John was halfway through Quantum of Solace and Sherlock was explaining that the water operation "couldn't have happened that secretly, John, there'd have been a leak somewhere in the organization, at least on a construction level, Mycroft would figure it out in half a moment" and generally ruining the film, and John was tossing popcorn at her and trying not to giggle when she'd stop mid-rant to catch one in her mouth and then continue as though she hadn't been interrupted.
She was just explaining that it might be slightly harder to figure out they were building dams in the desert if the construction was done in stages instead of all at once, over the course of several years, when there was a knock on Sherlock's door, and she stopped mid-sentence to turn and stare at it pointedly for a moment before announcing, "I'm not getting up, Mycroft, so you might as well pick the lock," and turning to watch the movie again. "He taps his umbrella on the floor when he's waiting," she explained to John, who was wondering how she knew who it was.
Mycroft entered her sitting room a moment later and walked past the charcoal dust of her sofa before entering John's sitting room. "Honestly, my dear sister, I had a key made months ago," he said, and turned to John. "Ah, John. I see you're enjoying the adventures of one of my role models. Paraphrased, of course," he added, and John's eyes widened, then he frowned.
"James Bond didn't exist," he said. "You're having me on." Mycroft stared at him for a moment, tapping his umbrella lightly on the floor, and John stared back, suddenly unsure. "Did he?"
Mycroft shook his head. "Even if he did, my dear Doctor Watson, I would be under strict orders to tell you that he did not." The emphasis on he did made John purse his lips and look back at the computer screen, which was still merrily showing explosions.
"Did you come with news, Mycroft, or did you just want to brag about your previous coworkers?" Sherlock accused grumpily, the dramatic effect rather lost by a piece of popcorn that was stuck in her curls. Mycroft chuckled and came forward to pluck it out with a deft movement, then stepped back, face turning sober.
"Actually, I come with rather unfortunate news," he said, and Sherlock groaned. "Nothing to do with you, Sherlock, but I figured the good doctor would like to know that nearly as soon as she was taken into custody and out of our friend's jacket, Ms. Pillington committed suicide." His voice held little inflection, as if he were one of the bland newscasters on the radio: 'Yesterday was slightly chilly and a woman killed herself. And now to sports.'
Sherlock sat up straight and blinked, then nodded to herself after a moment of thought. "I thought she might."
John looked at her, aghast. "How?"
"Her necklace, John," Sherlock said simply. "It was made out of some very familiar seeds. I'd go so far as to say it was homemade. I'd wondered why there were so few seeds on that Abrus Precatorius at the greenhouse."
"She - she ate her necklace," John said with a blank face, then began to chuckle, the laughter growing until he was nearly in hysterics, Mycroft watching with a slightly worried look on his face. "God, I wish I'd had one of those, better than those candy necklaces that charity sent me in a shoe box. Proper Christmas present for a soldier, god," he laughed, and then realized tears were streaming down his face and buried his head in his arms, unable to stop the strange laughing - or crying - that racked his body as the image of Daniel's dead body rose in his mind, unbidden.
"I think it's best if you go home, Mycroft," he heard Sherlock say quietly from above him, and Mycroft's footprints faded out the way they'd come in. John noted the tap of the umbrella on the wood, felt a hand rest on his bad shoulder as he rode out the waves of emotion that swamped him. He hadn't realized the case had been holding them back, but now that it was over he felt the breakdown crash over him like a sandstorm.
When he began to calm and his breathing began to even out he was promptly embarrassed, but when he looked up in mortification Sherlock just rolled her eyes and, in a strange gesture of affection, tugged at his arm and shoulder until he turned and could slump his head against her shoulder, utterly spent. She stayed silent for a bit, letting him begin to piece himself back together, and John did, understanding her actions meant she wasn't about to judge; instead she acted as if this was nothing strange at all, and put her hands in front of her face in her classical 'thinking' pose, staring at the opposite wall as if it held the meaning to life, the universe and everything.
John wondered if she knew the answer was 42.
Eventually he pulled his head off her shoulder, leaving behind a wet stain in her blouse and wishing he had tissues. Sherlock caught his eye, but instead of asking how he was and all the other things Harry would have bombarded him with, she just blinked and let her gaze flicker to the computer (now playing a credit screen) with just a hint of petulance. "Mycroft made us miss the crescendo of the movie."
John's chuckle was genuine with no hint of hysteria, and he flicked a piece of popcorn at her.
There's two more chapters in Nightmares, mostly just tying off some loose ends; depending on the reaction I get for Nightmares I'll see about putting up a schedule for the posting of my version of The Great Game. So let me know what you think!