Life After Death - A Post-Reichenbach Trilogy

Part Three - Unfinished Business

Chapter Five

John rolled out of bed, pulled on his dressing gown and padded through from the bedroom to the bathroom. He used the toilet and then, whilst washing his hands, scrutinised his five o'clock shadow in the bathroom mirror. He glanced at his watch and was amused to see that it was, indeed, five o'clock. He was on night shifts this week, rolling home in the cold light of dawn, finding Mary up and about, dressed in her smart, black, court room suit, grabbing a quick hug and a kiss as she left for work. By the time she got home, he would – in all probability – be gone, off to work already, so that would be all they would see of one another on such a day. But the advantage of pulling nights was that one only had to work four nights out of seven, which meant he would be off duty for the weekend, this week.

He loved his weekends off with Mary, especially Sundays. They would wake at their leisure, often start the day with a good romp between the sheets and then go out for breakfast to the little 'skanky caff', as he liked to call it – which was not skanky at all, actually, but clean, cheap, very cheerful and served all-day breakfasts, even on a Sunday. Later, they would take a walk in one of the Royal parks or on the Heath, stop in a pub for a pint on the way home and then curl up in front of the telly for the evening. He could not think of a better way to spend his Sundays or a better person with whom to spend them. Meeting Mary really had been the best thing that ever happened to him.

It was at this point in his reveries that Sherlock usually jumped out on his thoughts and gave him a metaphorical punch in the gut. It was at this point that his inner voice reminded him that Mary was only the second best thing that had ever happened to him – albeit a very close second – but nothing and no one would ever top what he had had with Sherlock Holmes. They really had been two halves of the same whole, each of them rather cast adrift until they were brought together by that chance meeting with John's old friend from student days, Mike Stamford.

The three years that John had spent chasing criminals round London with Sherlock had truly been the most exciting, fulfilling, challenging, fun, amusing, insane….the adjectives could go on for ever, he thought to himself. And even now, three years on, there was not a single day that he did not miss his friend so badly that it was a physical pain, in the core of his being. These thoughts flashed through his mind in an instant, as he walked to the kitchen to make some breakfast, which was actually supper, since it was almost evening.

There was post on the kitchen table, left by Mary, this morning. He shuffled the envelopes like a pack of cards. They were bills mostly, or rather 'for your information only' letters, since they paid all their utilities by monthly direct debit, but one of them wasn't a bill. It was a plain manila envelope, addressed in a neat copperplate hand. It was Mycroft Holmes' hand writing. Feeling curious as to why Sherlock's brother should be writing to him, after all this time, he opened the letter and took out the hand written note from inside.

It read,

'Dear John

I would very much like for you to attend a meeting at my home in Hertfordshire on Saturday next at two o'clock in the afternoon. I believe that it would be greatly to your advantage if you were to accept this invitation.

I look forward to your company at the appointed time.

Kind regards

Mycroft Holmes'

John stared at the letter for a number of minutes and reread it several times. What on earth was Mycroft up to, he wondered. Did he have plans for Saturday? No, nothing specific. Was Mary included in the invitation? No, it would appear not. How rude! But, hey, this was Mycroft bloody Holmes we were talking about so, what's new? He put the letter back in the envelope and left it on the table. He had to get ready for work now or he would be late, which he was a complete no-no..

As he showered, shaved and dressed, he wracked his brains to try and come up with a reason why his presence might be required at Holmes Mansions, or whatever the family seat was called, but he repeatedly drew a blank. Suddenly, he could not wait for Saturday, to find out what this was all about.

Unbeknown to John, Greg Lestrade was having almost the identical conversation with himself, over a cup of builder's tea in his office. He could not wait for Saturday either.

ooOoo

Molly and Mrs Hudson sat in the summer drawing room in the Holmes' country residence, sipping the tea provided by Mycroft's staff. They had their battle plan prepared and the time was fast approaching when they would have to put it to the ultimate test.

First to arrive was John Watson, shown into the room by Mycroft's butler cum valet, Andrew.

'Hello, ladies!' he greeted them warmly. 'So you've been summoned by Lord Snooty, too. Who else is coming?' John was almost bursting with curiosity.

'We're just waiting for Greg,' replied Molly, feeling so guilty for the continued deception but relieved that soon everything would be revealed. 'Have some tea, John.'

'Oh, right. What's that then, Lap sang Choo song, or what?' he joked, accepting a cup of Orange Pekoe. 'So, this is where Sherlock and Mycroft grew up. No wonder they turned out the way they did. Just being here makes me want to tug my forelock and walk out of the room backwards.'

John sat down on a Regency sofa and they all chatted away until the door opened to admit Greg Lestrade.

'Well, I see the gang's all here,' the DI greeted them all, with a cheeky grin.

The butler approached Molly and asked, with deference,

'Is there anything else you require, madam?'

'Could we have some more tea, please Andrew?' she asked. He bowed his head in acquiescence and took the tea tray away, to be replaced with a fresh one, in a matter of minutes. As Mrs Hudson served them all with second cups of the hot brew, Molly began with her prepared opening lines.

'Well, hello, everyone. I'm really grateful to you for coming all the way out here, today. Mycroft will be joining us later but, before then, I have some things I need to talk to you about.'

There was something in her bearing and tone of voice that made them all sit up and take notice. The atmosphere in the room changed, immediately, as all the other occupants turned their eyes on Molly, with curiosity.

She ploughed on.

'I've already told you what happened the night before Sherlock jumped off the roof of St. Bart's but I still haven't told you everything. There's a lot that you don't know, not because I didn't want to tell you but because I wasn't allowed. I was sworn to secrecy.'

Molly looked around at her audience. Mrs Hudson looked expectant and Greg intrigued but John looked very emotional already. She quailed as she looked into his eyes, which bored into hers. There was hurt and suspicion in that glare and she had barely begun.

'But the need for secrecy is gone, now, so I can tell you everything. And I'm not going to beat about the bush. I'm just going to give it to you straight.'

She took a deep, steadying breath, as her heart pounded in her ears and her palms felt slick with sweat.

'The reason why Sherlock jumped off the roof is because Moriarty had set contract killers on all three of you, with instructions that, if Sherlock did not die that day, you three would. Moriarty told him that there was no way the hit men could be called off and then he killed himself – shot himself in the head – to make it impossible for the assassins instructions to be countermanded…'

'Hold on, hold on, hold on…'John interrupted. 'I'm sorry. I'm having trouble getting my head around this. Are you saying that Sherlock died to save all of us?'

'No, John. I'm not saying that, exactly. I'm saying that Sherlock jumped to save all of you. But he didn't die. He's alive.'

'What?!' Lestrade gasped. 'He's alive?'

'NO!' shouted John, jumping to his feet. 'He died. I saw him. He jumped off the roof, he hit the ground, there was blood everywhere. I took his pulse – there was no pulse. He was fucking dead! Why are you saying this?'

'John, I know this is hardest for you but I can explain everything,' Molly entreated him.

'Well, get on with it then!' John snapped. Both Greg Lestrade and Mrs Hudson moved to sit beside John and placed soothing hands on his arms but he shrugged them off.

'Leave me alone, I'm not a child,' he snarled.

Molly went on,

'When Sherlock came to see me, the night before, he told me he was going to have to die. He didn't know then about the contracts on you three but he knew that Moriarty would settle for nothing less than his death so, rather than wait for Moriarty to kill him, he had to do it himself – or rather find a way to fake it that would convince everyone, especially the hit men, that he really was dead. He hatched a plan – a very complex plan, which I'm not going to go into now, but the key to its success was you, John.' She looked at the doctor, with eyes that pleaded for his patience and understanding.

'I'm sorry, Molly, but I'm just not getting this. How could I be so important when I didn't even know anything about it,' John countered.

Molly knew this next part would be the hardest of all to say and harder still to hear. She was about to stab John Watson in the heart. She steeled herself in anticipation of his reaction.

'The mechanics of the hoax were easy enough to achieve, easy for Sherlock, anyway, but in order for everyone to believe it, he needed a star witness, an unimpeachable one. That had to be you, John. You had to believe he was dead in order to convince everyone else.'

John's head was in turmoil. He couldn't believe what he was hearing, couldn't take it in. He felt short of breath, like a panic attack or something. He stood up but then couldn't move so sat back down. He opened his mouth to speak but no words came out. He was in shock.

Mrs Hudson put something into his hand and said,

'Drink this, John,' so he did. It was tea – sweet tea. He didn't like sweet tea but he drank it anyway. The sugar seemed to help. His head began to clear, his heart rate to slow and he could breathe again. Mrs Hudson was holding his hand and patting his arm. He eased his hand away from her and said,

'I'm OK, I'm fine, thank you,' then he looked back at Molly and said, 'Let me get this straight. He needed me to witness his death…? Oh, my god! Of course he did!'

The penny was dropping, at last. All the pieces of the puzzle were clicking into place. John stood up, with a look of incredulity on his face and walked over to the fire place, putting his hands on the marble mantle and leaning hard, shaking his head.

'He said that! He said, Stay where you are. Keep your eyes fixed on me. Will you do this for me? He was telling me what he wanted me to do. He used me. He bloody used me.'

'He had to, John, it was the only way. He didn't want to and it hurt him so much to have to do it but he had no choice.' Molly tried to placate him

'Hurt him? Did it? Did it really? Well, good! I'm fucking glad it did! So where the hell is he? Where's he been these last three years? What the fuck is going on, here?'

'He's been in a deep cover operation to dismantle Moriarty's organisation, worldwide. Until every last one of his operatives had been neutralised, the contracts on you three were still potentially active. Up until two weeks ago, you three were still at risk of being assassinated, if anyone were to discover that Sherlock was alive.'

Greg Lestrade, who had been sitting with his mouth open for most of the last few minutes, was suddenly on his feet.

'Just a minute! Are you saying that I have had a price on my head for the last three years and no one thought to tell me?' he bellowed.

'You couldn't know,' Molly declared. 'To all intents and purposes, Sherlock was dead so the contracts were off. To tell you about the contracts, you would have to know that Sherlock was not dead and that would have carried the risk of reactivating the contracts. Do you understand? It was a 'Catch 22' situation.'

'So where is Sherlock now?' John asked. He seemed suddenly distracted, thoughtful, distant.

'He's undergoing debriefing, has been for the last week and a half,' Molly explained.

John put his hand to his brow. Molly's last two statements had struck a chord with him. 'Deep cover' and 'debriefing' were two terms that held more meaning for John, with his military back ground, than for either Greg or Mrs H.

'And for how much longer?' he asked.

'You know how it works, John. As long as it takes,' she replied.

'Oh, my God,' was all John could say, as he walked back to the sofa and sat down again.

'But what about William?' asked Greg. 'Did Sherlock know you were pregnant when he went away?'

'No, he knew nothing about William until he came back to the UK. Mycroft and I agreed that it would be too risky to tell him while he was involved in the operation. It would have made him vulnerable. I told him about William last week.'

John was still trying to assimilate all the information – there was just so much to take in.

'So have they met yet, him and the boy?' Greg asked the question on everyone's lips.

'He's seen him, asleep, but they haven't really met. He wanted to get the debriefing over with first.'

Now John, Lestrade and Mrs Hudson all seemed lost in their own thoughts, for a moment. Everything that had happened in the last three years now needed to be viewed in light of this new information. There was a lot to think about.

Mrs Hudson looked at Molly and smiled, reassuringly. Well, she had been right about one thing, at least. Sherlock did have a very good reason to fake his own death and disappear for three years. He had done it to save her and John and Greg. What a good friend he had been to them all. What a huge sacrifice he had made for them. She hoped that the two men appreciated this as well as she did.

When Mycroft came into the room, a few moments later, he was both surprised and impressed with how calm everyone seemed. No one was cursing or shouting and no one had 'bolted', either. He raised an eyebrow at Molly, giving silent congratulations on a mission well accomplished. But John had lots of questions for Mycroft, so Molly took the opportunity to slip out of the room and go in search of William.

She found him in the kitchen with the cook, sitting at the kitchen table with a biscuit and a glass of milk. She sat next to him and listened attentively whilst he told her about all the adventures that he had had with his uncle that afternoon, out in the wilderness of the Holmes' estate.

No more secrets, thought Molly. Well, just one – the true circumstances of William's conception. But there were some things their friends did not need to know. She felt an enormous weight lift from her shoulders. She had not even realised how tense she had been, until now. She heaved a huge sigh and relaxed – really relaxed – for the first time in over three years.

ooOoo

Much later, that evening, a sleek, black sedan came to a gentle halt outside John and Mary's building and John got out. He opened the front door to his flat and walked inside. Mary was sitting in her favourite chair, curled up with a book – a law book, but never the less a book. She looked up and smiled, asking,

'Well, what was it all about?'

John shook his head from side to side, trying to work out where to begin, then inspiration seemed to strike.

'You know that friend of mine I told you about, the one that died? Yes, well, he didn't.'

ooOoo

It was two more days before Molly heard from Sherlock. Mycroft had been right, as usual, and the debriefing process had taken longer than anticipated. When Molly answered Sherlock's phone call, she could hear in his voice evidence of what an ordeal it had been. He sounded very tired - weary, in fact - and a little light-headed but also relaxed. It would appear that his undercover alter ego had been well and truly expunged.

'I want to come and meet William but first I need to see John,' he told her. 'I think I owe it to him. I gather he took it hard, when you told him what I did.'

'Only to begin with,' Molly replied. 'I think it was the shock more than anything. Once he got his head round it all, he was pretty OK. Mycroft filled them in with all the details about the fake death and the covert operation. I left him to it. I'm just glad I don't have to lie any more. It's such hard work!'

'Yes,' he agreed. 'Tell me about it.'

'So when are you seeing John?' she asked.

'Tomorrow,' he said, 'He's coming to 221B Baker Street.'

'Oh, so you're back there now, are you?' Molly smiled as she spoke.

'Not yet,' he breathed, 'but I will be by tomorrow. I'm going home.'

ooOoo