Special note: Funeral home viewing details ahead.
Sherlock's eyes opened to discover he had shifted position during the night and his body was no longer encircling Molly's. Instead, he had turned at some point and he could feel her body pressed against his back, her own arm loosely draped over his body. He could detect a slight sheen of perspiration on his skin and didn't know why. The exertions of the night before had also caused some perspiration but that would definitely have dissipated so many hours later, as he observed pale sunshine already filtering through the curtains.
He shifted slightly and felt Molly's fingers flex against his skin, indicating that she too was awake. He turned around and pressed his lips to hers in a gentle kiss. "Good morning, love,"he said, linking his fingers with hers.
She smiled at him, the dimple appearing in her cheek. "Good morning, yourself. How did you sleep? You seemed rather restless last night. Were you bothered by dreams?"
Sherlock's brow furrowed and he struggled to remember. Had he indeed dreamed? Discombobulated images came into his mind, his father, lying so still and lifeless in the hospital bed; his mother in similar repose - one a true memory, the other one something he feared. Another image came to him then, one that had also been in a dream years earlier, when he had been newly engaged - that of Molly in a coffin. That original dream had been a horrible nightmare where Moriarty had taunted him and Molly's chest cavity had been exposed with a hole where her heart should have been. Moriarty had presented him with a package identical to the gift Molly had intended for Sherlock on that fateful Christmas. When Sherlock had opened it he had found a burned, shrivelled heart that supposedly belonged to Molly. This dream had been nowhere near as graphic, but just the idea of Molly being in a coffin made him close his eyes in anguish for a moment and shudder.
"What is it, honey?" she asked, tightening her fingers on his.
"It's...it's nothing." He swallowed. "Just vague images of my father and mother being dead and of you in the damned coffin Eurus had in that room."
Molly's eyes widened in shock. "Oh, Sherlock, that's terrible." She reached for him instinctively and he allowed her to pull him into her soft embrace. He rested his head on her chest as he had done two nights earlier, inhaling the always sweet smell of her skin, as she stroked her hand through his curls, then gently massaged his shoulders. It was odd how she still would give him almost a maternal love at times, how he could feel protected by her, rather than the other way around.
Finally, when he felt the knots of tension in his shoulder that he hadn't realised were there ease, he pulled back from Molly and said, "I suppose we should get up, otherwise we'll be the last ones down again like yesterday."
Molly sighed. "Is it selfish of me to wish we could remain locked away in here and not have to think about anything but being together?"
Sherlock took her hands, pulling her up to a sitting position. "Then I must be selfish too. I'd rather not face what lays ahead today either." There was a rather rueful twist to his lips as he made the admission.
Quietly they got out of bed and dressed for the day, a little less casually than the day before, knowing they would be visiting the funeral home in the afternoon.
It was definitely earlier than the previous day and the house still seemed quiet, although Sherlock felt certain his mother would already be up. She had always been an early riser.
Molly headed off to check whether the girls were up while Sherlock went to his old room to wake the twins. As he passed the kitchen, he popped his head in and was not surprised to see his mother already there. He entered, gave her a quick kiss of greeting then went upstairs.
The boys were still asleep, sharing the bed that had been his when he had returned home occasionally for visits during his uni years and beyond. He stood at the foot of the bed for some moments, observing their angelic little countenances, reflecting that they really did resemble him as he had been at the same age, at least judging by pictures in his mother's photo albums. He still had very few memories of his childhood years, in particular, those from when the family had lived at Musgrave Hall.
Sherlock recalled looking at the photo albums a couple times when he had been a teenager. There were not too many because a great deal of the family's photo and early video collection had been destroyed in the fire at Musgrave Hall. All photos of Eurus had also been deliberately omitted. In the years since Sherrinford, there had been a couple of photos added to the end of one of those albums that included Eurus, ones Sherlock's mother had secretly kept hidden away, a baby picture, a picture of her with her brothers at the beach, one of her with her parents as a toddler. There was also a photo of Sherlock with his friend Victor, dressed as pirates, that Violet Holmes had also kept hidden through the years and had finally added to the same album with the restored Eurus photos.
Even as Sherlock thought he'd have to show his sons those family photos when they were a little older, Noah stirred, accidentally stretched his hand out and smacked Scott on the arm, eliciting a startled, "Ow!"
Ten minutes later, Sherlock had helped the boys get dressed and they headed downstairs to the kitchen. He had asked who had woken them the previous day and discovered it had been their grandmother who had entered the room with Victoria and Christina who had already been dressed. Victoria had taken charge of her brothers in helping them get dressed as Sherlock's mother and Christina had then gone downstairs.
He entered the kitchen with the boys. Molly was there with the girls and Sherlock's mother, but on this occasion the rest of the family and the Watsons were not yet downstairs. Cereal and toast seemed to be the order of the day rather than a hot meal which was fine with Sherlock. A hot meal for such a large gathering would not have been practical.
He helped himself to some toast that was already on the table and spread it with butter and honey while Molly brought him over a cup of coffee.
He smiled at her. "Thank you, beautiful," he said, noting the way her face lit up at his compliment. Giving and receiving compliments was something that never got old. Sherlock rather thought that if anyone asked him for advice or wanted to know the secret to a good marriage, he'd be able to tell them. There were a lot of things of course that contributed to the success of his marriage with Molly, constant communication, compromise, not taking each other for granted. But it was more than that. It was still indulging in flirtation, lots of kissing, verbal and physical affirmations of their abiding love, not to mention still enjoying intimacy frequently. Of course, it didn't hurt that Sherlock and Molly shared the same faith as well; that was definitely an important aspect to their relationship.
"You're welcome, gorgeous," she said in return to his compliment and Sherlock noticed a slight eye-roll from Victoria but pretended not to notice. At least she didn't make any comment when Molly leaned down to give him a quick kiss before sitting back down herself. That was progress.
The family had just finished breakfast when the other house party guests appeared to take their place at the kitchen table and there was the usual round of "Good morning" and "How did you sleep?" queries as Sherlock, Molly and their children removed their plates to make way for the others to eat their own breakfast.
They left the kitchen together and Scott asked Sherlock, "Are we going to play cricket again today, Daddy?"
"Not today, son," responded Sherlock gravely. "We don't want to get dirty before we go to the funeral home this afternoon."
Scott's face clouded. "Oh, I forgot."
A sudden sense of sadness filled the air and Sherlock was relieved when Molly suggested quickly, "Why don't we play some team chess instead?"
Unfortunately, Scott was not overly enthusiastic at this suggestion as his eyes, so similar to Molly's, filled with tears and he folded his arms. "Don't wanna play chess. It hurts my brain too much."
Noah, however, said, "I'd play chess but someone would have to help me to get better at it."
Victoria and Christina both expressed their wishes to wait for Rosie and Adam respectively to finish breakfast so they could do something with them.
In the end it was decided that Sherlock help Noah learn the finer aspects of chess while Molly would play a pretend game of pool with Scott. He would use his hands and she would use a cue.
The girls did end up beginning a chess game temporarily which they abandoned once the Watson children entered the room. Sherlock watched as the four headed off to do who-knew-what. John and Kayla appeared with Johannah and walked through the games room to spend some time together with their daughter on the back terrace. Sherlock then returned to instructing his son on how to anticipate certain moves by an opposing player and offering strategies.
Every now and then Sherlock would look over to Molly and their eyes would meet. The time was drawing closer to the visitation at the funeral home and Sherlock found himself losing focus after an hour with Noah.
How am I going to feel, seeing my dad laid out in a coffin? he wondered silently as he and Noah began replacing the chess pieces on the board in readiness for the next player.
Scott and Molly had also finished their "game" and Noah asked Scott if he would like to play a game of draughts. The second chessboard was subsequently set up for it and the boys went over to play a game while Sherlock approached Molly.
She slipped her hand into his; as usual she could read him so well. "I can tell by the look in your eyes that you're thinking about this afternoon," she said softly, squeezing his hand. "I did speak to the girls already again this morning to prepare them. I know it's going to be difficult, but remember, we know where your dad is now."
Sherlock nodded. "I understand that, but I confess that I am a little concerned that I might just lose control when we are in the room and I'm actually looking at him." His lips tightened. "I don't want to be the cause of anyone else's distress, to exacerbate it."
Molly rested her head against his shoulder briefly before looking up at him. "Nobody will think less of you if you are emotional, honey. It's going to be emotional for all of us, just as it will be tomorrow as well. These are going to be our hardest days and we just have to hold onto one another and our faith."
Sherlock felt a renewed surge of overwhelming love for his wife. She was his rock and she always knew the right thing to say. "Thank you, sweetheart. I'll try to keep that in mind when we arrive."
For the rest of the morning, Sherlock found himself wandering from room to room, talking with various people, not really remembering what he talked about, just that it was general conversation. He was trying very hard not to think about what would happen after lunch.
Finally though, lunch was finished and it was time to leave for the funeral home in Brighton.
The housekeeper, Donna, had arrived and was doing her usual twice-weekly cleaning of the house. She expressed her condolences to the rest of the family.
Kayla had opted to remain at the house with Johannah who was too young to understand what was going on. The rest of the Watson family joined Sherlock's family in the limo while Mycroft transported Elizabeth, Mark and his mother. It was easier to deal with two vehicles.
The limo dropped off the Holmes and Watson families directly in front of the funeral home and they stood and waited while Mycroft dropped off his mother and Elizabeth, then found a parking space nearby.
Once he and Mark joined everyone else, they went inside.
The interior of the funeral home was tastefully decorated and solemn looking, Sherlock observed. There was a quiet atmosphere and he was thankful there didn't appear to be any people around aside from a couple attendants, so apparently there was no other grieving family present for another viewing today.
The family and friends were shown to the entrance of a room. It was quite simply decorated with only two chairs and the coffin dominated it. There were several large floral arrangements in the room as well and Sherlock knew these would be placed on the coffin lid the following morning for the funeral service.
Sherlock was able to see that the coffin was in a light oak with gold handles, and he could just glimpse that the interior was lined with white, reminiscent of the coffin Eurus had had placed in that room at Sherrinford. He tried not to think about that. Nevertheless, Sherlock swallowed hard, recalling that had been the last time he had seen a coffin and before that, not too much earlier, he had quietly helped Mycroft pick a coffin for Mary, unbeknownst to John, and had seen it at her funeral from the back of the church.
The family stood in groups to wait their turn, with John and his older two children at the rear.
Sherlock was rather glad he could not see his father immediately, as the view was mostly obscured by his mother and his brother and family.
He watched Violet approach the coffin as Noah reached for his hand and Christina did the same with his other hand. Victoria and Scott were holding Molly's hands.
Violet Holmes spent a couple minutes at the coffin, gazing down at her late husband, and when Mycroft shifted his position slightly, Sherlock could see his mother reaching to presumably touch his father's face.
When she moved away, turning in Sherlock's direction, he could see the tears coming silently down her cheeks and Sherlock bit his lip viciously, almost drawing blood, in an attempt to not allow his own tears to flow. He had to at least wait until it was his turn at the coffin.
Mycroft then approached the coffin, as did Elizabeth and Mark as well. Sherlock and his family moved a little closer. It felt as if he was in line, waiting his turn to go on a funfair ride, and the irony of it all almost made him put a hand over his face. Of course he couldn't do that though with both hands being held by two of his offspring.
Having ended their own silent vigil, Mycroft and his family moved aside. Sherlock was sure he saw a suspicion of tears in Mycroft's eyes. Elizabeth's eyes also held moisture while Mark was not bothering to hide his own grief and tears. He was definitely unlike his father in that regard.
"You go ahead," whispered Molly. There was definitely no room for the six of them to view the coffin at once.
Sherlock nodded and took a deep breath, then walked the last few steps towards the coffin and looked at its inhabitant. His first thought was surprise at how peaceful his father looked. Without that circular piece of tubing in his dad's mouth as it had been at the hospital, his father could have been merely sleeping. He immediately recognised the suit as the one his father had worn for his and Molly's wedding.
The burn of tears then hit Sherlock. This is my father. This is the last time I'll see him. Sherlock looked down through the sheen of tears in his eyes at Noah who was tugging at his hand. "Daddy, I can't see Grandpa. I want to see him."
It wasn't until that moment that Sherlock realised his son was unable to peer into the coffin over the raised dais on which it rested.
Releasing Christina's hand, he swung Noah up into his arms, noting that Molly was doing the same in preparation for her own vigil.
"He looks so peaceful," said Noah, then his big blue eyes filled with tears and he let out a little sob. "I miss him, Daddy."
Sherlock would have spoken words of comfort when Christina spoke first. "Daddy, look at Grandpa's lips. They aren't blue anymore, they're pink."
Indeed they were. One of the side effects of the COPD meant a lack of oxygen to William Holmes's lips and they had always had a bluish cast to them which the children had found fascinating. Sherlock still remembered Christina asking her grandfather the previous year whether he was wearing blue lipstick and the family had had a little giggle at that.
Now he responded to Christina. "Yes, there are special people who would have made sure your grandpa looked peaceful, as if he is just sleeping."
"Well, I don't like it," responded Christina, and there was a tremble in her voice. "He doesn't look like him so much with pink lips."
Sherlock touched his free hand to his daughter's head. "I know, poppet, but this is the way he would have looked if he hadn't had the disease that made his lips look blue all the time."
Noah had burrowed his face against Sherlock's shoulder and he felt the moisture of tears spread over his shirt.
He was rather amazed when Christina reached into the coffin, she could just manage it on tiptoes, and touch her grandpa's cheek. "Goodbye, Grandpa," she said in a choked little voice. "See you in heaven."
"Goodbye, Daddy," said Sherlock, reaching his own hand to touch his father's face one last time. Then, as his own tears spilled over, he moved aside so Molly could take her turn with their other two children.
Through his own haze of tears, Sherlock noted that Molly was already crying, as was Victoria. Scott was clinging to Molly tightly and barely glanced at his grandfather before bursting into loud, noisy sobs that echoed throughout the small room.
Again, Sherlock observed as his wife and daughter made their farewells and came to stand near him and his other two children.
John moved forward to stand quietly for a few moments before the coffin with his two elder children and Sherlock wondered how his friend was doing. The last time John would have viewed a coffin was when it had contained his late wife. Of course, he had experienced the loss of both of his parents as well before Sherlock had known him so he was well acquainted with death.
John came over then to rest a hand on Sherlock's arm. "He was a good man," he said softly, blinking back a few tears of his own even as Rosie and Adam hugged their good friends and quietly commiserated with them.
The family spent another ten minutes in the room, silently expressing their grief. in tears of sorrow and loss, much as they had done at the hospital. Violet Holmes returned to the coffin to press a kiss to her husband's forehead and then walked slowly from the room, indicating it was time to leave. Sherlock glanced once more towards his father, as did almost everyone else, and then followed his mother.
Sherlock saw Mycroft pull out his phone and call the chauffeur. He then spoke quietly to the funeral director, and Sherlock knew his brother was confirming the arrangements for the following day. The family would not be going to the cemetery after the service for the burial, and the pallbearers, men whom Violet had asked from church, would merely assist in taking the coffin from the hearse into the church and then back to it. The funeral director would oversee the burial. This had been at Violet Holmes's insistence, saying the service should be a celebration of life, and that she did not wish to mourn at a graveside. Instead, there was to be a wake at the church following the funeral service. Mycroft and his mother had arranged for it to be catered, and several members of the church would make sure the hall was ready and take care of the clean-up afterwards.
Sherlock recalled that Molly had offered her own services at funeral wakes at their church as well on a couple occasions over the last few years when there had been the death of a church member. She had attended the funerals as well, but had not asked Sherlock to go with her, understanding how difficult it would be after having experienced the coffin-related trauma that still haunted his dreams on occasion as it had the previous night.
Sherlock was surprised to see it was only two-thirty when they arrived back at the house. Kayla opened the front door to admit everyone when they arrived and he saw her give Molly a hug and ask how things had gone.
There was no sign of Johannah. Sherlock spied a video monitor on a table and saw that she was upstairs sleeping.
The mood of the household was generally lethargic for the rest of the afternoon. People scattered to do different things and Sherlock sat in front of the television with the twins, watching programmes he didn't remember later. He felt melancholy as his mind drifted through various images of times spent with his father, most of which had been since he had been with Molly. He did recall an earlier memory though, one that had been with his parents just after he had reconciled his differences with John following his return to London after his two-year absence. He remembered the way his mother had teased his father about always losing his glasses and she had told him he should have a chain around his neck for them. When he had come to the house for Christmas later in the year, on that fateful day when he had made his grave miscalculation about Charles Magnussen, William Holmes had indeed had a chain attached to his glasses. But that wasn't even the funniest thing.
It had been rather ironic really that mere months later, during Sherlock and Molly's engagement, he had discovered he needed reading glasses. He had subsequently discovered he too had a propensity towards losing them as well. This errant thought made Sherlock smile a little at his inner reflection. To this day, he still managed to misplace his reading glasses at least twice a month and Molly Was more often than not the one who found them. She had suggested he also wear a chain around his neck with the glasses attached, but he had adamantly refused. So, yes, on more than one occasion he discovered his reading glasses pushed to the top of his head when he had been wearing them and subsequently been distracted by something else, but that didn't make him an absentminded professor. He just had more important things with which to occupy his mind than the location of his reading glasses. Instead of getting a chain which would have been a total embarrassment - really, who would want to see the great detective Sherlock Holmes wandering around with a pair of reading glasses hanging around his neck, after all? he thought, he just made sure he always had a couple of extra pairs of glasses tucked away in case one went missing temporarily. Problem solved.
Dinner that night was also a quiet affair, not the sit-down one of the previous night. There were plenty of leftovers as well as still some various things that had been brought by kind church members, so the microwave and stove were put to good use heating up various foods to feed everyone. Sherlock himself really wasn't hungry, but had accepted the sandwich Molly had insisted on making for him. She never allowed him to just skip a meal if she was anywhere near him. The only times he skipped meals was when he was out on a case and away from his wife. Even then, she would usually reprimand him for not eating and force him to eat something as soon as he arrived home.
After dinner, Violet Holmes retired early, pleading a headache. She insisted that the girls did not need to come up right away, but requested that they just be quiet when they did so later.
The children brought out board games to play, and John asked Sherlock if he and Molly would like to play a "couples" game of pool with Kayla and himself.
Sherlock considered suggesting Mark replace him, he was not really in the mood for pool, but the young man had disappeared upstairs, saying he needed to take care of some things for work. Sherlock hoped he wouldn't become as much of a workaholic as his father.
Half-heartedly, Sherlock agreed to the game. Molly and Kayla were already in the games room and Johannah was subsequently entertained by whomever was not currently playing as the game ensued.
Sherlock found it did serve as a welcome distraction from his thoughts and felt grateful that John had suggested it. He was able to make up for his wife's deficiencies in the game and win it as well. He rather suspected Molly had been deliberately trying to play badly so that John and Kayla would at least have some chance of an even game.
They played one more game and this time Sherlock was certain Molly was playing badly on purpose. She hit the white ball into a pocket on almost every turn, allowing John extra foul shots, and the Watsons subsequently won the game. He smiled wryly at that but did not make a comment about it. He could allow the other couple their victory.
By then it was time to get the children ready for bed with baths and showers. It wasn't very late, but the family were planning to be at the church an hour before the eleven o'clock funeral service and the children required a good night's rest.
Finally, Sherlock found himself in the bedroom with Molly and watched her remove her blouse and trousers as he took off his shirt. She looked at him a little questioningly and held up her chemise and he knew what she was asking.
Do I want to make love tonight? he asked himself silently and decided the answer was yes.
He wanted to lose himself for awhile in the pleasing activities that would distract him from thoughts of the following day.
Without a word he took the chemise from her and laid it aside then set his lips to hers, kissing her thoroughly, feeling his body's autonomic response to the activity. Kissing Molly passionately never failed to turn him on. Her hands reached for the fastening of his trousers and he allowed her to carefully pull them down, below his hips, followed by his boxers, after which he removed them the rest of the way. She was still in her bra and knickers and he subsequently made short work of them, then lifted her into his arms to take her to the bed.
He concentrated on every touch, every caress, the scent of her skin and the softness of it, allowing sensation to command his senses and dictate his movements, even as he responded to every sound and sigh of pleasure Molly made. She too feathered his skin lightly with her fingers, leaving trails of wildfire that made his breath hitch, heightening sensations also with her lips and mouth. There was nothing in the world but her. Together they spoke the language of love, taking their time, soaring to the peaks of ecstasy until, finally satiated, Sherlock held his wife in his arms and slept, this time untroubled by dreams or nightmares.
Author's note: Well, another difficult chapter laid to rest. I tried to research funeral home practices in England and found very little information but tried to make the experience as real as possible from the limited information I found combined with our family's own experiences of several months ago.
The comment Christina made about her grandfather's lips was borrowed from a comment by one of my daughters. It is indeed a lack of oxygen that causes a bluish cast to the lips of someone with COPD and it was something we had become used to seeing with my father-in-law.
This was a difficult chapter for me to write when the events following my father-in-law's passing were still very fresh in my mind. I hope you don't find it too traumatic. I wrote the chapter and have waited until now to revisit it, 5 months after my father-in-law's passing and I still shed a few tears when I read what I had written.
I know this story doesn't have many readers. I can only hope that as it stays on the site, over time people will read it and perhaps find the peace that passes all understanding when they know a loved one has passed from this life to eternal glory in the presence of Jesus. I would hope and pray that all of my readers understand that path and peace as well.