5:29 a.m.
John's phone rang.
He pried himself off the pillow long enough to look at the clock as he grabbed the phone. "Hello? What? I'll be right there."
He climbed out of bed and grabbed the nearest clothes, dressing hurriedly, and then hurried down the stairs.
Sherlock already had his bedroom door open. "Ian?" he asked.
John nodded. "They said to come right away."
They were out the door within fifteen minutes, and neither was surprised to see a sleek black car waiting at the curb. "If it wasn't so helpful, I'd complain about this being creepy," said John as he climbed in.
There was little traffic, and it took only about ten minutes to drive to Ian's house. Once again, the butler had the door open as they arrived. He took one look at John's face and simply stepped back. "Go right ahead, sir." Taking the stairs two at a time, John was up and striding down the hallway, Sherlock right behind him.
John managed to not quite burst through the doorway, but he couldn't help the sense of urgency, that there was no time to waste, all while desperately afraid he would be too late. He had known time would be short, but didn't want to be cheated out of what little time they had.
There were at least ten people in the room, several obviously were doctors and nurses, some looked like lawyers, and John didn't really care about the others. They all looked up as he and Sherlock came into the room unannounced, but his eyes were already looking for Ian.
To his relief, his eyes were open and a faint smile appeared as he saw John. Now on unsteady feet, John walked across the miles of carpeting to the bed. "You shouldn't scare people like that," he said.
"I thought it would be fun to see how many people would come at short notice," Ian said in a voice reedy and thin, as if supported with very little air.
John forced a smile and took the hand Ian tried to hold up. "And how'd we do?"
"Flying colors. Glad you're here." Ian's face was pale, almost transparent, but the personality shone through as strongly as ever. He summoned one of the lawyers with a glance, and the man hurried over with a clipboard. "Need you to sign."
John's brow furrowed. "What is it? You're not trying to trick me into taking your money, are you, Ian?"
"Charity," came Ian's voice, barely above a whisper. "For you and Geoffrey."
The lawyer nodded. "Yes. The bulk of Mr. Littleston's estate will go toward establishing two charities: one for wounded veterans in your name, one for the environment and wildlife preservation in Geoffrey's name." The man smiled with professional condolences. "He said he didn't want to saddle you with money you didn't want, but wanted to be sure Andrew couldn't touch it."
John nodded, eyes moist, as he felt Sherlock come up behind. "And by setting these up now, Andy can't contest them?"
The lawyer tilted his head in a sideways nod. "Less likely to be able to, let's say, and far less likely to succeed. Hence all the witnesses."
John was smiling at Ian. "You're giving it all to charity. That's wonderful."
"Most of it, but you're getting enough for the rent." John started to protest, but Ian said, "I insist. Liked putting a roof over your head. Want to keep doing that."
John was touched by a rush of affection and regret for all the missed years. "Like old times," he said, reaching to take the clipboard from Sherlock's hands. "I should probably read this before signing it, yeah?"
"That's not necessary, John." Mycroft's voice came from the window. John hadn't even realized he was there but managed not to jump (much). "The terms are quite generous."
"You Holmes brothers do like to manage my life, don't you?" he asked, shaking his head. He wanted to be angry, but couldn't summon up the energy from beneath the flooding grief as he realized he was losing Ian so soon.
"It's better than having them on the other side," Ian said, a hint of twinkle in his eye, and John laughed. Mycroft and Sherlock were standing side by side with remarkably identical expressions on their faces. Neutral, encouraging and with an odd touch of wariness, as if not wanting to frighten him. Sherlock gave the slightest nod, and not wanting to fight (and figuring he could trust Mycroft this far), John took the pen and scribbled his name where he was told without even glancing at the pages.
There was a rustle like a sigh of relief through the room, but he ignored it, focusing instead on Ian. "What can I do for you?"
The old man just smiled, and John could see the canny fighter who had won battles in countless boardrooms. "You just did. Keep it from Andy, for Geoffrey's sake."
"You're being vindictive, Ian. I'm surprised at you." John's voice was warm.
"No," disagreed Ian. "Fair. Andy doesn't deserve any of it."
"Mr. Littleston was quite firm about that after Andrew's actions the other day." The lawyer spoke from the foot of the bed. "He had put language in his will over a year ago that his son would be ineligible to inherit if ever accused of a crime more serious than a traffic violation. I don't know what caused him to do so, but he obviously saw something in Andrew's personality that worried him. This today is simply the consequence of Andrew's own actions earlier this week. You need not worry about him. He retains his trust fund and should live quite comfortably on that."
"So, if setting up these charities today is new … should I ask who was going to get the money? Or don't I want to know?"
Ian was still smiling at him. "Would have been a shock, wouldn't it?"
John's eyebrows rose. "To say the least, yes." He was almost giddy with relief as his imagination supplied a vision of this lawyer knocking on the door at 221B to tell him Ian was his father and had just left him a fortune, then tipping his hat and walking away leaving John sprawled in a faint on the floor. He would have needed a dozen shock blankets.
Now that the business was over, the doctor and nurses had bustled back over to the bed, and John stepped back to let them fuss, looking around the room, trying to figure out what was wrong (other than the man dying in the bed). "No family or friends, other than yourself," came Sherlock's voice.
Of course. "That's wrong on so many levels," John said. "Everyone should have loved ones nearby when they die."
"Indeed," murmured Sherlock, "So long as you don't come back so they can yell at you for it."
"That was different, and don't mess with me today, Sherlock."
Sherlock shot him a quick smile. "Did you notice the pictures?"
John looked at the array next to the bed. "Yes. I guess he didn't need to keep it secret any longer."
"Regrets, John?" Sherlock's voice was gentle.
"None about the money, but quite a few about Ian." John watched the readings on the machines by the bed and tried to resist the urge to look at the Ian's chart. "I can't say I'm eager to get to know Andy any better, though."
"No, I quite agree. After spending several hours in his company the other day, you're better off."
"Are you discussing the younger son?" asked Mycroft, joining them. "I'm hoping he stays in prison, especially now that he can't rely on Daddy's lawyers to get him off. Of course, it would be easier if we had a stronger charge than mere kidnapping." He eyed his brother.
"Sadly, Mycroft, he didn't actually kill me, so you'll have to manage with what you have," said Sherlock dryly.
"You didn't find anything suspicious about Geoffrey's death, Sherlock? I seem to remember your asking questions at the time." Mycroft's voice was heavy, weighted with meaning.
"Nothing for the courts, brother, but that doesn't mean I didn't find leverage."
"Ah, to keep the good doctor safe."
"Exactly."
John huffed. "You both do know I'm standing right here, right?"
Sherlock ignored him and continued to speak past him to Mycroft. "You know, now that John has all this money, I hope I'm not going to need to find a new flatmate."
Mycroft nodded, also not looking at John. "Indeed. Who else could you convince to live with you? I remember how hellish it was from our childhood."
John looked back and forth between them. "What do you mean, 'now that John has money?' He's just covering the rent."
"Judging by the monthly figure, I imagine he was thinking John might move to someplace bigger," Sherlock said, eyes crinkling with amusement. "Either that, or he's expecting Mrs. Hudson to raise the rent considerably—in which case, Mycroft, I might need to draw on that trust fund from Father for my share."
Mycroft nodded absently, the merest hint of an upturn at the corners of his mouth. "Or perhaps John could put you up in one of his other properties. That nice cottage in Sussex, perhaps."
"Property? What are you two talking about?" John asked urgently. Maybe he should have read those papers after all?
Sherlock said to Mycroft, a broad smile on his face, "Ian did say he wanted to provide a roof over John's head, and it was nice of him to pass along his private homes—though not this one, which seems a little grand for John, don't you think?"
Mycroft and Sherlock continued their bantering, sharing a rare moment of brotherly camaraderie to tease him. John unfolded his notarized copy of the papers he'd signed and skimmed them. It was true. Ian had signed over two properties to John—one in Sussex and one in Scotland. There was a fund set up to cover the expenses and taxes so that John wouldn't be out of pocket but would, quote, always have a home to come to. Meanwhile, he would receive a monthly sum for rent of … he goggled at the figure.
He looked at Ian in disbelief. Across the room, Ian was watching him and when their eyes met, his face broke into a huge, gleeful smile. John couldn't help but smile back. The old man was tricky, he had to grant him that. He'd given him exactly what he said he would—no unnecessary burden of responsibility, no huge lump sum of money—just a monthly payment to cover his rent with the stipulation that anything extra could be pocket money.
He looked back at the paper, making sure he hadn't misread. Somehow, he thought that 15,000 pounds a month would leave him just a little extra after he'd paid Mrs. Hudson and bought the groceries.
And across the room, surrounded by blinking machines as well as his doctors and nurses, the look on Ian's face was vibrantly alive.
#
Note: I hope you enjoyed this! There are at least two more parts to come (because aren't you curious to see what John will do with all that money?) Part #4 will be "Calling in Favors," and will explore that missing scene where John goes to visit Harry. Like John promises Sherlock, you're going to laugh!
Please, reviews are much appreciated!