London was blanketed in snow for most of November and December. On December 24th, Mother Nature wasn't going to let up, and the snow kept falling. The residents of London couldn't remember the last time he saw so much snow. It was a change from the grey fog, however Greg Lestrade regretted the decision not to sell his car. He got along okay, but London was not prone to such weather and most of the city folk couldn't handle the slick backstreets. John just laughed at him most times when he would come back to the flat, cursing the way people drove.
Greg also signed a six month lease with Mrs. Hudson, telling her that, even though it wasn't all that convenient, it was nice to have a place in the city to call 'home' until he could find a place of his own. Plus, being surrounded by friends was good for him. His divorce was in it's final stages, and the Department big wigs decided to give him three months leave to regroup and get his life together. His biggest hurdle now was Molly. They had only talked briefly four times in November and December. Between divorce hearings and Molly being unusually busy at St. Bart's, they barely had time to speak, let alone see each other.
When Greg woke on Christmas Eve, he felt displaced and very lonely. He was used to having his wife kiss him awake and give him a gift. Even last Christmas had been a happy one, despite finding out about the P.E. Teacher. He sighed and stretched and swung his long legs off the couch then rubbed his face. John had offered him Sherlock's room, but he couldn't quite bring himself to sleep in there yet. Greg didn't miss the look of relief that came over John's face when he declined.
"Observe..."
The whisper came like clockwork now. It happened on any random day, but it would be the same time, every time.
Except this time, 'the voice' said a different word and Greg raised his head and looked around the flat. He could hear John stirring in his room upstairs, but nothing else. Only the dust motes shone in the morning sun streaming through the window. Greg felt a chill run down his spine and grabbed his robe off the back of the couch and stood and threw it on. He listened as he tied his robe, then started for the kitchen. He grabbed everything to make coffee then leaned against the counter as it brewed and looked around the small kitchen.
"Good morning," John said, his voice groggy.
"Mornin'." Greg answered.
"Have you fetched the news yet?"
"Nope."
"'Kay,"
Greg smirked as John yawned and walked drowsily out of the kitchen. That was the most morning conversation they had had in a long time. He poured himself and John a cup and cleared a couple of spots at the table. Him and John had gone through the flat at the end of November when Greg decided that he was going to be staying there, and they cleaned and tidied up the place. Mrs. Hudson had gone through like she had said and donated all of Sherlock's science stuff to the local schools. There were only a few items left that had Sherlock's touch to them, and Greg agreed to leave them. The skull with the earphones on the wall, the lithograph skull on the blue background, (Greg had always like that picture anyway) and the skull on the mantle. That hadn't moved since the night it had reappeared on the mantle. John was still confused about the situation with the skull. He didn't push the issue with Molly when ever he saw her, which wasn't often.
"Thanks for the coffee," John said as he sat down and unfolded the paper, handing Greg the opinion and comics page. "By the way, did I mention that Harry is coming this evening?"
"Oh? Not sure if I've ever met your sister." Greg said then took a sip of his coffee.
"Hmm...not many people have."
"Good morning dears!" Mrs Hudson's cheery voice echoed through the flat.
"Good morning Mrs. Hudson." Greg and John said, simultaneously.
"I brought you boys a little Christmas Eve breakfast. I hope you don't mind." Mrs. Hudson set a small tray down in the middle of the table as the two men mumbled their gratitude.
"Oh, Mrs. Hudson, wow," Greg said when he laid eyes on the crumpets and jam and toast and pancakes.
John folded his newspaper. "Thank you, but you didn't have to do this."
"I know, but I used to do it for Sherlock all the time and I didn't get a chance to do it last year, so I might have gone a bit overboard this time."
"These are heavenly," Greg said around a mouthful of Crumpet.
"Now Greg, don't talk with your mouthful."
Greg nodded and John smirked. He loved his land lady's motherly ways.
"Do we know how many people are coming tonight?" Mrs. Hudson said as she poured herself a cup of coffee.
"Well, Harry's coming-"
"Oh, it'll be nice to meet your sister." Mrs. Hudson said as she sat at the table.
"Thanks. I invited Sarah and Mike Stamford, but I don't think he'll come."
"Will Molly be coming Greg? She's such a sweet dear."
"I don't know. I invited her, but I haven't gotten a response." Greg said without looking up from reading his paper. John furrowed his brow at him.
"Are you two not getting along?"
"We don't talk much." Was all Greg said.
John and his landlady looked at each other, knowingly.
"Well, I have a special recipe I want to try and I was wondering how much to make. I am missing some key ingredients and I was hoping that one of you dears would go to the store for me. I have to get my baking started."
"Yeah, I could do that for you." John responded as Mrs. Hudson handed him her list.
"Thank you John. You are sweet." Mrs. Hudson stood and kissed him on the cheek.
"Heh, thanks Mrs. Hudson." John blushed and Greg snorted at him.
"Huh, here's another article on the 'Believe in Sherlock' Movement." Greg handed John the section that he was reading as Mrs. Hudson rinsed her cup and excused herself.
"Oh this is interesting," John said after reading part of the article. "This reporter interviewed Raz."
"Who?"
"The kid behind the fliers and the graffiti. Talented kid. Used an alias and refused to be photographed for his own protection. Smart kid, too."
"Then how do you know it's him?" Greg asked as he spread some jam on a slice of toast.
"Sherlock introduced me to him on one of our cases, and I ran into him putting up the fliers one evening." John went on to read the rest of the article and was about to put the paper down, when a name in another article caught his eye. Lyudmilla Diachenkov. He repeated the name in his head, trying to remember where he had heard that name. He read the article that contained the name.
'Russian assassin Lyudmilla Diachenkov was found and arrested in Moscow yesterday. Experts aren't saying, but it is speculated that she was part of a ring of assassins assigned by Jim Moriarty to assassinate high public figures. '
"What the hell?" John said as he placed the paper on the table and stared at it.
"What's wrong?" Greg looked up at John.
"Um, nothing. I should run that errand for Mrs. Hudson before the shops close." John threw Greg a small smile and tucked the paper under his arm and left the table.
The bitter cold air hit John hard as he stepped out of the flat. His breath came out in one long white puff and he pulled his jacket closer to himself. The falling snow made the street quiet and eerie and the older frozen snow on the sidewalk crunched under his boots. John figured he would have to walk a block or two before he could hail a cab. What he didn't count on was the cold.
John buried his face in the collar of his jacket. He concentrated so hard on staying warm, that he didn't hear the crunching of another's shoes on the sidewalk until he almost ran into them.
"Oh, excuse me I-" John stopped himself when he saw the chestnut hair and pleasant face. He pursed his lips and looked to his left where a sleek black car pulled up alongside the curb.
"I see," John half-smiled at Anthea when she grinned at him. "Think you could drop me off at the grocer's when Mycroft is done with me?"
"We'll see." Was all she said as she walked around the car and opened the door.
John groaned as he opened his side and got in the car.
In his few encounters with Mycroft, John had never been to the man's home. It was overstated, like the man himself. The exterior was all white and blended in with the newly fallen snow. The trees were dark skeletons and the front door was red. The interior was even more over the top, with a large crystal chandelier hanging in the foyer and two wide sweeping staircases.
"Follow me." Anthea's heels clicked on the shiny marble floor as she walked across the foyer and opened a door that was at the foot of the left staircase. "You can wait in here."
John let out a large sigh and walked over to where she stood.
"Don't you get tired of gathering me at random times?"
"No, because your reaction is different every time and it amuses me." She smiled again at him, this time it seemed genuine, although, John would probably never know.
"I'm glad I can amuse you." John said as he nodded and walked past Anthea.
"Merry Christmas, John."
John turned, but all he saw was the door closing. He furrowed his brow for a second, then it turned into a half-smile. He really needed to stop assuming the worst of people.
"Something amusing, John?" Mycroft and his overstated entrances. He was wearing a dove grey three piece suit with a matching shirt and red tie and handkerchief and he poured two drinks.
"Just the fact that Anthea is actually human, and not some android that you've created in your basement."
Mycroft cocked an eyebrow as he walked over to John and offered the drink. John was going to refuse at first. He still wasn't happy with Mycroft. In fact, every part of him wanted to just run out of the over decorated house and finish what he needed to do for the day. But, Mycroft was the closest thing he had to Sherlock and right now, he needed that.
Was it possible to be addicted to a person?
"John, you are thinking too hard about the situation and you do have my permission to leave. I would understand." The elder Holmes stood stark still in front of John. "And please, stop comparing me to Sherlock. Our minds are quite possibly the only thing we have in common."
John swallowed and looked away. "Of course. You are the Iceman. He was the Virgin." he took the drink from Mycroft and lifted it to his lips. Scotch. It was a good thing he didn't have to drive, or negotiate any treaties any time soon.
Mycroft narrowed his eyes and continued.
"I presume you read the little article about your friendly neighborhood assassin being captured?" Mycroft stated as he sat in an overstuffed chair. He gestured for John to take the one opposite. John declined as he paced.
"Yes, how- never mind. I should know by now that you've replaced all the cameras in the flat. Am I correct?"
"Yes, and you should be more choosey with your flatmates."
John chuckled. "I like Greg. I grew to like Sherlock."
"Greg is a bumbling fool, but he means well and despite all that he's the smartest one in that division, thanks to Sherlock. Which is why I will reinstate him early, in January. In the meantime, tell him to take a real vacation and get away from England." Mycroft took a sip of his drink.
John, unsure of what to say, also took a drink. The amber liquid warmed his insides quickly.
"So, aren't you wondering who caught the Russian assassin?" Mycroft said.
"The thought crossed my mind."
"As far as Moriarty's web stretches, I have people that reach that far as well. You would take kindly as well to eliminate all ideas that some how Sherlock is alive and out there catching all the flies."
John frowned at the other man.
"Why would I think Sherlock alive?"
"I saw you a couple months ago get out of a cab with a perfect stranger that had Sherlock's scarf for some reason. I've also seen you with your sister at Piccadilly Square talking to the same stranger. Are you seeing Sherlock in strangers? You also talk to yourself, as if Sherlock was there. Have you been seeing your therapist?"
John huffed and set his drink down a little too hard. "I will not stay and listen to this...this rubbish. I would take the cameras down, but you're just going to put them up again. If you don't like what you are seeing, don't bother looking." John turned on his heel and started toward the door.
"John, you haven't visited his grave for over three months. Don't you think it's about high time you did?"
John froze. He drew in a deep breath to keep himself in check.
"I also noticed you haven't been using your cane as often. Remember John, you've seen London as a battlefield and through Sherlock's eyes. It would serve you well to see it through your own eyes."
John turned his head a little at that statement.
"Sarah is a good woman. You should keep her around for as long as you can."
The doctor bit his lip and opened the door.
"Merry Christmas Doctor John Watson." Was the last thing John heard before the door shut. It stopped him in his tracks. He wasn't sure that Mycroft was capable of such sentimentalism, but he wasn't going to go back to check.
As he walked across the foyer, he sorted through the cryptic conversation. John wondered what Mycroft meant when he said that he needed to eliminate any thoughts that Sherlock was alive? Maybe he should go back to his therapist. And to Sherlock's grave. It had been a while since he was there.
"Yes sir," Anthea's voice interrupted John's thoughts and He watched as she pushed the end button on her phone. "I am to direct the driver to take you where ever you need to go today."
John cocked an eyebrow at her, then turned his head to look back at the door he just came out of. He sighed.
"Alright then. Three places I need to be, and then home."
A small breeze had picked up and snow began falling harder by the time John had reached the cemetery. Paths were plowed throughout, but most of the snow was undisturbed and starting to go grey underneath the London fog. John knew the path almost by heart now; he could walk it with his eyes shut if he wanted to, but he never took himself up on that offer. When he reached Sherlock's plot, he found that someone had cleared away most of the snow and on either side of the headstone were vases containing mostly dead flowers. He removed the flowers and replaced them with some simple daisies and one deep purple Iris.
John's heart ached every time he came. He would also bawl like a baby, which was one of the main reasons he hadn't visited lately. He was hoping it would be too cold for him to cry, but he could feel it at the back of his throat. He knew better than to fight it; he would end up sick to his stomach and a sore throat for days. So, he let the tears fall and stood in silence, listening to the breeze blowing through the barren trees.
"Observe..."
John whipped his head around, but saw no one else in the cemetery. The hairs rose on the back of his neck and he shivered, but not from the cold.
He bowed his head. John Watson was not a particularly religious man, but hearing voices in a quiet cemetery could make him one really quick.
"One more miracle, Sherlock, for me..."
He repeated that mantra several times over the last few months since his death. It seemed to calm his nerves today. John nodded at the gravestone and was about to turn around, when something caught his eye. Something brown that didn't match the rest of the dreary brown earth, was sitting behind the gravestone. He walked closer and saw that it was a brown envelope encased in clear plastic. He bent and picked it out of the snow and shook it off and unwrapped it. Pulling out the envelope inside, John found that his name was on the outside, but he couldn't place the handwriting. He opened the envelope, and inside was a fancy sheet of stationary paper. It was thicker than most paper and the edges were worn. On that paper was written in the same unknown handwriting:
"If you wish to keep track of my whereabouts, follow the concert career of a violinist named Sigurson."
John read it twice, turned it over and back and read it again. He placed the stationary back in the envelope, which he placed in the inside pocket of his jacket. He touched the cold stone of the grave one more time, then walked away, his head buzzing with confusion.
When John returned to the flat later that afternoon, sounds of Christmas Carols floated down to him in he foyer and Mrs. Hudson's famous Apple Crumble filled the air. He paused and closed his eyes. For a brief moment, he was seven years old and back at home waiting to open his Christmas presents. He could hear Harry's giggles above the din of his mother cooking dinner and his father conversing with relatives and above the music.
"John."
His daydream seemed so real, he could hear his sister's voice.
"John, what the hell are you doing?"
His eyes snapped open and Harry was standing in front of him, hand on one hip and a glass of wine in the other.
"Should you be drinking?"
"We don't see each other for ages and that's the first thing you say to me?" She sneered at first and John feared that she was going to fly into one of her fits. Instead, a bright smile overcame her face and she started laughing.
"Oh, you should see your face!" She said between breaths. "Come here and give your sister a hug."
John was still dumbfounded and Harry had to step forward to hug him.
"It's okay John," she whispered into his ear. "I've found someone who understands my limits and whom I don't want to kill!"
"Oh, Harry, that's... wonderful." John finally wrapped his arms around her and held tight.
"John? What's wrong?" Harry heard his soft sobs on her shoulder as she wrapped her arms tighter. She made comforting noises and petted him softly.
"Sorry...sorry..." he managed to get out between sobs. "When I walked in here, I was hit with memories of Mum and Dad." He buried his nose in her shoulder.
"I'm glad you thought the same thing." Harry felt her throat getting tighter and her eyes were watery. "I was taken back to the happier days of Mum and Dad, when we were just pups."
"Mmm...me too." John let himself linger in his sisters arms for another moment, then pulled away and sniffed.
"Holy crap, John," Harry started as she reached in her sweater pocket for a tissue. "Here clean yourself up. You can't face your friends looking like that."
"That bad, eh?" John turned to the small mirror in the foyer and blew his nose and wiped his eyes. "Who's all here?"
"Oh just Wendy and I-"
"Oh, John!" Mrs. Hudson clapped her hands as she popped out of her flat. "I'm so glad you're finally home. What took you so long?"
John gave Mrs. Hudson a double take. "How long was I gone?"
"About three hours, dear."
"Oh, I lost track of time, sorry. I had other errands that I forgot I had to run."
"That's okay, hon, I'm glad your safe. Is this mine?" She touched his hand and he nodded as he handed the groceries to her.
"By the way, John, your sister is a hoot!" She smiled at Harry then John then popped back into her flat.
"I see why you stayed at the flat," Harry held her arm out and John entwined his in hers. "She reminds me of Nana, a lot."
John snapped his fingers. "You're right! It's been bugging me, but you're right!"
John stopped at the foot of the stairs and turned to his sister.
"Thank you, Harry."
She furrowed her brow at him. "For what?"
"For getting help and becoming the sister I once knew, and now need."
Harry swatted at him as her bracelets jingled and she wrapped her arms around him once more.
"Thank you for forcing me to finally get help. I needed it. Lord knows I needed it. Merry Christmas, John."
"Yes, Merry Christmas, Harry."
Ten minutes later, John and Harry entered the flat and found Harry's girlfriend, Wendy, tangled in gold decorative rope and Greg, who was trying to get her untangled, was caught up himself.
"Well, if this isn't a sight to behold?" Harry said as she propped one hand on her hip.
"Oh, it isn't what it looks like, I swear!" Greg said as he tried to pull his leg free. He looked helplessly at John who was stifling a laugh behind his hand.
"Let me put this down and I'll be back to help." John sniggered all the way to the kitchen.
"Oh, sod off, you're not gonna help!"
"Do you usually talk to your flatmate like that?" Wendy said trying to pull her slender arm from the mess.
"All the time especially since he's being an arse!" Greg yelled.
"Here let me see if I can get you guys out." Harry walked over and surveyed the situation, then took a sip of her wine. "Nope, there's no hope. You two are stuck!"
"Oh pish-posh silly Sally, get us out!" Wendy said as she shook her unruly red curls out of her face.
Harry laughed out loud as John walked out pouring a glass of wine. "Anybody like some?"
"Thank you, mate, I'd love some..." Wendy managed to wriggle her arm free. "As soon as I'm out of this."
"Yeah, me too," Greg said as he managed to loosen everything and they stepped out of the gold rope.
"Are you from Australia, Wendy?" John asked as he handed her the glass he poured.
"I am, thank you." She took a sip and nodded her acceptance of the red wine.
"We met at the meetings, John, can you believe that?"
"I'm very happy for you two," John had been pouring another glass and handed it to Greg and poured one for himself.
"John, your sister is a riot," Greg said after he took a sip of wine. "And her girlfriend adds to the funny!"
Harry put her arm around Wendy and they both blushed.
John smiled warmly at them.
"Yes, that's definitely Harry for ya. Shall we finish decorating?"
Two hours later, and two bottles of wine later, the tree was decorated and everyone was enjoying a piece of Mrs. Hudson's pie.
"It's Christmas Eve," she explained. "One is allowed to eat dessert before dinner."
Mike Stamford had made an appearance, then left.
A half an hour later, Molly and Craig hollered up the stairs to them. Greg froze and John glanced at him. Mrs. Hudson, oblivious to their predicament, called out and rushed down. John could hear bits and pieces of the conversation.
"Who's here?" Harry asked before taking a sip of her not quite egg nog.
"Oh Molly's here everyone!" Mrs. Hudson's giddiness was overwhelming to Greg as he smiled awkwardly at Molly. His eyes got big when Craig came into sight and put his hand on the small of her back. John caught the interaction and proceeded to introduce everyone and Molly introduced her companion.
"This is Craig. He's my newish neighbor and a journalist. In fact he's the one that's been writing all the articles on 'The I Believe in Sherlock Movement'."
John and Craig stared at each other as they shook hands.
"You...you're Doctor John Watson?"
"You're Craig Mulligan." They said simultaneously and laughed.
"I've been wanting to meet you for the longest time, but Molly and I have been so busy."
"I've been interested in meeting the man behind those articles, but when I researched you, it said you lived in Canada." John said.
"Yes, I have a residence there, but I am originally from Ireland. The fliers are what piqued my interest. No, that's a lie, Sherlock himself got me interested..."
When Greg saw that Craig and John were thoroughly preoccupied, he went up to Molly and whispered for her to meet him in Sherlock's old room. She started at his touch and gaped at his request. He had just enough liquid courage in him to say his peace to her. She hesitated as she bit her lip. Mrs. Hudson, with her impeccable timing handed her a glass of wine. Taking a deep breath, she shrugged off her coat, and revealed a form fitting dark blue velvet dress, that came to her knees and a jeweled broach at one of the straps.
"Thank you Mrs. Hudson." She gave the land lady a nervous smile as she accepted the wine. She took a sip and silently walked towards Sherlocks bedroom. Greg was looking out the window when she entered.
"Molly, you look beautiful." He said as he slipped his hands into his trouser pockets.
"Thank you." Molly blushed and set her jacket on the bed to avoid looking at Greg.
"Molly, what's going on?"
"What do you mean?" She said before taking another sip of wine.
"I mean with us. We've barely talked in the past couple months. Hell, we haven't even seen each other since … that night."
"I-I've been busy-"
"Busy with Craig?"
Molly's eyes widened and she ran her finger along the rim of the wine glass. "It's not like that."
"How am I supposed to know that when you don't call or speak to me?" Greg's voice was starting to rise.
"Greg, I... I was scared. I am scared. I don't know what to think. I like you, a lot. But I don't want to be that person that helps you through that previous relationship and you throw away afterward."
Greg looked at her,dumbfounded. Then he stepped closer, closing the space between them and gently grabbed her elbow.
"Molly, I like you, a lot. I haven't been able to stop thinking about you since that night. How you just left without saying goodbye. I kept thinking that maybe I scared you by moving too fast, or that you didn't want anything to do with me anymore. And I don't see you for a couple months, and you walk in with … that guy. Now you say this to me, I can't believe you would think of me that way."
Molly bit her lip when she saw the hurt in his eyes. "I was afraid that you didn't have feelings for me -"
He wrapped his arms around her. "Oh Molly Hooper, sweet innocent Molly. I care very much for you, and I would like to get to know you better, if you let me."
"I would like that."
"Good." He kissed the top of her head.