Chapter 21: All Is Well~
In the end, Sherlock had been right. The great electric surge released the Baskervillian psychedelics,(that had been soaked into the weather protection plastic wrap around said wires) by the heat of the surge. A fire broke out, and there was ,for a moment,as they sailed through the air, a heavenly illusion, of legions of white horses speeding to their rescue, angelic warriors astride them.
But by the thunder of hooves, they looked and saw, as the horses' mouths began to froth blood, and they gnashed teeth like razors, and eyes like coals of fire rolled as they came to devour what was left of them. Their bodies turned to super-heated iron,and their veins to copper wires burning with electricity, and their rider's wings began to blaze like a Calvary of Phoenix, and they were plucked away by the wind, and faded like leaves to flame, and they turned to bones clad in iron armor, teeth like brass knives chattering madly, and they slashed at the air with swords of white lighting, and their chins dribbled streams of blood.
But Sherlock and John sailed through Darkness, and to John's eyes, Sherlock had been changed into looking like he did when he wore the Icarus costume, great black wings spread out in a Crucifix pose, sword drawn and trying to shield John from the onslaught. And the image changed again, to Sherlock as he had always been, long dark coat flapping in the wind like a candle flame, standing on the edge of Saint Bart's, with a ring of people gathered on the side walk chanting , "JUMP,JUMP,JUMP,JUMP!"
Sherlock and John's hearts had physically stopped when the electricity hit them full force. Right at this moment, though John didn't know it at the time, they were both clinically dead. For Sherlock this was the second time. He was well aware of it. The hallucinations he saw were far worse, because they were only resurrected memories...that suddenly John was given eyes to see too.
In a flash like many cameras taking accusing pictures of the Hiatus, John understood EVERYTHING. Now, with his own eyes, he saw the entire story, down to the very last blood-soaked detail.
He felt something inside him move. His very soul. His heart had stopped, so it couldn't be it beating. He was out of his body, so no tears could come. But his very soul groaned inside him,...to think what Sherlock had done to save him. How it had all come to nought.
Until...a Man jumped in front of the many, many horses. Until the same Man appeared on the roof, and caught Sherlock in a from-the-back embrace, as he spread his arms to Fall.
The Man struck a whip across the ground, and the horses rolled back like so much sea-foam, and were suddenly gone.
It was eternally dark for a moment, and this Man turned around, auburn hair blown back from his face by an unseen wind.
He was wearing a golden crown,with seven stars around it. John smiled, as suddenly, he knew who He was.
Sherlock came running to Him, and bowed elegantly.
"I am ...very glad that you came to us...and that we didn't have to search all over bloody hell's quarter-mile for you!" Sherlock hissed, his tone always a little more harsh than he probably intended for it to be.
Teacher laughed jovially, and Sherlock stood up straight.
"Now...answer me this...what in BLAZES did you mean when you said I only needed the truth? I have always solved with facts! With information! And yet you INSIST on teaching me with riddles?"
Teacher looked up at John who hung back, still stunned and standing in the shadows. He laughed,and beckoned to him.
"Hello, John. I'm glad Sherlock brought you with him this time. Thank you for loving him, despite the fact that he is impossible."
Sherlock rolled his eyes, "Oh for God's sakes!" he gasped.
"Yes, for my Father's sakes, Sherlock, it is time that you learned a very valuable lesson. One that this whole situation alone could teach you; I know it was painful but it had to be so. Cleverness alone won't save you. Justice alone won't make it right. Even the faith of your kind hearted friend, even your faith in the facts, in what your eyes show you...will fail. There comes a point when your abilities, despite the fact that they are AMAZING, have a limit. There comes a time when you are no longer accountable for your fate. Dear Sherlock...there comes a time when you can't save everyone, and certainly not yourself. There comes a time when Somebody Else has to save you..."
John held his breath, noticing some extreme scars through the Teacher's wrists...He had a million questions he wanted to ask, but now that he was here, he couldn't even open his mouth, if he still had a mouth, being dead as ,for this moment, he was.
"I don't have anyone to save me! I don't have friends! I've just got the one,...and I failed him!" Sherlock hissed, taking handfuls of his hair, suddenly furious.
The Teacher chuckled,"Peace, my impatient friend! You seem to forget, I just saved you. And I have loved you...and consider you my friend. So there. And because I know that the only way to save you, is to save your own John the Beloved, save him I shall. I already have. It won't be the same when the two of you go back..."
"Sorry, go back?...We're...going back?" John asked, able ,at last, to speak.
"Come here, John." the Teacher gasped, suddenly, and reluctantly, John went into his embrace, rather confused. Sherlock stood back, jaw clenched, fingers twitching, not liking to admit that he needed help.
" Yes..you're going back. Because Sherlock is right...as he is most of the time. You deserve to be saved, because your heart is so pure. But not before you see the truth."
Suddenly the Darkness changed to the room in the Mind Palace that Sherlock had gone to the first time he had died. They all turned around, the Teacher folding his arms, and smiling.
There on the sofa, dressed in a military uniform from around 30 years ago, was a man that looked very much like John, save his hair was more yellow than gold ,and he had a rather bushy mustache.
Sherlock smiled...piecing it together,
"Donald..." he gasped.
"Hello, Sherlock. And thank you...for getting justice for me. Seems I can be on my way now..." the actual Colonel said, standing up with a nod to the young detective that had helped ease his soul.
Then he turned to John. Whose jaw had dropped, and he was in tears.
"My God!" Donald gasped, smiling, and laughing, and suddenly in tears himself. "Look at the man you've become!"
"Dad?"
"Come here, Johnny." his father said, and John went to his dad, confused why everyone was hugging him, as the older Watson pulled him fiercely into his arms.
"Do you remember me?" his father asked him.
And suddenly John did.
Running through the house. A soldier man, with recently short clipped hair, missing the usual bushy mustache that John recognized chasing him around.
"You're cheating! Hide and seek, not tag!" he heard a 5-year-old version of his own voice squeal.
"All's fair in love and war, my son!" Donald cried, suddenly popping out of a closet and pulling John down by his little feet, dragging him into the closet and tickling him ,mercilessly.
"Got you ,kid!" his dad growled playfully...
Crossing the street, tiny ice-cream sticky hand tucked into a large calloused one. Trying to march like the big man that was leading him all around London on a visit...
For some reason all the memories are going in reverse, he's smaller now, in the bathtub, probably 3 years old. Clothed in bubbles. His dad is sitting next to the tub, laughing at him for flicking bubbles in his face.
He's holding a rubber duck that they've stuck down inside of one of Harry's pink doll cars. The other hand is full of shampoo.
"Oi, listen here ,you little monkey! The point of bath time is to actually wash you-cause you're filthy and you stay that way most of the time! WHO knew such a small child could attract so much dirt!"
For whatever reason, everyone could see the memories. Sherlock was even smiling, and he didn't do sentiment. The Teacher caught his eye, and then his face froze again, pretending that he wasn't enjoying the memory trip, trying to revert to the robot that everybody who loved him knew he really wasn't.
"Yeah..yeah I think...I do ..." John laughed, swallowing. His dad took his head in both hands, and kissed him on top of it.
"I've missed you, kid!" he gasped, laughing, ruffling John's hair with his fingers. "Well, you're not a kid anymore, you're probably...I'm gonna say...around 34 now?"
"35 next month, 3 years older than Sherlock." John answered smiling, always proud of the fact that ,of the two, he was older. It was a defense against Sherlock's sometimes bossiness.
Donald laughed, "You and Sherlock...Mmm...I'm glad you got a brother ,even though I never lived to give you one. I'm glad that there's someone who can live your life with you, that loves you, like he does...I'm glad the Teacher let you come here, just this once, so I could give you my blessing. Go, my son. Go and really live. Be happy, be well...live with your family. With a "little sister" like Molly, and an "uncle" sort like Major, and a "grandmother" like Mrs. Hudson. Even snobby "older brother" Mycroft. Not my children..not our blood, not Watsons. But your family all the same. The very best family that God could have given you.
Go in the knowledge, my sons.- (he took two strides forward and clapped a hand on Sherlock's shoulder, who looked utterly stunned by this, and sputtered, and blinked ,confused, saying nothing)
...That everything is forgiven now. That St. Peter is at the doors, and that God looks impatiently for your coming home! There will be tea and breakfast when you get there, and everybody will want to hear your adventures! Go now, my children, because now's not the time. Go and know that you are forgiven and loved, and that all is well..."
The Teacher suddenly went and opened a window. Sunlight began to stream in. An ocean wind began to blow. John was suddenly coughing up ashes,and salt water. Could smell his burned skin,and clothes,and hair. Could feel Sherlock laying beside him, coughing, and twisting in the dirt, amazing awareness coming back, rapid deductions flooding his mind.
"SHERLOCK!" John heard Molly scream.
And suddenly, somehow, she WAS there, an old man at her heels, an astonished look on his face. She was there, and had been carrying a sword, but she threw it aside, ran to Sherlock's side, lifted him up like one would a little ,injured kid.
Sherlock's eyes cleared suddenly, blinking at the daylight. Molly had been right. He didn't need her to be clever. Didn't need her to do anything ,really. He just needed her. Her presence was enough help.
"Molly." he whispered, with a smile. Then his brows curled, puzzled. "What are you doing here? With...the troll-sized, unsavory man, that has a hidden stache of Playboy magazine on the island, is left-handed, judging by the way he tied his cave-man makeshift underwear..and is only here because his peers abandoned him for..."
"Shh!" Molly giggled, pressing a hand over his mouth. "Shh, stop, before you say something horrible. You always say something horrible, and it'll spoil everything..." she laughed, drawing his hair back over his brow with her free hand.
The old man came and stood over John, cringing, "This bloke is alive ,but he looks rather dead!" he announced, poking a toe at John's stomach.
Molly closed her eyes tight, "Shut up! You'll spoil it ...also...probably, and...I don't want to listen to your nagging anymore!" she gasped, which made Sherlock chuckle, because Molly was coming out of her shell, empowered by this victory.
She turned to him then, and took her hand off his mouth. He knew he needed to be quiet, so he was.
"You...I saw how you...solved the trap. And then...electricity blew you about a mile through the air... you landed in the sand, and rolled all the way to where we are now...which is..well...I don't know...it's not important..."
"What are you doing here?" Sherlock groaned,awake and suddenly in pain. "And John-where's!" he had a mini panic then, but John reached out,and took his hand.
"I'm here...I'm ok." he gasped, and Molly looked at him,and giggled.
"Oh! I need to phone...I mean walkie, I have a walkie!- but anyway, I'm here because we all came to rescue you,,...and Major's on the beach roughing up the pirates,and smashing them with rather large fake breasts...and Mycroft is at the fort with Solomon,and John's mother, who came clean to the agents, telling them...what you solved..and...The whole story can wait,...oh my God...I'm just so glad...to have you back..."
She hugged Sherlock who laughed and hugged her back, or tried. She gave a soft little hiss of irritation at how Sherlock's clothes prickled with static electricity, and how his hair smelled like fire, and stood on ends, though not as radically as one might expect. And then she hugged John, who laughed and coughed all at once,his hair ruffled like the top of a rooster's head.
"Do I get a free hug?" the dirty Old Ben asked, and Sherlock reached up,and suddenly twisted his leg, making him fall in the dirt. He cried out in pain,being partially electrocuted by Vulcan-charged fingers, and Sherlock very calmly threatened to remove some things from his body if he didn't stop flirting with their "little sister". Molly smiled, not really knowing why Sherlock was calling her that, but not minding at all. Elated to have them back, nervous because John (who was the doctor here) was more so out of his head than anybody, and just kept smiling, and coughing.
"It's ok ...I'm going to call for help. And then I'll be here...I'll stay until they come. It's ok..."
She said that over and over again, trying to make her shaky voice steady, and her uncertainty certain. John laid back,and stared at the sky.
They were alive.
He felt Sherlock's hand shift in his own. Sherlock's hands were more burned, being that he had been the one to touch the lever.
John clutched more tightly at Sherlock,and closed his eyes, and thanked God in heaven for one more miracle, after he'd run out. It wasn't the end after all. They did it, they were alive.
All was well...