Chapter 9
She Must Know
"John?" Sherlock's voice came from outside of his door. John felt as if his head would explode. He simply could not wrap his mind around the fact that Sherlock was alive. 15 years of thinking that he was dead. Thinking that he had killed himself. Thinking that it was all his fault. Every day he had to live without him, living instead with the overwhelming guilt that he had left behind. And Miriam. He had to watch her grow up, looking more and more like her father. It hurt worse and worse every day. And now he was here. Alive. The shock of it all was unbearable.
"John. Please." Sherlock's voice came again. He didn't want to see him. He didn't want to hear him. He was consumed by rage and hatred for the man who had hurt him like that. Who had left him, who had deceived him. But he was also consumed by an overwhelming happiness. His friend was alive.
Knowing Sherlock wouldn't go away, he walked slowly to the door, opening it. They both stood staring at each other for a few moments. Those few moments felt like hours. John stared at his friend, and Sherlock stared back. Then he backed away from the door, allowing Sherlock to enter. Sherlock strode across the floor to the opposite side of the room and sat on John's bed. John almost laughed. Sherlock, acting like he owned the world. The familiarity of it was like a slap in the face, like nothing had ever changed. But everything had changed.
John brought himself back to reality, and shifted his gaze to focus on Sherlock's face. He looked expectant. He looked as if he were waiting for John to yell at him. So John did. "What. The. Hell," He began. His voice rose in volume as he spoke. "How could you do this? You were dead, I saw you. I buried you! I stood at your grave every single day for a year! Do you know how guilty I felt? How I thought that everything-everything- was my fault? No… You don't. You are not capable of emotions, Sherlock, because if you were, how could you do that to me? To Molly? To Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade and… and… Miriam...Your daughter. How could you just abandoned your daughter? I spent every single day watching her grow up to look and act more and more like you. Every day it was a slap in the face for me, and she grew up wondering why I would try to avoid her. Because of you. I had to see you die, and then I had to watch Molly…" He paused, trying to steady his shaking voice. "Where were you? Did you even love her? Did you even care that she died? She died, and I was all alone. You left me all alone. Sherlock…" His voice broke. He was crying now, even though he tried so hard not to. Sherlock was straight-faced, but in his eyes... Even after 15 years, John could still remember the normal look in Sherlock's eyes: Ignorance, arrogance, self-absorption. None of that was there now. Instead, they were replaced by looks of immense sadness and regret. One who did not know Sherlock would not see the emotions in his eyes, but John did.
He took a deep breath and sat across from Sherlock in a chair. "Will you please, tell me what happened, Sherlock? No lies, please. I need to know right now." He stop, and took one shaking breath after another.
"I'm sorry, John," Sherlock began. There was a slight tremor in his voice. "I never wanted this to happen. I needed to die, to protect you, and Mrs. Hudson, and Molly… But I needed to stay alive to protect you as well. It was Moriarty, John… We were caught in a battle of minds, and he won. He used you against me. He used the people I care about… I told you that being alone protected me, and I was right. But I ignored my own advice, and I had to sacrifice my life, for the life of my friends. Well, pretended to sacrifice myself, anyways. I had to fake my death so that I could be sure that you would all be safe, and that Moriarty would not go against his word." He paused, and John spoke.
"Why? Why didn't you tell me?"
"I couldn't. I needed it to be real to you. If anyone knew that I was alive, Moriarty's men would have found out and they would have killed you. I had to "die". It was either me or my friends. If there were any other ways, John… I would have told you. I would have, John, I swear."
"And Miriam? How could you abandon her?"
"You know that I'm not really father material, John. I love her, and I have watched her grow up from a distance. But you are her father. You have been there for her, not me. I can't just come into her life after 15 years and claim ownership. To her, I would never be her real father"
"And… and Molly?"
"Please, John. Don't make me talk to you about her. I loved her, John. More than you think I am capable of loving…" His voice broke. "And I had to watch her die, without being able to comfort her, to tell her how much I loved her… I let her die thinking that I was dead. And I will be haunted for the rest of my life by that. Just as I will be haunted by what I have put you through." He stopped, his face masked with pain. John stood and walked to sit by Sherlock on the bed. They sat there for a long time.
"She has to know," John murmured, minutes later. Sherlock stared at him with confusion. "She has to know that you're her father. We can't let her be clueless forever. She has the right to know." Sherlock shook his head.
"I agree, John. She must know." He paused. "But must she know right now?" John gave him a look. "Alright," Sherlock replied. "Let's get this over with." It's for the better.