Hi guys! All of this is super important so PLEASE READ!
For this chapter, I did change some particular instances around and leave some things entirely to the imagination so I don't know if that will be a problem for some of you or not, but I did feel that it was in the best interest of future chapters to do so. And speaking of future chapters: Shattered is winding down and coming to an end!
I don't know exactly when this will happen, but considering that after wrapping up the Magnussen debacle, I have no more material from the show to work with, I will either take a hiatus and continue when the new season airs, or I will make up a fitting conclusion for this story myself and have that be the end of it. It has been a fantastic journey from start to finish and I could never have done it without all of my readers and for that, I have to thank you. You guys deserve the world and more and I am so incredibly grateful that you took the time to read my story.
On a different note, I have put up a poll on my profile page asking all of you what fandom I should write for next, after finishing Shattered. When I'm satisfied with the amount of votes that have been submitted, I will close the poll and announce the results on my profile page so be on the lookout for that and in the meantime, go vote!
And as for those of you who read or are reading my Marvel stories, I am sorry to say that I'll be taking them down to do some heavy restructuring. I feel like, since beginning those stories, my writing abilities have grown substantially and instead of abandoning them completely, I want to bring them up to par. I hope to have the first book completely rewritten by the new year, or the beginning of next summer. It's going to take some time, but they will eventually make a reappearance and I hope that they will be better than before.
For now, though, I hope you all enjoy chapter 36!
-lightinside
Things don't always turn out how you expect them to. That was the first thing my acquaintanceship with Sherlock taught me. And when it turned into a quiet, shy sort of friendship, I learned that some of the things left unsaid can be the most powerful and that some of those things didn't need words to be able to be expressed. There was a closeness between us that most people didn't understand. There were times that I didn't understand it either. I would wake up every morning wondering what in the world I was doing – wondering what I hoped to accomplish. Thinking that my subconscious obviously recognized something in Sherlock that I couldn't yet see – softly telling me to hang in there a little while longer, that there was hope to be found somewhere down the line.
And now, I knew that to be a lie. There was no hope – not this time.
When you think about it, and most people try not to, you really see how much can change in the blink of an eye. One choice leads to another and so on and so forth and eventually, you either end up in the much longed for place where the grass is supposedly greener or you find yourself cornered, panicked, and alone with no way out.
That was where I found myself now, backed into a corner. Standing beside Sherlock in the bright light of a helicopter with a dead man in front of us, wondering how the hell things could have gone so wrong so quickly. In my mind, as I looked at him, ignoring the chaos around us, I knew that this was it. This was the end of the line for us. Mycroft couldn't get him out of this, no matter how much he tried. And I could see that Sherlock knew that, too. Looking at me, looking at him, we both just knew.
No matter what we wanted, it was all over now.
It was all over.
TWELVE HOURS BEFORE...
"Oh, dear God, it's only two o'clock." Mycroft groaned as he sat at the Holmes family kitchen table. "It's been Christmas Day for at least a week now - how can it only be two o'clock? I'm in agony."
As Sherlock ignored his brother by leafing through the morning's news, I listened in quiet amusement to Mycroft lamenting the holiday he was being forced to spend with his family, that we were all being forced to spend with his family, on Mrs. Holmes' insistence. I hadn't minded. It saved me from dealing with my own family – here, I could sit quietly and offer my assistance politely every now and again without having to fuss over drunken uncles or hide from nosy aunts. This obvious ordeal for Sherlock and Mycroft was an absolute godsend for me.
"Myc, is this your laptop?" Mrs. Holmes asked, gesturing to the object in question which seemed to have been used at some point in her preparation as a cutting board.
"Upon which depends the security of the free world, yes," Mycroft leered, staring at the scene before him. "And you've got potatoes on it."
I snorted softly as I caught Sherlock's eye and tried to cover it up by discreetly clearing my throat and taking a sip of the tea I had been nursing for over ten minutes. This was such a different setting than the one I was used to. Sherlock's mother and father were obviously kind and warm people whose only interest in the world was to make sure both their children were happy and well looked after. But it was becoming clear after only a few hours exactly where it was that both men acquired their talent for witty comebacks and unbridled sass.
"Well you shouldn't leave it lying around if it's so important." Mrs. Holmes replied with a stern lift of her eyebrow. I could see so much of Sherlock in her in that one moment that it was all I could do not to smile.
"Why are we doing this?" Mycroft asked, throwing his hands up in the air as he turned toward the opposite end of the table where Sherlock and I were seated. "We never do this."
"We are here because much has happened in the last three years and just this once, on this one holiday, I should like to spend it as a family. And you should try not to be so rude, especially in front of company. Your brother brought Katherine here on my invitation and we are all very happy."
Mycroft's lips turned up in a sarcastic smile. "Am I happy, too? I haven't checked."
"Behave, Myc." Mrs. Holmes pleaded tiredly, sighing.
"Mycroft is the name you gave me, if you could possibly struggle all the way to the end." He replied, staring up at her from his seat in a sort of challenge. I could tell one thing, however. If Mycroft and his mother were locked in a battle of wills, she would be the one to win.
I glanced back over at Sherlock who was blinking at me tiredly, as if already exhausted with the whole venture. Before I could motion to the door as a suggestion that we go outside for some air, he angled the newspaper toward me and allowed me to read the headline.
Lord Smallwood Suicide
Without a word, I put my cup back down on the table and rose from my seat.
"Going out for some air." I said, interrupting the banter between Mycroft and Mrs. Holmes. "I'll be back in a moment or two."
Both Sherlock and Mycroft nearly jumped up from their seats and grabbed their coats to follow, agreeing with me and saying they also needed air. Mrs. Holmes sighed and shook her head, knowing that it was a miracle enough that they'd even come at all and allowed us all to go outside.
The moment the door was closed, Sherlock pulled out a cigarette and lit it before passing another to Mycroft, along with the lighter. I watched, leaned against the front gate, with a small frown tugging at the corners of my mouth. I'd told him over and over that he needed to quit smoking. Nicotine patches were enough as it was. While it worried me in regard to his health, I also didn't relish the thought of kissing him and having it feel like I was locking lips with an ashtray.
"I'm glad you've given up on the Magnussen business." Mycroft said, addressing Sherlock as he strolled closer to the gate.
"Have you?" I blurted curiously, gaining the attention of both men. "Given up on it, I mean. I haven't heard it mentioned in quite a while now, but with the paper this morning, I was planning on asking about it."
"Quite right." Mycroft nodded. "I am still curious though, as Miss. Watson seems to be… it's hardly your usual kind of puzzle. Why do you hate him?"
Sherlock turned to his brother, the smoke from his cigarette billowing in the air as he yanked it away from his mouth to speak. "Because he attacks people who are different and preys on their secrets. Why don't you?"
"Yes, I understand he put your… girlfriend in a most compromising situation a month or so ago, but he never causes too much damage to anyone important. He's far too intelligent for that. He's a business man, that's all." Mycroft said. "And occasionally useful to us."
At Mycroft's insensitive reference to me and my near-death experience, I saw Sherlock's jaw clench as if he was restraining himself from saying something rash. I swallowed, suddenly uncomfortable with the way things were turning out. I knew that I wasn't important to Mycroft – I knew that I was inconsequential to him and his world of government secrets and spies and that was alright with me. The only person I wanted to matter to was Sherlock. And his reaction to Mycroft's words only reinforced our shared sentiment - I did matter to him, quite a bit.
"Tread lightly." Sherlock warned lowly, not bothering to say more. He didn't need to. Those words alone were enough to make fear creep into my heart. If I had been Mycroft, I probably would have apologized right then and there. But of course, he didn't.
"Charles Magnussen, Sherlock, is a necessary evil. Not a dragon for you to slay."
"A dragon slayer." Sherlock repeated, a sly smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Is that what you think of me?"
"No." I said, laughing softly as Mycroft voiced his answer at the same time: "It's what you think of yourself."
At that moment, effectively cutting off my laughter, the front door was pulled open and out popped Mrs. Holmes, scowling.
"Are you two smoking!?"
Both brothers stuck their cigarettes behind their backs and babbled excuses at her – Mycroft denied her accusation outright while Sherlock, apparently not having received the memo, blamed it on his older brother – until with a soft roll of her eyes, she closed the door. I resumed laughing, which caught the attention of Sherlock immediately.
"What's so funny, then?"
"Both of you. Still afraid to piss off your mother." I took a long breath, a grin still present on my lips, and sighed. "It's quite refreshing, actually."
It really was. It reminded me that, no matter the depth of their intellect and their aversion to family, they had come from a household much like my own. Our mothers were very different, but I could see blatant similarities in our fathers because of the fact that, like my own, Mr. Holmes was the only sane one of the lot.
"I am certainly not afraid of her." Sherlock muttered, scowling. "Just would rather avoid her temper."
Mycroft raised a brow and took another puff of his cigarette. "Whether or not fear of man is something you possess, Sherlock, I have a job offer that I should rather like for you to decline."
Though my interest was exceedingly piqued by Mycroft's statement, Sherlock seemed less than fazed.
"I decline your kind offer." He said, not bothering to look my way. I wondered if I was the only one present that wondered what kind of job offer it might have been. Of course, Mycroft already knew. That brought up new questions that I knew I would most likely never have the heart to ask him. What I wondered most of all was why Mycroft would keep Sherlock from such an offer, unless the job was considerably dangerous.
"I shall pass on your regrets." Mycroft answered in his usual, breezy tone.
Sherlock finally looked over at his brother and asked the question that I had wanted to ask myself. "What was it?"
"MI6." Mycroft answered. "They want to place you back into Eastern Europe. An undercover assignment that will prove fatal to you in, I think, about six months."
With a pounding heart and a faint sense of nausea creeping up within me, I glanced over at Sherlock praying that he wouldn't have the wish to prove them wrong. He was always doing that. He thrived on the thrill of proving a point – of showing off. And I had the sudden urge to jump in the conversation and intervene though I didn't know what his answer would be as of yet.
"Then why don't you want me to take it?" Sherlock questioned, choking a little as he stared at Mycroft in surprise.
"It's tempting, but on balance, you have more utility closer to home." Mycroft said, disappointing me. I wished that, just once, they would acknowledge there was something akin to a sort of brotherly affection between them. I knew that it must have been the motivator behind Mycroft pushing Sherlock to decline this offer, but at the same time, I also knew that both men would be loath to admit it.
Sherlock scoffed, rolling his eyes. "Utility? How do I have utility?"
There was a momentary pause as Mycroft looked at us both with a strange sort of gleam in his eye. "Here be dragons." He said.
I faintly heard the sounds of the conversation being wrapped up as Mycroft moved to go inside, but didn't have the present awareness to focus on what was being said. I stood there, by the Holmes' family fence, stolen away by the correctness of Mycroft's words.
Here be dragons.
In a world such as this one in which we spend our days, there was no shortage of dragons to be slayed. Wherever you turned, there was some injustice to be righted, some dark corner of a prejudiced mind that needed to be reached with the light of compassion. All dragons were different in some way or another, but I knew that they all needed to be slayed. And right now, our dragon was Magnussen.
The manner in which Sherlock would slay him, however, caught me completely by surprise.
PRESENT TIME: Eight hours after the death of Charles Magnussen..
Mycroft and the rest of his MI6 associates had been locked away in a conference room for hours, discussing Sherlock's fate. And though it was taking a long time to reach a decision, I knew better than to hope. Their ultimate decision had been sealed when Sherlock had pulled the trigger that slayed our dragon.
As for the detective himself, he was sitting calmly in an interrogation room as if he hadn't a problem in the world. And I, in stark contrast, found myself pacing in front of him, walking the length of the room over and over like a caged animal.
"Why would you do that?" I asked. "What in hell possessed you to do that?"
"You're panicking." Sherlock noted softly. "You really shouldn't do that."
"How can I not?" I hissed, running a hand through my hair. "And how in the world can you be sitting there acting so damned calm!? At this point, anything could happen. For starters, they could take you to court and make me testify against you. It's not like we have spousal privileges! Or they could send you straight to prison! Maybe worse! This is the bloody MI6, not some doe-eyed Bambi down at the station that hardly knows up from down!"
"Katherine." Sherlock silenced me firmly, his gaze cutting through the adrenaline that was sending my stress skyward so as to bring me back down to earth. "Stop this right now."
"I can't." I said, collapsing into the chair across from him.
"You can." He assured me. "As of this moment, Katherine, not just anything is going to happen. It would be of great benefit to both of us if you realized right now that there is a very good possibility that I'll be going away for a while."
"To prison?" I snapped, scowling. "Yeah, Sherlock. I kind of already figured that one out on my own, thanks very much."
"To Eastern Europe. Or so I believe. In all likelihood, given today's events, that will be where I end up despite Mycroft's best efforts."
I wondered for a moment what he could mean – wondered what was in Eastern Europe that could possibly be any sort of punishment for the crime he'd committed that day. And then, I remembered. The job offer and all the rest of it (particularly the part about Sherlock surviving a mere six months) was like a sudden slap to the face.
"Then, you…"
I didn't have the heart to finish my sentence. He would go there to die – really die. He couldn't cheat death this time, as he had so many other times before. The sentence that he'd pronounced on Magnussen was the one he would receive – an eye for an eye. But I didn't think that was ever right. After all, an eye for an eye makes the whole world blind.
"Why did you do this?" I asked again, trying to keep him from seeing the tears that were springing to my eyes. "Magnussen supposedly had information about John. So what? My brother is… my brother is dead. Nothing Magnussen did could have hurt John. And I could have dealt with the aftermath. You didn't have to –"
"John Watson was not a deserter. He was a hero – one of the greatest doctors, the greatest men, that I've ever known. The information that Charles Augustus Magnussen had about John would have caused damage to you and your family. It would have reopened old wounds, caused new ones… he is famous throughout private circles for telling only the truth, Katherine, so what do you believe would have happened when he told a lie?"
I didn't have to answer him. I knew that if Magnussen had told a lie, it wouldn't have mattered what my family had to say about it. Once heard, it would have become the truth. I knew Sherlock was right. I didn't want him to be.
"I eliminated a threat which our government was comfortable to keep long enough for him to cause yet more damage to even more lives, not including yours. I did what I had to do and nothing less."
"He has connections." I said.
"So did Moriarty and even they have been disbanded." Sherlock said. "Without the head, the body of the snake is virtually useless. It will be done away with before a new leader can spring forth to take the missing one's place."
"And you'll be dead."
"Probably."
I couldn't take it anymore. I stood from my seat and began to walk around again as I tried to think of something to say that might convey my despair without hurting him more than necessary. Yet, I couldn't hold back the barrage of words that came hurtling past my lips only a moment afterward.
"You're an idiot." I said, looking back at him. "Always have been, always will be. You may be Sherlock Holmes, the world's only consulting detective… and you may be the best, but you are not the brightest – not when it comes to this. Not when it comes to me. You knew what the consequences would be for this, obviously, and yet you still did it. For three years, you've dragged me along, making me love you despite my very best efforts to keep from it, and this is the kind of thing you put me through! Screw the world! I don't care what anyone would have thought. I know the truth and so do you. What does any of the rest of it matter? Why should it, when all it does is separate us again? Did you think of that? Did you even stop to wonder how all of this would play out for both of us if the only true option was for you to be sent away?"
Sherlock seemed uneasy for a fraction of an instant and I knew then that he hadn't considered the possibility of what would happen to me when he was gone. "This was for everyone's benefit."
"You are not a martyr, Sherlock, so stop acting like one." I shouted, walking closer and closer to his seated form. "And I'm not a saint – I'm human. I'm selfish. So you will have to forgive me if I'm not concerned as to what was done for everyone's benefit. I don't know if you're really grasping that, this time, there isn't anything you can do! You can't rely on a sleight of hand to trick the world into believing that you're dead again. You've pushed your luck and now it has finally run out."
Before he could answer me, the door to the interrogation room was opened and in walked Mycroft.
"Miss. Watson." He greeted me. "You have been cleared for release. You'll be escorted back to your home within the hour. And then, tomorrow, there will be a car waiting for you outside at nine to take you to the airport where I will meet you."
I could only stare at him stupidly for a moment after he spoke. "The airport…"
Mycroft glanced at his brother and then back at me. "So that you both may say your goodbyes."
I hardly had time to look at Sherlock before several other men swarmed the room and began to take me out. And I had the brief thought as I was hauled out of the room that this was one of the last times I would ever be able to see him again.
He would get on the plane the following morning to go to his death… and I thought things then, walking toward the exit, toward the freedom that Sherlock would never again have, that I could remember wondering about often after losing my brother. Wondering how, when someone you love dies, you stay alive. Wondering how you kept yourself from following them – how you stayed on solid ground.
In the last several years, I have asked those questions over and over, hoping that someone – anyone – would tell me the truth. Hoping that they would tell me that someday, someday it would all just… shatter.