CHAPTER II:

TICK-TOCK GOES THE CLOCK...

He finds himself at a crossroads. There are two distinct roads in front of him and each of them are different. Mycroft had made promises, and directly or indirectly, John left it to him. This is totally up to Mycroft, and he has to make a choice, he has to choose a side and stick to it and to that person, as well as the promises he made: make sure Sherlock forgets John and protect him, keep Sherlock alive.

Mycroft wonders how he can possibly choose one path.

He is walking among a place covered by green and very well cared grass. There are also trees, very tall and old trees and flower beds everywhere you look. His green eyes scan the place and he remembers the scene and the layout by heart. It's not difficult to find the modest and also the most beautiful grave in the place. It is a small grey stone, curved, with his name engraved on it. No dates, no inscriptions, his name and nothing else. That's how John would have liked it. Simple, modest and beautifully situated; surrounded by the most beautiful flowers he has ever seen.

The older Holmes is alone, and he places his dark umbrella next to his right leg when he stops walking. He makes a gesture with his head, showing his respects to the man that the grave represents. No, John is not there. As he promised, Mycroft took John's medals, his flags and the wedding ring with him on that day, 16th of April, and went straight to the place he had planned to burn John Watson's body.

His people had dressed John in his army uniform and Mycroft had had to do something he never thought he would; before covering John's body with the flag, he put John's wedding ring on his ring finger and his medals underneath his hands, which had been delicately placed over his stomach. This was something Mycroft did while tears were falling freely from his eyes. This was something a wife or a husband would do, but John did not want Sherlock to do it. John died fearing Sherlock, and it broke Mycroft's heart to have to do that, to prepare, to give the last touches to John's body before it met the warm and destructive fire. That's what John had decided. He did not want Sherlock to know where he was. John feared Sherlock would profane his grave. Mycroft knew about the violent episode that had occurred after John went to the Yard to set Sherlock free. It was not impossible to think that John may have died from fear. Fear of his own husband, the man he loved and the man he married till death do them part. John had warned him: Sherlock was a man of strange tendencies.

Mycroft wondered if, now that death had parted them, John, wherever he was, was still in love with Sherlock.

His assistant had stood firmly beside him the whole time. Mycroft could not raise his gaze from the floor. The entire place was being secured and monitored by highly-trained security agents. He'd promised John - Sherlock would not witness that scene, that scene in which his damaged body was consumed by the fire only to be reduced to ashes. The older Holmes knew his brother was clever and within minutes he would know where he was and where John's ashes would be finally be deposited. But he was not able to allow that. Mycroft did not want Sherlock to be there, and it did not matter to him how hard and how honest Sherlock's begging and promises were - he would not tell him a word.

His assistant had kept him informed as she read the news she was receiving on her smartphone every now and then. The younger Holmes was still inside Baker Street. On their bed.

Now, by the grave, Mycroft takes a deep breath before explaining the reasons for his visit. There is no one resting six feet under that grave. It was just a symbol, a symbolic place he wanted John to have, because that was the last thing he could do. But Mycroft Holmes is a man of manners and he was raised in an atmosphere where high levels of politeness and good deportment were expected. So he keeps his manners and his semblance and asks John what he needs to know. He tells John he needs to know what he should do. Mycroft wants to know if he can tell Sherlock about the location of his ashes or about the location of that symbolic grave.

Mycroft Holmes places a hand over his pocket, where John's last letter is hidden very deep inside. He does not cry, but he says only that he will keep his promise, he will keep Sherlock safe, alive. But Sherlock wants to know, he wants to know where John is. Mycroft also confesses to John Sherlock could die if he does not tell him.

It is simple: Mycroft puts all his cards on the table and he tells John. He tells John what he has done and what he can do, and he asks him if that is OK with him. He explains the reasons why he had bought that piece of land for him and just for him, why he had hired a gardener to take care of the trees and the flower beds, that he would even pay someone a large sum of money if that only meant that the sun would shine over that stone with his name on it every single day. Mycroft tells him the truth and he also shares the feeling John had when he'd written the letter. But he disagrees with something. Mycroft tells John how much Sherlock wanted to be there, when he took his dead body away from him and from Baker Street.

"He begged. He couldn't bear not to have been there."

The older brother also tells him he owes him, because without him, Sherlock was so lost, so alone. Mycroft tells John if there is a god or a supreme power above them, he asks him to thank him for his existence. Mycroft thanks John for his existence and he apologises almost immediately when he realises his mistake. John was the only one who could have saved his brother and he had been was stupid enough to kill him, to kill the only man who truly loved for who he was, the only man who truly cared for him and the only man that life will give him. John Watson only appears once in people's lives.

"So what should I do, John? If I don't tell him, he dies. You know he will die." Mycroft said while he looked at the soft but strong and deep engraving on that stone.

"Sherlock was so alone until you came. I never said thank you properly, so this place belongs to you. This is the place I'm giving you so your friends can come and visit. But you deserve more, believe me John, you deserve more. I have to tell my brother about this place, and I'm sorry if I'm upsetting you, but I can't see him like this, not anymore,"

Mycroft bites his upper lip and continues talking to that cold stone, thinking John is there, listening and approving.

"He begged, John. Sherlock is a mess and he needs you because otherwise he will kill himself. Let him visit you here, let him tell you the words he has never told you, and please, forgive me," He can hardly speak any more, but he manages a last sentence before leaving. "He will come soon, I promise John. I'm sorry."

Mycroft turns and walks a few feet away when he feels a cold breeze on his neck. It is almost summer, and the weather is perfect. There was not any kind of wind today, but he swears he felt a soft and warm breeze on his neck. He stops and turns to look at John's grave.

It looks like John has accepted Mycroft's request.

No one ever imagined John Watson was going to die this way. It took them all by surprise, even though the events behind the closed doors of Baker Street had not been that private. Most of them blinded themselves and decided to let him die. None of them reached out John's hand to take him away from Sherlock. Not even when they all knew John needed help, because Sherlock Holmes, the love of his life, stabbed, kicked and spat on John's fragile heart until the day he died.

No one ever thought this was going to happen in the way that it happened.

It was a sunny Monday, the day the entire world realised John Watson had died. The news was spread quickly by Mycroft to all who cared for John. The clinic where John worked received a letter, and none of the doctors, the nurses, the receptionist, the mothers and the children could believe it. It broke their hearts to know that the lovely Dr. John Watson had died. However, as a symbol of the love they had for him, every person working at the clinic wore a black band on their coats and scrubs showing their respects for the deceased doctor, and they kept his memory close to their hearts.

It was difficult to explain to the children that John was not going to come back. The new patients would see a new doctor, but the old ones, the ones who grown up visiting John's office after a tummy ache or maybe a cold or during an episode of chicken pox, those kids were really sad. Mothers cried, but tried to hide it from their kids. When the children asked if he had been ill and most of their parents said yes, only because they did not know what to say, the kids asked them why no one had tried to fix him, as he had always helped them.

That little piece of land Mycroft bought for John is famous. Lots of people visit that lovely place and the gardener makes sure that the trees, the flower beds and the grass looks as perfect as the man who is not there deserves. The stone is also clean and every day a new item is added to it. The first one who comes after the older brother is a blonde and very sweet lady named Mary. She comes almost every day in the mornings after her shift and very late in the afternoon, almost at night. She wears very colorful scrubs and it's very obvious that she's a children's nurse.

During her first visit, she brings a stethoscope which she delicately puts over the stone with "John Hamish Watson" engraved on it, a lollipop and a few drawings she says were made by the children who knew him. Then she brings new flowers every day, new drawings and a letter from a child John was helping after they discovered he had cancer. Mary opens the envelope and reads the letter to the cold stone with tears in her green eyes. Mary also sits on the grass, not really caring for her clothes, and she tells John about the clinic, about the kids and how they are progressing. Somehow she manages not to talk about the ones who are not so well and she even tells him that none of the new doctors are as good as he was and most of the mothers always complain.

Mary confesses to him that she remembers all the stories he once told her, those about his times in the Army, those about college and medical school. She also says that he never told her about those famous stories she had found on the internet, but Mary quickly adds that she already knows why.

"Was I the only one who ever listened, John?"

The blonde woman cries when she thanks him for everything. Everything she knows was taught to her by John. Mary also confesses that she misses their ritual, their daily ritual in which she always made tea for him and they talked about everything. And she confesses more: Mary loved John's ability to fix kids. She loved the way he used to hang his own stethoscope round his neck. She loved the way he smiled. She loved the way John talked to the worried mothers and she loved the way John smiled.

Mary loved John.

She loved John so much it hurt her. And as she loved him, she was completely aware of John's hellish life after work. She could tell because of John's sad eyes, because of his sore throat, because of the wrinkles around his eyes and because of his words. Every time John told her something about his life, it felt like she was the only one in the world listening.

Mary always suspected the famous husband was a demon. It was public knowledge that John was married to Sherlock Holmes, the famous consulting detective. Mary used to look at pictures of him in the papers, sometimes on the internet, and sometimes she would glance at the picture of him that John had on his desk. Every time Mary looked at that picture, she wondered why John never talked about him. Mary wondered what Sherlock Holmes had going for him to have captured a man like John. John was so loving, he cared for people and he was gentle. He was the kind of man every girl would love to introduce to her parents. She never met Sherlock, but, looking at pictures of him, Mary felt scared. Those greyish and cloudy eyes, his high cheekbones, those dark curls... Mary always felt scared when she looked at Sherlock's picture on John's desk.

The question should be why John had chosen Sherlock.

Mary will never know.

For her sake and for John's, Mary never mentions Sherlock Holmes's name. But she tells John she has collected all his things and given them to his brother-in-law, the very same man who had spread the news about his death.

Mary secretly wonders if Sherlock Holmes visits John. She has never seen him there. In addition to the things she leaves, there are occasionally some new flowers. She does not know who leaves them there, but Mary is sure they are not Sherlock's flowers.

After every visit, Mary kisses her hand and then places it over the cold stone. She apologises for her constant presence but she explains she misses him and that she loves him. And that she will always regret not being able to say it to him when he was alive. But maybe John would have never have chosen her. He was Sherlock's. And that is the way he decided to die, being Sherlock's.

Molly received the news before Mycroft could tell her formally. It was a rumour she heard while she was having lunch and looking now and then to the door to see if John was going to come soon. It was one of those days John would come to pick her up and take her to one little and very cosy restaurant two streets away from Bart's. Sometimes he would appear with a flower or a lollipop for her and she would kindly and fondly smile at him. Her cheeks would turn red and John would laugh.

She was waiting for him when once of her colleagues told her he'd heard that John Watson had died of a heart attack. Molly shook her head and said it was impossible, but it was quickly confirmed when John never appeared to pick her up for lunch that day, the following or the next one. He was not picking up his mobile every time she called him, and he was not replying her messages every time she sent him one until one day Mycroft Holmes and his assistant appeared in her usual lab room and confirmed it.

A heart attack was not possible. Molly refused to believe it when Mycroft told her it was the truth, that there were no reasons to believe otherwise. She insisted that she needed to see the body, she needed to see it and she needed to make sure for herself that Sherlock hadn't killed him. Mycroft swears on his Queen that John had died naturally, that no one had killed him and that it's too late, because John Watson's ashes are where he wanted them to be.

Molly curses because she had seen it, she had seen John and she had seen everything. It was written over his poor, sad face, but she hadn't done anything. She doesn't know whether John ever tried to ask for help, or if he ever asked her. If John ever wanted her to help him, she can't remember. If ever John said good bye to her, she can't remember. However, she is grateful she can remember the good moments and the laughs. John had a very contagious laugh and he was a comedian. He would laugh at everything, even on those rainy days when John didn't seem to have anywhere to go after work.

A place to go, yes, she remembers that day - those days. John would invite her to go to the cinema or to have dinner at some place on the opposite side of the city and they would walk round London. John would offer his arm for her and she would shyly accept. Then, he would take her to her flat and he would say he would go to a pub because he fancied a pint or two. But the truth was that John preferred to walk around in the dark nights alone because, on those days, he couldn't bear to lay next to Sherlock Holmes in their bed.

"You can always tell a good Chinese by the bottom third of the door handle." John once told her when he invited for dinner. She knew that was something Sherlock would say.

John once asked her if she was still in love with Sherlock. And Molly blushed. It was awkward to talk about that man. She hadn't seen him in a long time, it was something she really could not put a finger on, but she did not miss him. After years and years of doing whatever he wanted only to please him and nothing else, her mind stopped caring about him. So did her heart. Molly assured him that she was not, and she asked John where Sherlock was. She made the comment that she had not seen him in several months and John sighed tiredly. He only replied that he was away on a case.

"For so long?"

The doctor nodded. John told her that Sherlock was working on one of the biggest and important cases of his career but it was going to end soon. He also told her the results would be surprising for everyone. Molly just nodded and continued talking about her cat and the bodies she was working on.

Now she understands.

Molly feels guilty. She saw it and she didn't do anything. She also wonders if this could have happened to her if she had been in John's position. She wonders if she could have been as strong as John was to break free the way he did. John was strong. A part of her mind thinks he should have walked away, to have a new life and be happy. But the other part of her mind thinks what John did was for the best. Molly knew John, and she also knew that John could not conceive of a life without Sherlock.

Sherlock. Molly does not want to see him again. This is not her, but she can't love him any more, not even as a friend or as a person who has known him for years now. If someday he walks into her lab, she would... she does not know what she would do.

John deserved more. He always deserved more than what Sherlock gave him. Molly can't stop crying. She says this can't be true, but Mycroft only places a hand over hers and tells her about John's grave.

Molly visits John's grave every time she can and every free moment she has. She gets him flowers, the same kind of flowers John used to give her sometimes and she also stays there for long minutes. The first time she could barely say a word and she ran away from the place. But now Molly does not cry anymore. Molly only leaves the flowers close to the other ones and she smiles when she sees the drawings of his patients there.

As if John is there, Molly tells him about her work, her cat... but every time she talks, she can't help but say all the things she regrets. Molly is not the only one who regrets things; she regrets not being able to help John, she regrets not caring as she should have, she regrets not asking him about his sad expressions and his red eyes.

Molly does not only have regrets; she also has confessions to make. She confesses that he was an amazing friend, that all their lunches, dinners and the times they went out to see movies or plays together were the best days of her life. Molly confesses there's not a single day that she doesn't have his laughs and smiles in her mind. She thanks him for being her friend, for caring for her, for laughing at her silly jokes and for being who he was.

"The only thing I regret about meeting you, is the way I did it. I wish I could have met you myself, and not because of him."

Molly never, but never ever, mentions Sherlock by name while she visits John.

When she leaves, she waves her hand to the cold stone and she promises she will be back soon.

Molly keeps her promise.

Whenever Mycroft appears at New Scotland Yard, everyone fears for their lives and for their work. Even the D.I., Greg Lestrade. But the older brother is not there this time to frighten and threaten the members of the police force, he is not there to ask for some CCTV footage to be erased, and he is not there to talk about his brother. He is there to talk about John Watson and Lestrade suddenly does not believe him.

Mycroft, in his own way, assures the D.I of the criminal division of New Scotland Yard that John wanted everything exactly as it happened. That his ashes were secretly deposited where he wanted and all his money were transferred to the pediatric wing of the clinic at which he worked. The contents inside his office are in his possession and that all who cared for John are aware of everything, except for the landlady who is very old and who does not live in the city anymore, and experience has taught Mycroft that sometimes it is better to keep some things secret.

Lestrade does not mention the fact Mycroft Holmes has broken the law. He is just speechless. He is just as speechless every time he visits John's grave.

Every time Greg Lestrade visits John Watson's grave, he can't say a word and he feels like the place is strangely warm, but he feels a cold breeze round his neck. It is strange and scary. However, he remembers the last time he saw him. It was also the day John died. They talked about sports, about a football match, about John's patients, about Sherlock's stupid actions...

God help him, because he knew this was bound to happen as soon as he signed those papers to set Sherlock free.

Lestrade is not as strong as the others. He can't go and talk to John. He only goes when he really can. And sometimes he kneels in front of that stone and asks for forgiveness, because he had seen it and he had not done anything to help him.

Well, I guess John would not have accepted his help.

The days pass by, Mycroft continues working, signing papers and saving the world and, more likely, the country where he lives. He looks like he always did, he acts like he always did, and he talks like he always did. But his mind is fighting him. There is an internal debate that he does not know how to win.

Eventually, he visits his brother.

Sherlock is sitting in his usual armchair, looking at the clock and waiting for John to come back from work when his brother appears in Baker Street.

Mycroft tells him about that little plot of land and about the cold stone. He explains to his little brother that it does not has John's ashes or his body. But he warns Sherlock he does not want to hear that the place has been destroyed.

"Why would I destroy it?"

The older Holmes does not know if he should say it or not. He hates Sherlock for what he did, and he wonders why he had to be so dark, so mean, so destructive, so hurtful and why he had to murder John Watson. But Mycroft also loves Sherlock, because he is his brother, his blood and he promised he would take care of him and that he would make sure that the detective forgot John and moved on. He still has to find out how to make that possible.

Mycroft will not say it. Not today.

When they can't find a way to clean away their sins, the feelings of hatred within their chests, the anger and the dark stains in their souls, people sometimes try to pursue forgiveness, redemption and atonement. People do not realise that after a lifetime accumulating countless dark stains and feelings, they can't clean their chests and their souls so easily within days. People do not realise that some of their sins are impossible to exorcise and the souls become dangerously darker. People do not realise some stains are impossible to erase, to clean. They can't disappear just like that. People do not realise no one has created a way to atone, erase and redeem.

There isn't a way to clean with your elbows what your hands had already done.

Some people, despite having a dark, stained and very poisonous soul have the right to keep breathing, walking and living. And they do not know, they do not realise what happens when they face Death. They do realise when they think about it or when they know they are about to die. That's the moment when people try to wash out, to clean off their souls and that's the moment when they realise all the damage they have done to those who really cared for them.

People are blind, they blindfold themselves most of their lives and they remove that ghostly piece of fabric over their eyes when they know they are close to inhaling and exhaling for the last time. Some people really regret their actions. Some others... some others just ask for forgiveness just for the sake of asking, because that's what people do, don't they?

The road people go down when they really want to be forgiven might be short or long. It depends. And some people just need to walk two or three steps until they meet a white light and the same Heaven. That means they are forgiven and that their souls are clean. However, some people walk and walk... and it looks like they will never be forgiven, that they will never reach the end. Their soul gets darker and darker, and even more poisonous than it used to be. Their sins are heavier on their backs, and it becomes impossible to atone.

Those people keep walking and walking. Some lose hope and others just keep walking. But to those who keep walking, fighting, their hopes are not enough. The same hands, eyes, mouth and mind that used to hurt others turn inwards to hurt themselves instead. They feel the same pain they had once inflicted on others, on their equals.

Sometimes they need to feel the pain they once caused to understand how much it hurts.

Can you feel it, Sherlock? Do you understand now? It's not easy, they way is too long and your sins are too many to count, too many to atone. Don't give up. Maybe he will help you to reach the end. And maybe to finally get that forgiveness you are begging for.

I don't know if Sherlock will find the way, a way to exorcise his own soul and a way to finally calm his magnificent brain and finally allow his heart to beat and rule his life.

Or what remains of it.

Tick-tock goes the clock.

Tick-tock clean your soul.

Tick-tock do not let it rot.

Tick-tock listen to the silence.

Tick-tock the winter is too long.

Tick-tock goes Sherlock's clock.

Tick-tock,

Tick-tock,

Tick-tock,

Tick-tock,

Tick-tock...