Author's note: Finally satisfied with this chapter, but there is still a lot of angst on Cassandra's part. To forewarn, there is one more chapter and then this story is completed, but the sequel will be put up shortly, more info to come on that. Anyway, I only own Cassandra, everyone else belongs to Doyle. Reviews are great while flames will be taken down like Moriarty.

"Never say goodbye when you still want to try, never give up when you still feel you can't take it. Never say you don't love the person anymore when you can't let go."

Unknown

Chapter 21

When I arrived in France, Grand-mere was happy to see me. The moment I had stepped down from the ramp, she pulled me to her and embraced me tightly. I closed my eyes and let a few tears fall.

"I know, Cassandra, I know." Grand-mere said softly.

"I want him back." I admitted to her.

"As we all do."

I pulled away and looked at her. "I should have gone with him. I never should have let him leave me behind."

"No, child. You know that you needed to stay in London."

"But if I had-

"Cassandra, if you had then we may be grieving for you as well. You know that even if you went with him, Sherlock would have seen that no harm came to you. He would have stopped that man no matter what."

"Yes, Grand-mere."

"How was your trip?" She asked me after a moment.

"It was fine."

"Mycroft explained everything to me." Grand-mere said as she led me to the cab. "He even told me of the late Mrs. Watson's fate. You can of course visit the doctor any time you want and if he decided to come visit he can."

"Thank you, Grand-mere." I said softly.

"He also promises that if you need anything you only need to ask for it, Cassandra. He cares greatly for you."

"I know he does. I have not treated him well as of late."

She petted my hand. "He knows you do not really mean it."

I had never been to Grand-mere's home before and as soon as I did, I could understand why she preferred her Paris home to living in Kent. There was a large garden in the back, where one could loose themselves in. A library with a collection of not only the best works of literature, but also books of medical, science, history, languages, and even philosophy. There was also a music room and a small ballroom.

After Grand-mere had me shown to my room I was able to unpack. My room was a light blue with a large French windows leading out to a small balcony. I pulled the curtains back and opened the doors. Out on the balcony, I was gifted with the view of the large garden. When I finished I met Grand-mere downstairs and we sat in the library with tea. She was quiet until my tea was the way I liked it, and then she spoke.

"As I told you before, Cassandra. Mycroft was kind enough to tell me in great detail, everything that has happened since Sherlock died." She begin. "Much of what I have heard...I am shocked. You go out in the middle night and are sometimes hardly seen for days until one of his agents pull you out of a drunken stupor-

"That only happened once."

"Twice." Grand-mere interrupted. "It happened at least twice, only in the past month, Cassandra. And even this Doctor Watson felt he had to write to me, expressing his own concern for you about Sherlock's death. He told me that you have been a visitor to pubs and every time someone even tries to help you, you fight against them and say harsh words trying to scare them away from you."

I shook my head. "I cannot believe all of you are conspiring against me."

"For goodness sakes, Cassandra. Everyone is worried about you. Mycroft believes that you may decide to run off in the middle of the night never to return. The doctor is afraid of the harm you may be causing yourself or even the harm you may do in the future if we continue to do nothing to help you."

"I am fine Grand-mere."

"No, child, you are anything but fine. I only need one look at you to see that you are not. I have only one thing to ask and I want the truth. Now, tell me why you left London."

"It does not matter-

"Of course it matters. It matters to me, to Mycroft, to Doctor Watson, and it most certainly would have mattered a great deal to Sherlock."

"Holmes wouldn't-

"Would not have stood for this from you. He would be deeply ashamed of you. You know better than this, I have seen you act so much better than this. Now, you will answer my question, Cassandra."

"I left because was too much for me to handle. I could not deal with the loss of Mary. Watson was graving when I…I am not even…I am not even over Holmes' death. I miss him. I always think about him, and I just need him here. I don't know what I am to do anymore. I know I have done things that he would be furious with me about...but thinking of how disappointed he would be terrifies me. Holmes would know what to do about Watson. I feel so useless, Grand-mere."

"Yes, he would be furious at you." She agreed. "And you are angry with him in the mist of all of this hurt you are suffering from."

"What are you talking about?" I asked.

"You are angry that he left you, Cassandra. You are so angry that he did not return to you. You are angry with him, and you can't tell him so you take it out in anyway that you can. You cut your classes because you knew he took your education seriously, even if it is lessons to be a lady, you know the use they could be someday. You do not take Mycroft and Watson's authority because it is not the one you want to hear. You know how Sherlock would be if he could see you defining them. You are furious at Sherlock."

I stared at her. "I...I...I hate him. I hate him for doing this. I...hate that he left and that he's not here. He should be, he needed to be. I...never told him...we never said and now...I don't think I do."

"You do, child you love him so much that it hurts. You are angry about this, you hurt because of this, you hate him, but you never have stopped loving him. If you did hate him and not love him, you would not be here now. You would not be here asking for help to get ahold of these emotions that you do not know what to do with."

Tears filled my eyes. "I miss him so much."

"I know, Cassandra." She said softly. "My dear child, I know. You just need to accept that he is gone and cannot come back to you."

I shook my head. "I have accepted it, but…"

"You haven't. Cassandra, you cannot do this to yourself. You must say goodbye."

"I don't want to say goodbye. I didn't say it before. I was afraid to say goodbye, he got to say it. He told me goodbye, but I didn't. I never got to tell him goodbye and he knew it would be the final. He knew it and led me to believe that he was coming back." I cried.

"This is not helping you. This is hurting you. You need to move on in your life." Grand-mere said.

I closed my eyes to keep the tears from pouring down my face. "It's so hard. I had to do it before and I don't want to do it again."

She reached over and clasped my hands. "I know it is, I know how much it hurts. But, Sherlock is dead, Cassandra. He is not coming back. You know this, but you are letting the pain of him not being here control you. You need to let him go. Sherlock Holmes is dead, but you, Cassandra Brennan, you are not."

After dinner that night I went to my room. I sat at the desk for a long time. I stood up and opened the violin case. I took the violin out and walked out onto the balcony. I placed the violin on my shoulder. I tuned the strings and I set the bow across them. Tears slowly trickled down my cheeks. I remembered the evenings when Holmes taught me how to play. I moved the bow slowly. Music filled the air, but it was only notes of sorrow played.

I thought of everything Holmes taught me, every lesson rather it was taught or one that I learned on my own with his guidance. I reminded the first time I met him, the way he made me believe I was somebody. Even after the death of my father, he took me in when he did not did to, but because he wanted to. I thought of the time I spent with him, the times when he was there to comfit me, when he was there when I needed him. I recalled on every childhood memory of him that I was able.

I remembered the last time I ever saw him. How he tight held me to him in the last moments we had. The way that deep down we both know, but were unwilling to accept the fact that he would not come back. The way that neither of us wanted to break the embrace, but Holmes finally did. When he kissed my forehead before he said goodbye, but I never had that chance, I never got to say goodbye to him. Now I was.

I collapsed on the ground, holding my stomach as I wept. I sat on my knees sobbing until I no longer had any tears to shed. I let Holmes go. It was time for me to move on in life, for me to finish growing up. I had to move on; I had to start my life without Sherlock Holmes.