Her daughter answered my hurried knock, opening the door with red eyes.

"Sophie?" I asked, a thousand questions unable to form into words. How was she? Had I made it in time? What had happened?

We had long given up on formalities, and Sophie promptly waved me inside.

"John," she acknowledged, that familiar Scottish burr creeping through the quiet vowel. "Mam's in th' back bedroom."

"What is wrong?" I finally managed, quickly leading the way across the small sitting room.

"Ye know her mind haes been goin', but six mornin's ago, she never got out of bed."

"Did something happen?"

She shook her head. "Nae that we know of. She haes woken frequently, asking for me, her niece, or ye, but she stopped eatin' yesterday." She paused, mastering the waver in her voice. "I think she is waitin' fur ye."

Fighting to conquer my own emotion, I quietly entered the half-lit bedroom, and Martha woke at the sound of the door. The woman lying in that bed was a shrunken shell of the vibrant lady I had known, but the light in her eyes was the same as ever.

"Johnny," she whispered, freeing a shaking hand from the blankets.

"I'm here, Martha." My bags landed in the corner, and I sat in the nearby chair, gently taking that frail hand in my own. She seemed far too small under the covers.

"Johnny," she said again, glancing behind me. "Harry?"

I swallowed, hearing Sophie step into the hall to call for her cousin. She could see what was happening as well as I could. Martha had been waiting for me.

"Harry has gone on, Martha," I answered as two pairs of feet paused in the doorway behind me. "You will see him shortly. Do you remember what I told you, last time I was here?"

A faint smile crossed her face, and she tried to squeeze my hand. "Oh, laddie."

I nodded, blinking the sting out of my eyes. She remembered.

"Thank you," I said next. "For everything." For everything I could not voice. For raising us, supporting us, caring about us. For your presence after I was discharged. For the ideas on ways to reach Harry. For the offer of a home, though I could not accept it.

For being mother in everything but blood.

She squeezed my hand again but looked up instead of answering. Sophie stood on the other side of the bed, Martha's niece next to her.

"Sophie. Liza."

"Here, Mother."

Tears rolled down Sophie's cheeks, and I fought not to follow her example. Somebody needed to keep themselves together. I could let it out later, if needed.

"Mah girls," Martha murmured, her eyes beginning to close again. "Laddie."

The endearment faded as she fell asleep, and the covers stopped rising and falling. I lost the pulse in her wrist a moment later.

I bowed my head as weeping sounded behind me.

Liza scheduled the funeral for three days later, though very few came to it. Martha had outlived most of her friends and relatives, and the small graveside service was more for the three of us than anyone else. I stayed long after the preacher had left, staring at the cold stone. Martha was too warm, too lively, for such a cold piece of rock to mark her place.

"Are ye alright, John?" Sophie's hand landed on my right shoulder, and I tore my gaze away from the headstone to flash her a brief smile.

"It never gets easier," I answered, burying my thoughts for now. I would let it out later, alone, "but I will be. Are you?"

She nodded, matching her pace to mine as we left the cemetery.

"It is a relief, in a streenge way." She stared at the many headstones around us, ignoring my limping gait. "I'd give 'most anythin' to have her back, but not as she was for the last munth or so. I know she didnae put her troubles in any letter."

I shook my head. "What did she hide?"

"Mostly joint ails," she answered. "Me mam haes nae stood on her own in weeks. We came in each mornin' to help her up, then she could usually wobble out to the sittin' room. She also was having headaches, problems with her eyes. Some days, she could barely see me standin' next to her."

That explained the few things I had noticed. "You said her mind was going," I remembered, "but I never knew that. How bad was it?"

She paused, thinking. "She still had more good days than nae, but there were some mornin's she asked th' identical question for over an hour. Two weeks ago was th' first time she didnae recognize me immediately."

"How often did that happen?"

She paused again. "A few, but nae many. She wasnae slippin' quickly."

I nodded but made no answer, and we walked in silence back towards the small house.

"Do you need my help with anything?" I finally asked. I had already helped them go through some of Martha's things around planning the funeral and burial. With that done, I rather wanted to go home, but I would not leave if they still had need of me.

She thought for a moment. "I do nae believe so. When is your train?"

"I thought I would take the eight fifteen out of Edinburgh, but I do not need to go yet."

She shook her head as the door closed behind us. "Go home, John. We will be fine."

"Keep in touch, Sophie."

Poor Watson. The loss of a loved one is never easy.

Thank you to Guest, Ennui Enigma, Corynutz, Dr. who, mrspencil, and MCH1987 for your reviews. I always appreciate hearing your thoughts