Harry Watson awoke to the blurry vision of her doctor staring down at her, and no one else. She didn't have to be a genius to know what that meant. "Tell me then." she rasped out, her throat was dry and it felt as if she'd swallowed nails. "When we opened Ms. Watson, we got a much clearer view of the damage than we did with the CT and MRI. It became apparent that performing the histerectomy would have little effect except to buy some time for you. The cancer has spread at an alarming rate, your kidneys, liver, bowel, and lungs have all been compromised, the damage is irreparable. Surgically, there's nothing else we can do." Harry took a few minutes to wrap her head around this, still reeling from surgery and cloudy with drugs, she really just wanted to know. "How long?" The doctor sighed and looked reluctant to say anything. "That bad huh?" Harry said, trying for levity. "A couple of months is the best we can hope for. I'll have someone come to talk to you about end of life care later on. Would you like me to tell your next of kin?" Harry scrambled to sit up but hissed in pain, forgetting in her panic the surgery she'd just endured for no reason. "No! No. Don't tell anyone anything. And take my chart with you when you go, my brother's a doctor so he'll try to read it."The doctor looked at her for a few moments and yet he picked up the chart. "It's important to have a support system in this you know, it's not going to be pleasant and the more time you give everyone to adjust, the better they'll handle the inevitable end. I won't tell them, but you should." he added before walking out and leaving Harry by herself. Only when she was certain he was gone did she allow a few small tears. She'd always said that she would live fast and die young. Funny how the world has a way of making you wish you could take it back. She would tell them, Clara and John. But only when they were too late to stop her from doing what she had planned. Carefully so as not to pull her stitches, she reached for her phone and put it up to her ear. "Hi, I'd like to book a flight please? From London to Geneva. Oneway."
Clara and John raced to Harry's room as soon as the doctor told them she was awake. Sherlock hung back however, because he now knew something he shouldn't, the eldest Watson was dying, and she did not plan on telling anyone. Yet he knew. If he told John, he'd be devastated, and if he neglected to tell him he'd be both devastated and furious at being lied to. "Damn it Harriet!" he groaned in frustration, leaning back against the wall. Trust her to manage this, how on earth was he supposed to proceed? Tell or don't tell? He needed a second opinion. "Mrs Hudson?" he muttered down the phone, it was still early and the old lady didn't take too kindly to her sleep being interrupted when she just returned from some time away. "Sherlock dear what is it?" she asked readily, Sherlock wondered how he'd ever managed without her guidance. "I have stumbled across some rather... unpleasant news while deducing. The person the news is about does not want John to know about it, and now that I know... I am not quite sure what the protocol in this situation would be. Either way John will be hurt by the news." Mrs Hudson sighed and sat down "It's that sister of his isn't it?" Sherlock was astounded by Mrs Hudson's intuition and made a noise in the affirmative. "Well Sherlock I think you have to give her a chance to tell him herself but if she hasn't by next week... You tell him. Gently, mind you, and be sure to apologise for it before you say anything. Of course you could always ask his sister to come clean about whatever it is." Sherlock contemplated this, better she admit that she's dying than Sherlock inform those closest to her. Most people tended to have an issue with the way he handled death in general, but clients are different than John. John would need a bit more tact. "Thank you Mrs Hudson." She chuckled warmly "Not a bother dear, now go sort everything out and give John a kiss from me." Sherlock slipped his phone back into his pockets and stalked to Harry's room, leaning in the doorway unobtrusively to allow her some time without his actual presence. She would want to see the people she loved, not him, after hearing news like that. So he stood quietly, waiting for a cue that signalled he could enter fully.
John beamed and took Harry's hand in his while Clara caught her lips. Gosh he'd been so worried that she wouldn't make it back from this but she actually looked ok, although he couldn't be sure because her charts were missing for some reason. "You are dear when you get out of this bed Harriet Watson, I can't believe you put me in that position! I had to call them because of the whole eggs issue and you promised you'd tell him! You're an utter idiot and I was so worried!" Clara babbled, planting kisses anywhere she could reach. "Harry I... First off I can't believe you didn't say anything and I should be furious with you right now but honestly I'm just glad you're ok. Secondly... Thank you. Thank you so much for what you've given us. I don't think I can ever tell you how much it means to me and to Sherlock too." Harry smiled weakly at John and patted his hand "Well I was never going to use them and I always saw you as a dad anyway, what better way to do that than to use my dna so you could biologically be related to the baby?" She didn't say that she wished she could have a chance to see them, or that she was sure she'd have loved the wedding. "I hope you're happy with him anyway. Sherlock that is. Without meeting him I'd not have gotten checked out" She didn't say that it made no difference, that she'd left it too long. She simply smiled a little sadly and enveloped John in her arms. "I love you Johnny, you know that right?" she whispers into his hair. "Never doubted it for a moment Harry. I love you too." When John pulled back Sherlock was already in the doorway and he beckoned him in though there were only two seats available.
Sherlock stood at his side quietly while Clara chatted away and they waited for the doctor to come and tell them when Harry could leave. "A week from today should do it, lacriscopic surgery takes much less recovery time. Until then Ms Watson needs as much rest as she can get so I'm going to have to ask you all to leave, come back tomorrow at eleven or two." The gang bid Harry farewell, hugging her in turn. When it reached Sherlock he too leaned in, but whispered softly to her "I won't tell him, but he should be told by the end of the week. I know what you're planning and he will want to say goodbye properly." He breathed it so quietly that had he been any further back she would have missed it. "They'll know by the time I leave here, I've got a flight booked for that afternoon. Switzerland." Sherlock nodded against her. "I am truly sorry Harriet, regardless of what you think of me I did not intend this to be the outcome of a jibe of mine. Can you accept my apology?" The last time he'd been this sincere in an apology was... Back when he'd been using. He'd thrown up on Lestrade's shoes. They were nice for once. "Of course. Be good to him won't you? He loves you a lot and after everything I, dad, mum even, after all we put him through, he deserves to be happy. Even if its with you" she joked, but he was Sherlock Holmes, and there was no one on this planet that could hide the sound of tears in their voice from him. He mightn't cry at the funeral, but a part of him would miss Harry Watson.
The entire week he was walking on eggshells around John, avoiding him desperately in case he should see what was going on. The doctor had an irritating habit of doing that. John for the life of him could not figure out what was wrong, because of course he could tell that much. Sherlock was evasive to all questions and while that wasn't unusual he had an air of nervous energy about him that was worrying. John knew better than to pry though, so when he felt the the energy might explode out of Sherlock he would wrap his arms around the tall man and tell him that whatever was going on, they would be fine and that he was sure Sherlock had a reason for keeping him out, but if he wanted to talk John would always listen. The morning that Harry was getting out of the hospital was rainy. Sherlock snorted when he saw it and muttered "Pathetic fallacy" under his breath. John simply sighed and insinuated that they should bring an umbrella with them. They didn't. Clara met them at the door and they walked to Harry's room together. When they reached the corridor she was on however Sherlock stopped. "What?" John asked tilting his head at Sherlock. "You two go ahead, I have a few things to tell Lestrade first and he's going rolled ring in about twelve seconds." Sure enough Sherlock's phone rang and John smirked at him before leading Clara into Harry's room.
Harry was seated on the end of the bed, waiting for them. She motioned to the chairs beside her in silence, and the air became thick with tension. Suddenly John was anxious. His gut was saying this was not a good thing. "John here's my chart. Read it carefully and then I'm going to tell you something ok? But you both have to promise me right now that you'll understand where I'm coming from ok?" Harry pleaded with them both and if it hadn't before now John's stomach was on the floor and his heart in his mouth. His hands were steady when he picked up the chart. "Oh Harry" he gasped, reading and re-reading the irrefutable evidence before him. "Why didn't you tell me?" Clara looked bewildered, but there were tears in her eyes. A part of her already knew. "I didn't want you to worry because I have a plan." John frowned, swallowing down his shock and sadness at this news "Harry there's nothing you can do to change this, it's not going to get better" John said calmly. "I know" she soothed "I know. I'm dying, every second we sit here talking about it I'm dying a little bit more and yeah, it's scary as hell and I don't want it to happen but it's going to, it is happening and I want to go on my own terms. I don't want to suffer. That's why I'm going to Switzerland tonight for some assistance. I'm ready Clara, Johnny. My affairs, few though they are, are in order and you know what? I'm happy. I have you both back at my side. That's why I'm going today. This afternoon in fact. I'll spend a day in the alps and then go to the hospital and then they'll bury me there in the snow. No negations. I'm going. If it makes it easier you can always imagine that I'm just living in Switzerland now." Harry was sure, that much was clear to both John and Clara. Once that woman made up her mind there was no stopping her from going through with her plans. Even in death, Harry Watson was going to be stubborn.
Oddly, John couldn't actually say that he felt an overwhelming sense of grief, or that the thought of never seeing his sister again made him nauseous. He knew that this was the right decision for Harry, and that was all he could ask for. Some people never got this chance, to choose how they greeted death, he almost hadn't, the people Sherlock worked cases for didn't, and nearly everyone else didn't either. So, when Harry looked at him, pleading not to argue, gave him the same look she had years earlier when she'd first become an alcoholic, he knew that he should tell the truth. "I couldn't imagine a more fitting choice Harry. I've supported you this far, and it's not going to stop now. I'll come with you to the airport later, any last requests?" Clara gave him a grateful smile through her tears, they needed to be alone and he understood. "Use the eggs Johnny, don't just leave them there to waste away ok? Oh, and don't you dare name them Harriet or any permutations there of, God I hate that name!" Harry laughed, the noise so alien in the somber mood that John couldn't help but laugh too, deep full body chuckles that left him short of breath. This, he thought, this is how I'll remember my sister.
"How do you manage to dress yourself in the morning Lestrade? It's hardly a difficult deduction. Obviously he was a heavy gambler who bit off more than he could chew when he tried to swindle a group of dealers and accrued a small fortune that only garnered more attention, when he was sought out he defended himself but ultimately managed to kill himself and the man sent to rob him at the same time. Class it how you will, you're looking for the neighbour, 6'2", glasses, works in the local deli restaurant, will recommend the pot pie, don't eat it unless you've got a hankering for salmonella." Sherlock hung up on the detective, it wasn't even an interesting case but he'd been so edgy that he'd had to do something. At least now he'd be able to act normally, well, what they passed as normal, around John. No sooner had the thought popped into his mind and John appeared, upset, obviously, but not to a degree where it would affect their every waking moment. Acceptance of the situation was the predominant emotion. No five stages of grief for John, but the man had been a soldier, death, violent and bloody and agonizing had Ben his life. This,a quiet slipping away would be almost like a gift. He needn't have nightmares of wasting away and writhing in agony."Sherlock? Hello?" John was waving a hand in front of his face. "Mm? What did she say?" Sherlock asked nonchalantly, smiling encouragingly and strolling away with John at his side. "Asked us to use her gift and not to even think of using the name Harry." John half smiled "She always did hate that name."
When John got home from the airport (he'd insisted that Sherlock not go, even though he'd only offered to be polite) he said nothing, but Sherlock could tell, he could always tell, and he knew that if it had been him and Mycroft at that airport, he would be a disaster, and they weren't even close. Baker street was rather subdued that night, Sherlock lay back on the couch with John wrapped in his arms in the almost entirely dark room. "Clara decided she'd go too, with Harry." Sherlock held him closer "You follow me on cases." John did, he followed Sherlock into nearly certain death over and over to keep him safe, watch over him, so he wouldn't be alone if he did get hurt. "Thanks." John muttered into the shoulder of Sherlock's shirt, closing his eyes and trying to sleep as Sherlock ran a hand up and down his back. And if, during the night, John was restless and shaking, or if Sherlock could feel the tears that would never see the light of day, neither said anything. He simply held tighter, and hummed melodies into John's ear for hours and hours on end.
A short text was all that alerted them to the fact that Harry was no longer a living, breathing organism. The world did not stop turning, people did not enquire as to her whereabouts as if they could somehow feel that something was wrong, and John did not cry again. He did stop the clocks and cover the mirrors because "that was what was done when any Watson died and he would not be the one to stop the tradition now." Their lives went on. Clara did not come home from Switzerland, choosing to live in the town adjacent to the cemetery because she should have had more time at Harry's side anyway. That was all they wanted, more time. Not for the first time, Sherlock was immesurably grateful that he had met John, because now he knew exactly how it would feel to lose someone you loved. All the time in the world would never be enough.
A/N: Yes, it's a filler chapter, I don't even... I mean... This was not where I was going to go with this!? HOW DOES IT KEEP HAPPENING?! First dcharacter death I've had to write or rather pointedly not write because I am so not ready to subject myself (and all of you) to that cesspit of misery. I'm definiteley going to resolve the Mycroft/greg situation in the next chapter and there'll probably also be a bit of wedding planning by the Mother figures so that'll be fun and then a time jump to just before the wedding! On a side note OH MY GOD 90+ people follow this fic now and I might be hyperventilating a bit so if you're new here welcome and if you've been here forever thanks for sticking with the oddity that is my mind! ~S