.
"Okay, it's not a great defense." He added.
Finally Mary caught up, shocked by who was standing before them. "Oh, no, you're-"
"Oh, yes." Sherlock quickly confirmed.
"Oh, my God!"
"Not quite."
"You died, you jumped off a roof." Mary told, as if trying to convince herself he wasn't there.
"No." Sherlock denied.
"You're dead." She shuddered.
"No, I'm quite sure, I checked- Excuse me." He took an unused table napkin and dipped it into her wine glass of water to wipe off his smudging mustache. "Does yours rub off too?" He asked, teasing him about the mustache already.
"Oh, my god!" Mary near cried, the sound of anger rising in her tone. "Do you have any idea what you've done!?"
The sound of his girlfriend rising to the defense and the glare John only gave his enemies started to let Sherlock know by now; this was not going well.
"Okay, John, I'm suddenly realizing I probably owe you some sort of an apology-"
John suddenly slammed his knuckles onto the table. The slam shook the wine glasses, and startled nearby customers with a few gasps. Sherlock felt shocked, John has shown many points of being angry, annoyed, or pissed at Sherlock. This though, he felt his friend was a true ticking time bomb and Sherlock here was just tugging at all the wrong wires the entire time.
Mary instantly raised her hands, wanting to calm her boyfriend down. "Alright, just- John, just keep-"
John sucked in some air sharply, "Two years." He hissed, shaking his head and ducking his view again. John inhaled deeply and exhaled just as sharply, feeling he was between the verge of screaming or crying.
"Two years." He repeated, louder for Sherlock to hear this time. "I thought-" He paused, his voice cracking at the tension of those painful memories and emotions slammed into him as if he was the target in a shooting range.
"I thought… You were dead." He raised his brows, but Sherlock let him continued. "Now, you let me grieve. Left Helena and Dally all alone." The mention of them hurt Sherlock, making him take a breath at that. "How could you do that? How!?"
Sherlock bit his lip, trying to think maybe calming him down was the best approach before explaining anything. Despite a military man, John was a man to let his emotions run him into danger and stupid situations.
"Wait, before you do anything that you might regret, um, one question." Sherlock requested. "Just let me ask one question."
Mary and John waited, looking up for the single question he allowed him to ask.
"Are you really going to keep that?" He asked, unable to hold back a chortle of pointing out his damned stupid mustache. Marry scoffed, finding this scene completely unbelievable.
As anyone would've guessed, John took the instinct to lunge at Sherlock and wrap his hands around his throat with an urge to choke him out. Sherlock was thrown off by this attack, falling backwards against the floor trying to push him off. It took about six men to pull him off Sherlock, who was a tad stunned but also should've been more careful with that one question he was allowed to ask.
Thank you Lady Jensen, wag11137, tvxqteentop, ILovepenguins24, LNico123 for the follows and favorites!
