Chapter 21: Behind the mask

'Present, London - 2010'

"Anthea, stratus report for the target." Mycroft was on his desk in his office. Until his team arrives would pass a few hours. For many people was it late for them was it early but since their immortal had started to show self-destructed behavior there was more work to do.

"A phone call was taken by Mrs. Hudson, she ask Mr. Watson for help. A meeting will take place this afternoon. Sherlock will most likely hide again but I can offer him your place again." The situation between the target, his landlady and our agent gets more and more worrisome.

"Any new developments regarding the substance abuse?"

"No sir, we couldn't find his dealer and Sherlock hadn't left the flat to get more." She was also worried but it was not her job to worry. She has to offer solution and organize the day for Mr. Holmes.

"Thank you Anthea, increase the surveillance stratus and I want a status report every hour. The meeting between the target and our agent can't take place right now." Sherlock had to stay alive until then.

"Yes, sir." Mycroft returns to his resent reports; he had to finish them before his time travel department starts his daily work.

Greg was the first one in the office. He prepares HOPE, regarding the missions plan for today's journey. The years between today and the time John is traveling getting closer to the present.

He had stayed up all night to figure out what to do for his date night with Mycroft. Greg would ask him after work. A good bottle of wine and a homemade dinner, he was a good cock. Sounds perfect. He has only to ask and then everything will be fine.

The door opens behind him, startled by the noise Greg turns. "Good morning, Gregory, you are early today. I thought I was the one without sleep and private life." Mycroft smiled a bit. Their mornings together and alone in the office were rare but precious. He never told John or Molly about these few minutes when it was only them.

"Good morning si... Mycroft." He was on first name bases when they were alone, probably with their colleagues too but he doesn't want to imply something.

"You look distracted, everything alright with the time machine?" Greg looks at HOPE and then back to his boss.

"Everything perfect. I ..." Courage Greg. "I want to ask you if you would like to have dinner with me. I would cook." He focus his bosses eyes and hopes to find no reaction, there was something new, a spark in Mycroft's eyes.

"It would be a pleasure, can I offer you my kitchen. You will find everything you need and it would be a good chance to use it." Surprised by the fast positive answer, as if he had expected it. Greg nods, Mycroft's kitchen was fine. "Perfect, we can continue our talk after work; it appears our coworker will arrive every minute." Another nod and Greg gets back to work smiling. While Mycroft takes his chair and prepares for today's mission.

John's night had been bad, very bad. After the Café with the destructed topic of Greg dating Mycroft were John's thoughts wandering back to the more pressing topic. His worry about Sherlock. John´s dream were filled with the pirate Sherlock and the Rome Sherlock who had started the fire, he had seen Sherlock friend of Jeanne d´Arc again. The hate that had filled his eyes mixed with the hopelessness of a man that is close to giving up. The second cup of coffee wasn't helping. He gets jumpy, what wasn't helping ether. Tired and filled with caffeine John gets ready for work, hoping that he will meet Sherlock at a better place, that the man he loves will be safe and maybe found someone.

Surprisingly John had never felt jealousy towards this people. They share their life with a short moment in the immortal ones. They were good for him and John had no right to step between them. He was only part of Sherlock's life a few minutes before he leaves him again. It wouldn't be fair of him to keep Sherlock for himself and curse him with more loneliness.

Mycroft was waiting for John and could read the sleepless night in the man who was currently changing his clothes. Miss Hooper was also noticing her colleagues condition but except offering to talk she didn't pressure him.

"Good morning agent." Mycroft starts to let the man as fast as possible to his mission. The only thing that could help, but he doubt it with this particular mission ahead. "You will visit the beautiful city of Paris. Shortly after the beheading of King Louis XVI of France."

"Beheading? You are talking about the France revolution, right." Mycroft nods finally there is something that could be called historical knowledge.

"1793, is the year. A document was found that listed Sherlock as the executioner of the king." The line between John's eyes gets deeper. Not approving Sherlock's line of profession. "Find out what his role in this revolution is and why he chooses to guillotine people."

'~1793 AD, Paris, France'

The first thing that John notice was the mood of the city, clam but also like a boiling volcano. As if something had exploded after waiting too long and the silence afterwards. The revolution was for John something out of movies with flags and victory shouts and dances. With the picture this city was offering had it nothing in comment. The people look angry, poor and starving.

The noises from around the corner get John's attention away from a child that was far too thin. The child was quiet; it didn't have the strength to scream for food. This child was dying and John could do nothing to change it. He turns away to follow the noises and found a crowd, an angry mop of people cheering for something in the middle of the place.

A scaffold with a guillotine was towering over the crowd. The sharp looking blade was shining in the winter sun, deadly and precise.

On the platform was a man, wearing black clothes and a black mask. He was standing next to the execution devise, the executioner: Sherlock.

The noises increase as two men pull another man to the guillotine. The man was wearing clothing that had to be once bright and precious. Listening to the people around him was clear that it was some kind of royal that will face 'justice' in a few minutes.

John's attention was glued to Sherlock. He looked thin, like most of the people. He was thin before, now it looked just unhealthy. His eyes were hidden but there was nothing in his figure that would suggest regret for his doing.

The royals head was placed in the right spot, a basket under it. The top wooden piece was lowered and the head was secured. A sudden silent filled the place, an expecting silent, a crowd talking a breath.

Sherlock pulls on a rope and the blade slices through the neck without stopping. The head fell with a dumb noise into the basket and the people cheered. John will never forget the eyes of the royal. Killed just because he was born into it.

The crowd starts to separate, it looks like it was the last beheading for today. While the people walk away from the place blood was dripping on, was John walking towards.

Behind the scaffold was a building, Sherlock disappeared inside. John tries the door and finds it unlocked. Sherlock was in the first room without mask and changed in clothes similar to his. "Hello John." The voice was thin and lacked a soul. "I saw you between them."

"Who is 'them'?" John waits patiently, Sherlock hadn't turned jet.

"People, the citizen of Paris, humans."

"What's with me am I not a human?" Finally Sherlock turns and it breaks John´s heart. These weren't his love's eyes, this were soulless, bottomless pits.

"I don't know what you are. I only know you not like me and you are not like them ether." John let the answer stand in the room without a comment.

"Why are you doing this?" John holds his arm as Sherlock started to turn his back again. "Why are you the executioner?"

"Someone has to do it. I don't believe in kings and bloodlines. Everyone, every human has the same rights, no matter of born, royal or a mendicant. We just get rid of the people who think them better as other and use them, subdue them. These executions are necessary."

"You really believe that? That killing people is a solution for this." John couldn't believe Sherlock would think like that.

"Yes. No. I don't know. Someone has to do it." The arm, John was holding, shakes slightly. Sherlock had get himself in a situation he doesn't want to be.

"You said this before." John's voice was without understanding but filled with something that Sherlock sees as pity and he is no man that let someone pity him.

"Maybe you live in a better world. A better place, a perfect little world, I'm not. I have to fight for it." Sherlock pulls himself free and leaves. John was left behind. He had been worried about Sherlock all night, now he knows that something really was wrong and he needs to do something against. Or he might lose him.

As Sherlock returns to the room he had let John behind he found it empty. He had wasted the precious minutes he has with John by keeping him in distance but this was his only way not lose it completely. Sighing he wants to leave as Sherlock finds a piece of paper in the table. The paper was old and the back was writing on it, the front was clearly the first page of a bible. The letters were Strange but after a bit of thinking and rereading it he got the flow. It was a letter from John.

Dear Sherlock,

I might not look like one but I am a human, like them and like YOU. You might feel out of place but you belong to them, like me or the man you just beheaded.

I would like to wish something from you, for me. I saw your eyes today. That are not the eyes of the man that tried to find another Dodo and the pirate is long gone. There is a long period of time between it but Sherlock tell me. When did you lose your light? I can't see it anymore in your eyes. They are not bright with excitement, friendship, love or proud. Not even anger or sadness shines in them. Where did you lose it and will you try to find it again.

I miss the light that shines in your eyes. It's like pure life and I think you lost it time after time as you continued your path and with every life you take it will take more of your soul.

I would prefer to find a bit of your soul left when I visit you the next time. Give your soul a bit rest. Leave and find something that is not crushing you with every breath you take.

Yours John

Sherlock takes a breathe; he hadn't notice that he had stopped breathing. John had left again, his hand closes around the neckless he was still carrying. He was not angry with John, it's his fault that he had left. There was the promise of another meeting but would that be a good thing for him. The hope that John would come back again and again, it takes his mind every day that he could meet him again and this hope was crushed every night when he goes to bed.

Sherlock stared out of the window, sees the place where he kills people, sees the blood and without thinking he gets his coat and leaves. Leave this house and leaves the city. Heading north and hoping for a place where he will meet John again. John the only constant part of his live that wasn't disappearing or dying.

'Present, London - 2010 '

John was glad to leave the office; the early afternoon sun was welcoming him. He wasn't as worried as yesterday, today he has more information and did everything he could to push Sherlock away from it. Where that all will end was unknown.

Tired John walks up the few steps to Mrs. Hudson door. He would have another look upstairs, maybe he can talk to the tenant, he doesn't feel safe with the elderly lady alone with a drug addict.

"John, dear how was work." Mrs. Hudson closes her arms around him and pulls John into a hug. This motherly gesture was nearly enough to break him. He had written a letter to Sherlock. A letter that implied that John doesn't like the way Sherlock was living. Her hug let the feelings he had hid in the office came up again. "It's not your day ether? Come in we will have tea and you can tell me all about it." The sweet old lady, with her own problems takes his hand and led him into her kitchen. She makes tea and places a few biscuits on the table. While she was working John spilled out his whole week.

The falling in love, keeping it to himself because he wasn't sure if these feelings get requited, Sherlock's slipping into a dark place and his fear that he was lost. No time travel, Dodo or something remotely related to the France revolution or pirates was mentioned.

"I'm not ready to lose him, I will never be ready but not now. He ... He doesn't know how I feel. I have no idea what he is feeling." Mrs. Hudson takes his hand and strokes it with her thump.

"He feels the same, trust me and don't worry no place is dark enough to get lost in there forever when you have people that won't stop looking for you."

"Thank you Mrs. Hudson." John feels emotional exhausted. "Should we have a look upstairs, maybe I can talk to your tenant." She nods and leads him upstairs.

"I heard him earlier." She knocks at the door but no answer came. "We are coming in." She opens the door and John follows. The flat was a mess, not worse than last time but no improvement was seen. "He throw me out as I tried to clean a bit." The couldn't find the man so John let the flyer at the kitchen table that looked like the tenant would cook his own drugs.

John left and Sherlock climbs back inside through the window. He was glad that his hearing was good enough to notice when John was coming. He really needs to talk to Mrs. Hudson about her attempt to rune everything with her mother hen behaviour. She worries too much.

At the other side of the city was Sally Donavan was busy researching. She had hit a dead end by her web search and was now returning to paper, old newspaper from the area Mycroft and William Holmes were born.

She found the announcement about the birth of the two followed by the death of the child, because of an illness.

Smiling evilly she knew the boss wasn't perfect and with his sloppy attitude against John. Now she needs to find out who the man was that lived the life of Mycroft Holmes' brother.

AN: Chapter 22: Death under the Afghan-sun