The news of the nutter jumping from the roof of St. Bart's spread throughout London very quickly. The news it was Sherlock Holmes, the great fraud, who had been the one to take the swan dive followed it even faster than light speed. Everything was made worse by the fact the police hadn't forgotten John had assaulted the Chief Superintendent and had gone on the run with Sherlock. As soon as they were certain he wasn't in shock they'd arrested him but he had no sooner been taken to Scotland Yard's lockup when Lestrade came to let him out, saying the Chief Superintendent had suddenly dropped the charges against him.
Mycroft, he thought as he walked out of the station. He certainly had the ability to make such a thing happen, John knew. But if he thinks this will make me forgive him for what he's done to Sherlock he's got another thing coming! John knew he would never be able to forgive the man for this because he had made it possible for Moriarty to so thoroughly destroy his friend. He wasn't even sure he could forgive the man walking beside him at this moment.
Lestrade knew John really wasn't wanting to see or talk to him right at that moment but he also had a piece of information John needed to hear, "Are you headed back to Baker Street then?" he asked. When the doctor however didn't acknowledge his question in any way, he went on. "John, look I know you're angry because I had to arrest Sherlock and no doubt you're angry that I doubted him along with everyone else. I'm sorry but I had to follow the order to do that."
John looked at him finally, his eyes blazing, "Don't you get it, Lestrade? Sherlock killed... himself today, he's gone and never coming back so right now I really don't care if you did arrest him under orders or not!"
Lestrade stopped when he heard the pure furious venom in John's voice, "All right you don't want to talk to me then but there is something you need to know before you go home. It's about Mrs. Hudson."
Hearing his landlady's name stopped John cold in his tracks and he turned around to look at the detective inspector, pale as a sheet. "What about Mrs. Hudson?"
Lestrade quickly reassured him, "She's all right, John, physically." He watched as the other man let out the breath he'd been holding and as his coloring returned. "I'm sorry I frightened you but I thought you should know that while your were... across town she was held at gunpoint but a man who says he had been hired by you to fix the doorbell. He didn't hurt her any worse than tying her up and leaving shortly after Sherlock..." He cleared his throat, surprised at the lump he felt there at saying the other man's name. "Anyway she said she doesn't remember much about the man, not anything that will help us find him."
John closed his eyes as he asked, "Did you tell her about him...about Sherlock?"
"No, I didn't and I made sure none of my people did either."
"I need to get home then and pray she hasn't been watching the news!" John began walking again, doubling his pace out of Scotland Yard.
The ride to Baker Street seemed to take forever and yet it wasn't long enough. John stepped out of the taxi and after he paid the driver, he felt his heart constrict when he turned to face 221B. The memory of meeting with Sherlock outside that very door sprang up in his mind, and the thought of walking inside without him became something he wasn't sure he could do. After a full minute he pushed the grief of knowing Sherlock would never walk through that door again aside, and fished in his pocket for his key... he needed to see to Mrs. Hudson after all.
At first when he opened the door, he didn't hear anything which gave him the brief hope she was in bed, and he wouldn't have to tell her the awful news until tomorrow. But that hope was quickly dashed when he heard sniffling from her kitchen. He sighed and with a heavy heart he moved forward, calling out "Mrs. Hudson!"
She had been sitting at the table, working on a cup of tea when she heard his voice calling her name. She started to get up when John appeared at the door, then before she could say a word or blink he was standing there and had enveloped her with a comforting hug. Neither of them spoke for a few minutes as they both were too caught up in their emotions and because she had heard him sniffling too.
Dear boy, she thought, I'm so sorry!
Finally he pulled away from her, and the doctor in him compelled him to give her a once over to be sure she really was as fine as Lestrade had said she was. Unlike the time the CIA agents have broken in and held her at gunpoint while trying to get Irene's camera phone from Sherlock, she did seem to be perfectly unharmed. John was grateful that the man Moriarty had sent here to kill Mrs. Hudson had been gentle with her in the meantime, at least he had physically, because emotionally was something else altogether different.
"Let's sit down, hmm? I need to talk to you," he said softly, already dreading what he had to say to her. Once they were seated he began, "When was the last time you saw or heard from... Sherlock?" He was certain she had heard the pause before he'd been able to say his friend's name.
"Oh would you like some tea, dear? The water should still be hot enough for a nice cup?" she asked in reply as though she hadn't heard the question.
John shook his head no. "Thank you. Please, Mrs. Hudson, when was the last time you saw or spoke with Sherlock?"
"The night the police came to arrest him." she answered then asked, "Is everything straightened out with them now? They won't come here wanting to arrest you again will they?"
John nodded. "Yeah, it's all been straightened out and they won't be back here to arrest me." For a moment he was grateful Mycroft had did whatever he did to get the charges dropped because John had very much wanted to be there for her when his landlady heard the tragic news. He knew he couldn't put off telling her it any longer.
"Mrs. Hudson, about Sherlock...there's really no easy way for me to say this, and I'm not certain that I can even say the words aloud. Sher... Sherlock is... gone..." To his surprised she didn't look shocked or as upset by the news as he would have expected her to.
"I know, love," she said softly, wiping away a fresh tear.
Confusion joined the pain already on John's face. "How?" He had hoped she hadn't heard it by the news or worse yet someone from Scotland Yard like Anderson or Donovan. He could only imagine how gleeful they were at the thought of never having to deal with Sherlock again. If the news came from one of the Yarders that meant either Lestrade didn't know what his own people were doing or he had told John an outright lie. He hoped the former rather than the latter was true because he really didn't need another reason to be angry with Greg Lestrade right now.
Mrs. Hudson saw he had gotten lost in his thoughts and laid her hand on John's to draw his attention back to her. "No love, I wasn't told by Detective Inspector Lestrade or anyone from Scotland Yard... or the news."
"But how? The only other person..." John trailed off, the realization coming to him. "Lestrade said you told them that you didn't remember anything about that man..."
She shrugged. "I don't remember anything about the way he looks and he certainly wasn't that daft enough to tell me his name. But for as long as I live I'll remember what he told me about Sherlock in the final moments that dear boy was alive."
Goodbye John... The memory unbidden flashed through his mind, and once again he saw Sherlock falling through the air, saw his broken, bleeding body on the pavement. His once brilliant eyes staring as blankly into space as many people once stared at him following one of his magnificent deductions. Remembered trying to through the crowd of onlookers, and praying for a pulse to be there as his hand found Sherlock's wrist.
Shaking his head to clear away the memory and blinking away the tears he gently asked her, "Mrs. Hudson, do you know how... Sherlock died?" he asked gently and when she nodded. "And you know I was there when it happened?"
"Oh you dear boy, no I didn't know," she said. "What happened? How did he...?" She immediately regretted the question as John's face contorted with grief, and he bit back a sob. She laid a hand on his arm. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked that."
John shook his head, wiping away the escaped tears, and finally looking at her he said, "Unless you stay cut off from the rest of the world, you're going to find out sooner or later what happened to him. I just don't know how to say this in a way to soften it."
"Then go on and say it, love. It may hurt to hear the answer, but I'm not as fragile as you may think I am."
That's right, John remembered. In the briefest of seconds before he had first met her, Sherlock told him that he had helped her when her husband had landed himself on death row in the States. The man obviously had been terrible enough to get a death sentence, and it seemed Mrs. Hudson was so grateful
that Sherlock had proved the authorities with insurance for the execution that she'd given him a special rate on the flat.
"Please, just tell me what happened."
With a deep breath, John attempted to steel himself enough to say the awful words and for how he knew she'd react as there was no denying she had loved Sherlock in a motherly way. "Sherlock... he... he stepped...off the roof of Bart's..."
Her reaction to that was the last one he had ever expected from her.
"Oh Sherlock, what were you thinking doing that to John?" Mrs. Hudson said, a hint of anger in her voice as she embraced the man beside her fighting for control. "There there dear, let it go. Don't hold it in." She felt his arms tighten around her, and his face buried into her shoulder. She knew by his breathing he was still fighting back the tears, and so she began to rub his back gently, trying to encourage him to let go.
"I'm sorry," he whispered brokenly against her shoulder, with what sounded like embarrassment. Or perhaps it was shame? Either way she felt a little more angry with Sherlock for doing this to his friend, his best mate, and she fought to keep it from her voice.
"You hush now, John Watson! There's no reason to feel any shame over this!"
"I knew Moriarty was trying to destroy him and I never should have left him alone..." he said, his voice breaking. Finally, John had to let it go, his sobs speaking volumes of the agony he felt inside.
She held him until she felt the sobs begin to wane, only releasing him when she heard him sniffling. Pulling away to look at him, she handed him a handkerchief to wipe his face with, and got up to put the kettle on. "How about a cup of tea, love?" Out of the corner of her eye she saw him nod numbly, staring in the direction of the floor as he finished wiping his face. Taking out a tin of biscuits when the tea was ready she resumed her seat beside him, and watched as he silently took a few sips.
"When's the last time you ate anything?" she asked in a soft voice.
John gave an exhausted shrug, "I don't know... before the police showed up to arrest Sherlock I think?"
She pushed the biscuit tin towards him then without another word got up and begin pulling out sandwich trimmings from the fridge. It wasn't a proper supper by any sense of the word but both were far too tired for any actual cooking and besides getting just a sandwich into John was better than nothing in her eyes.
After finishing their food, they were both sipping on another cup of tea when she softly said, "There's something you need to know about earlier today, something I was told by that...man."
John frowned but said, "Go on."
"The reason that man didn't hurt me was because he been told by the man he was working to for the only reason he was to kill me was if..." Tears pooled in her eyes again.
John reached out to touch her hand, "I know how frightening it had to be, but he's gone, and you're safe." He made a mental note that in the near future he'd tell her where his gun was hidden and teach her how to use it if she'd let him.
Mrs. Hudson shook her head. "You don't understand, dear. The man told me he had been sent here to kill me only if Sherlock didn't kill himself."
"What?" John gasped. "What are you saying?"
"Sherlock didn't kill himself because of the police thinking he kidnapped those children or because whatever else everyone was starting to believe about him. The man told me that he was to kill me if Sherlock hadn't... jumped off of the hospital, and he said there were two others waiting to kill you and Inspector too if... if..." She couldn't finish the sentence.
"Sherlock didn't kill himself because of the police thinking he kidnapped those children or because whatever else everyone was starting to believe about him. The man told me that he was to kill me if Sherlock hadn't... jumped off of the hospital, and he said there were two others waiting to kill you and Inspector too if... if..." She couldn't finish the sentence.
John closed his eyes to keep the newly threatening tears there. "I still should not have left him alone, wouldn't have if I hadn't received a phone call saying you'd been shot, and you were dying." Suddenly John groaned as though he were in pain as a realization hit him.
"What's wrong, love?" The concern very apparent in the landlady's voice.
"The phone call was a trick by Sherlock to get me to leave him so he could meet with Moriarty alone!" John groaned again, and briefly buried his face in his hands.
"How do you know it was Sherlock behind the phone call and not this Moriarty character?"
"I know it was Sherlock because of how he reacted when I gave him the news you'd been shot and that you were dying. He acted so cold... so indifferent." He watched her for her reaction as he said the words.
Mrs. Hudson shrugged it off, surprising him. "He is... was Sherlock. You know better than anyone he never reacted with the same feelings as other people would have. Besides I was just his landlady, dear."
"No, he didn't. Half the time I wasn't sure he understood normal emotions but when it came to you, Mrs. Hudson, it was different. Do you remember the American agent he half killed because him and his men broke in here and roughed you up a bit? Everything Sherlock did to that man said he was furious that they'd kidnapped you in your own home, let alone dared to touch you. No Mrs. Hudson, you meant more to Sherlock than just being his landlady and the fact he didn't react at all proves he set the phone call up so I would leave him there."
Stupid, stupid git, John silently berated himself for not seeing that before now. Sherlock might be alive if you had seen through his scheme and hadn't believed he was so callous as to totally disregard Mrs. Hudson!
"It wasn't your fault dear, trust me," Mrs. Hudson's voice broke gently into his thoughts as though she were reading them. When he gave her a shocked look she went on. "Sherlock did what he did to save your life, and mine. There wasn't anything you could've done to stop what he had planned once he got it in his head that it was the only way to save our lives. I think you know that better than I do about how stubborn that boy could be."
John smiled sadly, "Yeah, I do."
"Now he never should have done it in front of you, but I think if he held as in much regard as you think he did, then he did what he did only because he loved you..." She said, quickly adding, "Loved you more like a brother than just his friend and certainly more than Mycroft I think."
John could only nod at her words, his eyes dangerously watery again.
"So you stop blaming yourself, okay?" Silence fell over them and for a time they sat there drinking what was left of their tea, both lost in their thoughts.
"Oh look at that, it's nearly midnight!" Mrs. Hudson said after glancing at the clock. Aside from Sherlock's antics or his playing his violin at bloody two o'clock in the morning, she never stayed up to this late at night. She was unable to suppress a yawn as both the late hour, and the day's tragic events along with the raw emotions it had invoked finally caught up with her. "I'm sorry dear, but I need to head onto bed I think."
John nodded but didn't say anything in reply.
He looked as exhausted as she felt and so she said, "Maybe you should do the same, love?"
"I'm so completely drained I'm not sure I'll be able to sleep right now," John replied, running a hand over his face.
Truth was Mrs. Hudson felt so drained herself that she wasn't sure sleep would come easy for her either but they'd both need it for whatever happened tomorrow. She stood up, and touched his shoulder, "Please would you try to sleep for me, John?"
He touched her hand nodding, "Yeah."
Trusting he would keep his promise, she turned to leave the kitchen, and head to her bedroom when his voice stopped her in the hallway.
"Mrs. Hudson?"
She looked back at the door as his head poked out. "Yes, dear?"
He seemed a bit embarrassed again as he asked her, "Do you mind at all if I sleep on your sofa tonight? I... I don't think I can take going upstairs tonight..."
"Of course I don't mind!"
"I just can't..."
"I know dear, it's alright. I understand!" At that moment she knew she'd find it hard to go upstairs and see signs of the detective everywhere and knew it would be that much harder on him since he had been flatmates with Sherlock. Mrs. Hudson moved to retrieve a pillow and a few blankets from her linen closet, and bustled about trying to make the sofa more comfortable. Finally she looked at him. "Stay as long as you need."
When he had laid down to sleep on Mrs. Hudson's sofa, John had fully expected to wake up screaming from seeing Sherlock's suicide replayed in a nightmare. Thankfully it seemed he had been exhausted enough for his subconscious mind to allow for a reprieve because he couldn't recall dreaming at all last night. So instead of the expected bad dream, he had been awakened slowly by the smell of breakfast coming from the kitchen and the accompanying clink dishes here and there.
For all her protests at first about being their landlady and not their housekeeper, Mrs. Hudson hadn't let that stop her from mothering them both from time to time, especially if one of them were either hurt or sick. Of course when there was a need the same could easily be said of them where she was concerned, and they both became more like sons then her tenants, especially Sherlock. John smiled sadly at that thought because he knew in spite of his friend's protests or denials, Sherlock had cared very much for Mrs. Hudson, and like himself would do anything for her.
Tears were beginning to sting his eyes and John blinked them away, determined not to start the day off this way. It was a battle he realized he would soon lose if he didn't find some other way to occupy his thoughts so he briefly considered going to see if they could use him for a shift at the surgery but then remembered today they would be closed. So he'd have to find some other way to keep his thoughts off yesterday.
From the coffee table, his mobile text alert sounded and with much dread John picked it up to see the message.
I have made the funeral arrangements. - MH
John stared at the text for a long time, uncertain how he should respond to that. A large part of him wanted to tell Mycroft exactly where he could go for what he had done to the brother he said he was so concerned for. He actually began to write the text out but stopped and deleted it since words on screen couldn't really convey every bit of the anger he felt towards Mycroft.
Maybe it was fitting then that Sherlock died to protect Lestrade, Mrs. Hudson and himself... but not Mycroft. He pondered telling Mycroft that little tidbit before dismissing that thought completely. As much as he may want to hurt Mycroft by giving him that information, he also knew the elder Holmes didn't deserve to know about Sherlock's sacrifice for his friends either.
Instead he settled on a simple, short message: Where? When? - JW
Mycroft's answer came a few seconds after John had hit the SEND button and borrowing a sheet from one of Mrs. Hudson's notepad, he wrote down the information before deleting the text. The funeral would be held in three days, and from the look of it Mycroft had elected to have the burial serve as Sherlock's funeral as the place he'd sent John was the same address as the cemetery.
Will this be a private burial? - JW
Yes, only a few are to be told the specifics. - MH
So it was to be a private service then with only him and Mycroft present? That didn't sit well with John and he was about to text the man saying as much when his phone beeped again.
Please give Mrs Hudson the funeral information. - MH
As well as anyone you feel is appropriate. - MH
The only other two people John thought of immediately were Lestrade and Molly Hooper. He sent them both a text with the information with emphasis on the request that they keep it to themselves, because the last two people he wanted to see at Sherlock's funeral were Donovan and Anderson's smirking faces.
That would have been the end of their communication if John hadn't thought of one last thing he wanted to ask Mycroft.
Were you the one to ID him? - JW
Of course if Molly had been the one on duty at the time Sherlock's body was brought to the mortuary, she could have confirmed his identity for the record, and would have too if procedure didn't require the identifier to be either family or a friend outside of the morgue. John had expected to be the one to be called in to identity Sherlock's remains but was grateful his phone never rang. That left Mycroft as the only other person they would have called to make the identification and John knew it had been cruel to ask but he was too angry with the elder Holmes to even care about sparing his feelings right now.
If he even feels anything over his brother's death, John thought.
Yes, Dr Watson. I was. - MH
With a nod as though Mycroft could see him, John turn off his phone, and tucked the phone away into his pocket. If anyone else wanted to contact him they'd just have to wait until he felt ready to deal with them, likely tomorrow or the next day at the earliest. He was considering how he would fill this day up when Mrs. Hudson peeked in cautiously.
"Oh, good you're awake. I've made up some breakfast...if you're hungry."
Although he really didn't have much of an appetite this morning, John gave her a little smile and said, "Yes thank you, Mrs. Hudson." before he followed her into the kitchen.
"Umm... you know, Sherlock once told me that heroes doesn't exist, and if they did, he was not one of them. And umm... there were times, with the way he responded to things, I questioned whether or he was even human. But I am here to tell everyone here that Sherlock Holmes was not only the most human...human being but he was also the best, most extraordinary man I have ever known in my life, and there is no one on this earth who can ever convince me he told me a lie." John paused, taking a deep breath as his eyes fell to the elegant black coffin. "I was so alone when we met, and I owe him more than words can express." With one final nod towards his friend, John walked back to his place beside Mrs. Hudson.
She took his hand and whispered, "That was lovely, dear."
John could only nod in reply, afraid if he spoke the tears he was fighting would make their escape.
The priest officiating the burial stepped forward. "Are there any others who wish to speak?" He waited a moment to allow for anyone who wanted to speak could, and when no one stepped forward he added, "The service is concluded." The small gathering began to disperse at these final words with only three people staying behind at the grave.
Lestrade had sense John would want to stay a bit longer and so he over to see about bereaved landlady. "I'll be headed towards Baker Street if you'd like for me to take you back home, Mrs. Hudson?"
She didn't answer him immediately, and when John looked torn about leaving to see her safely home, Mycroft spoke, "If she nor Dr. Watson has any objections, I'll see to it that Mrs. Hudson gets home, Detective Inspector."
Lestrade looked at her and saw her nod her consent. "Very well then, Mr. Holmes." Then to the other two, "Both of you take care then, and try to get some rest." He clasped John's shoulder and nodded to Mrs. Hudson before leaving, muttering a "Goodbye, Sherlock." as he went.
Shortly after Lestrade's department, Mrs. Hudson reached forward to touch Sherlock's coffin. "Oh my dear boy, thank you. Thank you for what you did for... us. I am grateful but I wish I would trade places with you if I could, because you were to young to be gone forever from the world. Oh, how I wish I..." When she began crying again, John wrapped his arm around her, and spoke gently into her ear until she was calmer.
"Why don't you let Mycroft take you home now, Mrs. Hudson? I promise I won't be far behind you. I just need a little time here alone." He looked at Mycroft as he spoke, and watched as the sole remaining Holmes briefly touched his brother's coffin.
"Rest well, brother," he murmured, staring at the box for a moment before shifting his umbrella to his other hand and offering his arm to Mrs. Hudson.
For a long time after they were gone, John could do nothing but stare at the coffin, and let the tears he'd been fighting in front of the others fall. He thought of what Mrs. Hudson right before she left, how she'd trade places with Sherlock if she could and he knew he would do the same if it were possible because being dead would be preferable to feeling the gaping wound Sherlock's death had left on his heart and his soul. He could not think of any loss in his life that he hurt him as much as Sherlock's death had... not even the loss of his parents or his friends in Afghanistan had hurt this much, and he briefly wondered if this wound would be the one that never healed.
After wiping his face and taking a deep breath, he began to quietly address his friend again. "Please there's just one more thing, mate, one more thing, just one more miracle. For me, Sherlock, don't be dead. Would you do that, just for me? Would you please just stop this? Stop this now, okay?" Although he had expected no answer of course, John still felt the wave of grief surge through him again.
Suddenly see the cemetery works out of the corner of his eye, he nodded one last time towards the coffin. "Right then." He briefly came to attention for a few seconds, but did not salute before turning on his heel, before quickly walking away from the grave of his best friend. He did not look back, and perhaps he would not have missed a familiar shadow stepping out from behind the nearby trees, or the departure of it as he disappeared out of sight.
End Note: Before anyone can point out Mycroft signs his text with his full name... or at least he did the times he texted John in The Great Game, I'd like to point out in The Hounds of Baskerville he signed the texts he sent to Sherlock as merely M, so him signing his text in this story as MH is just a variation of that.
Lastly special thanks to my friend aricadavidson for her feed back on this story... I very much doubt it ever would've gotten finished without her cheering me on over IM and email!